saying goodbye officially

I received a text message from the spokesperson this morning. Although I have been out of the beat for about a month now, I have not really told him that I had resigned. I guess I'm just a coward to even say goodbye.

It really doesn't matter if I got subtly kicked out of my job. It was probably more of a feeling of failing him despite the efforts he had put up to help me get a story published. If I were given the choice, I would want to go back to the foreign affairs beat. And if I keep telling myself that I will eventually be able to do so, I don't really have to say goodbye. Then again, who knows when I'll be coming back, or if I am coming back at all.

For the first time after so long, I wrote a message telling him I resigned recently and that I'm very thankful for every bit of help he has given me. At first, he was very formal of his responses, instructing me what to do to get me out of the list of accredited reporters. I commented on this instruction and said my thanks and holiday greetings again. He then greeted me a merry christmas.

I was in line waiting for a manicurist at the parlor when the exchange of messages took place. I really felt I wanted to cry. I've finally let go.

getting out

I was looking at myself on the mirror at the office thinking it might actually be the last time I'd be seeing myself here. I was smiling leisurely, realizing it was something I haven't done in a while.

Torture is an understatement of whatever it is that I felt during the past few days. If I were to think about it, everything started on the week of my birthday.

It was the same week the Global Forum on Migration and Development (GFMD) was held. Philippines has host the event and the Department of Foreign Affairs (DFA) was the overseeing agency. Although I am assigned to the foreign affairs, the topic is more on the labor side of migration that my editor decided to send our Labor reporter instead. And since DFA is at the GFMD, I literally had nowhere to go, no stories to pursue. And so, I decided to cover the protest rallies instead.

By Sunday, my editor talked to me telling me he didn't like the idea that I was covering protest rallies. I told him my excuse and he does seem to accept my inability for that week. Aside from that, we listed topics for stories the paper is interested in. He also told me where and what should I be looking out for the next few days.

The next week turned out better than the usual. I was able to publish three articles, not including the ones on the website.

When Sunday came, I didn't even know evaluation was to take place and as expected, I literally and seriously failed it. However, my editor gave me no sign of termination except for a request of improvement on my part in time for the next evaluation or else...

I was determined to do better actually. In fact, I was more inspired to work than I have ever been, seeing that my editor still has hopes that I could do better. However, Monday became a day of wilderness, drought and poverty of stories. There was really nothing to write about. It didn't stop me though. I passed a crappy article and in a few minutes, I received a message telling me that I had been ordered to work and stay at the office starting Tuesday, the idea we reporters call "na-bartolina".

Depression had gotten all over me as I dreaded the idea. While nobody had explained to me why such a decision took place, I know for myself I was going down. I've tried working at the office before and there was too much pressure for me to handle. Everytime I would see the managing editor looking at what I'm working on makes my knees turn jelly. (By the way, my computer is just a seat away from his table, while three more editors are working just behind me). Then again, I have no choice but to obey. Waiting for the day to turn to Tuesday became a punishment.

The sole article I submitted for Tuesday was not published. Moreover, my editor asked me to rewrite it that I had to stay at the office until 8pm, the latest I have ever stayed there.

My sole source for my only article Wednesday backed out on me a few minutes after deadline and I was not able to pass anything hereon. I tried a few times to have something, but it wasn't anything the paper would be interested in. It was easier now for them to turn down my articles since I am in the office. There was a time a reporter-friend and I had the same article to submit for the day and I was the one asked to work on something else an hour before deadline. Obviously, I couldn't make it.

For four days, I found myself escaping the eyes of my editor as I slid away from the office avoiding further talks with him. I found myself restless with nothing to compensate to whatever I was feeling. Depressed, I wanted to do better but I couldn't understand why it had to be so difficult for me. More than that, I was ashamed of myself, carrying the surname that had gathered respect in the field for years and yet so incompetent from the very start. Adding to that is the idea that the company has been paying me really well and when I couldn't really do my job to deserve such a pay.

I was at the verge of giving up actually. It was too much for me to handle and I knew I had to break free immediately. Then again, I just couldn't let go of something so great, a blessing, that easily. It's like giving up on what God has in stored for me. Although I couldn't exactly find anymore dignity for myself, I decided to push it to the limits and wait for my editor to kick me out. At the back of my mind however, hopes that this will soon end. I'm tired.


Sunday came. I believe my editor expected that I had nothing to give as well and he must have noticed my sudden slipping away. As I was about to leave with my friends, one of the editorial assistance stopped me. My editor wanted to talk to me.

I sat down in by the exit, trying to stop my tears. This is it, I told myself. That morning I asked God to make me stop crying, to either make it better or make them kick me out. While two of my friends already left, I asked another reporter to stay behind and wait for me. I might be needing a friend after the talk.

WHen my editor asked me to assess my performance as a reporter, I found myslef bursting into tears. As much as I don't want to put myself down too much, I had to be honest enough to make him see I am not living in an illusion that I'm doing pretty well at work.

He must have softened the moment I cried. He asked me what could have held me back. I told him it was something more of my personality, that it took me some time to get out of my shell and sharply ask questions in an interview, that I grew up finding calls from a total stranger as offensive, and that I realized I wasn't as fast when it comes to adapting to change.

And then, he said it. Although my editor recognizes that I was trying to do my best, output is very important in our work. "The desk wants you to reconsider your employment here and decide as soon as possible."

I felt like crying again, and this time he was trying to make me laugh by telling me stories of his wife. Although I did not directly say it, I told him I was just waiting for the desk to tell me that simply because I do not want to see myself giving up on something. I thanked him for everything he has done for me, for every effort he has given to try to push me to do better.

My friend and I left the office and I felt like something piercing my heart was suddenly taken away. I filed my resignation letter Tuesday which also became my last day at work.

I still covered an event Monday morning, submitted three Somali pirates stories Monday and two more Tuesday for the paper's website. And my last article on my Monday event never got published.

My friend who waited for me during the talk told me he has never seen me as relaxed as I have been on my last day. I won't say it was a mistake to even apply for that job at that paper, hearing horror stories of stress that reporters experience there. It didn't matter how I got in and what am I now when I got out. I don't care if others say there was something wrong with the paper's system. The Lord gives, the Lord takes away. Blessed be Your name!

hallelujah chance!

If you are a Jdorama fan like me, the first thing that would definitely come into your mind reading these words is Ken-zou and his efforts to go back in the past and change things so that his bestfriend would love him instead.

I have been a fanatic of the series, really. In fact, since I have been the source of recommendations for DVD marathon episodes, I have used this position to influence people to patronize such a wonderful story. True enough, everytime they hear my ringtone in which Iwase Ken shouts "Hallelujah chance!", they would be frantic while enjoying the rush of thoughts it brings them.

I thought it was a simple fanatism.

Being a Christian journalist living a day at a time in faith, I take opportunity of every chance I get for a coverage, or at least get a hold of whoever official related to foreign affairs. Even if it were a mere ribbon cutting, photo opportunity or what else not newsworthy there is, I'd be there just to get a hold of anyone.

I have actually had days when I had no concrete plan of how and where to get a story. And then, a sudden coverage would come up and I would find myself writing stories to be passed a few hours later. I find myself mused with the fact that there is always a chance, an opportunity for me to survive this daily grinding. I know and I cannot deny that God is and will always be there to help me survive. And I have actually learned to remind myself of God's providence to the birds where it know not where to get food and yet they still manage to survive. How far more will He provide for human?

Hallelujah for the chance.

I'm currently on my 6th week on the beat and I have been able to pass articles daily. Though most of the times I pass them late, I am still thankful I was able to pull out a story, to have them submitted and sometimes, if lucky enough, would get it enough.

I'm always excited for text messages, as it is the door of chances for me; a spokesperson texting for Somali pirates updates, my friend reporter telling me of a coverage, or my editor sending me to another out-of-my-beat coverage. Whatever it is, it signifies my chances of survival and I'm happy for it.

Hallelujah chance.

to my editor

After a burst of tears, a word from God, further realizations along with moments that urge honesty last Sunday, I am ready to be terminated from work.

I am no egotistic person not to recognize how incompetent I had been in work. Working in the beat for almost a month now, I was only able to publish two stories on paper, and around six more on the net. With a quota of two stories a day, six days of work a week, this is a really low average.

I have had good coverage, but if someone else had been sent there, my editors would have gotten a better output compared to all the crappy articles I have done.

I'm no good writer, I always knew that. It's the love of writing that makes me stay in this field of arts but even before I graduated from college, I knew I will never be one of the best writers in my batch.

I have been a waste. The money paid for my salary has not gotten its worth.

Sunday work dreads me. In fact, I hate it. I feel I'd rather live with exact means in a ministry, than to be journalist.

Although to defend myself, my beat had never been easy. With officials who hate interviews, a bureaucratic agency and kill-the-young principle of certain reporters, I live with the story fed to me. I have learned to ignore or minimally use press releases. Very few press officers remember me. And I still have to admit, despite the stress and shame I feel every time I see my editor, I'm still happy I am in this paper. I am very blessed to have a very patient editor, and a newspaper who is teaching me of journalism standards I have not seen in any newspaper in this country.

The only reason why I have not resigned is because I know it is God who has given me this job. It has been difficult but He has shown His providence as well. I know for myself I will not be the one giving up on what God has given me.

Then again, I have never been great in this field, and my rational mind tells me I doubt I will ever be. If it God's plan to have me terminated, I am ready to accept that. If my editor tells me that there is nothing for me in this field, I am ready to accept. And by the time he tells me this, I have a lot of thanksgiving to tell him, not to make him retract but to recognize the good things this job has brought me.

If it is God's will, I am ready to accept my termination from this job. It is never mine to take.

something on obama

My editor asked me to attend an event at the US embassy. The embassy invited a professor of journalism to talk about the significance of the Internet at the 2008 US Elections.

As expected, I was late for the 8:30 in the morning affair. I came in the event a few minutes after the open forum had started. The topic was really interesting and I've learned new things about political campaign strategies. But then, since there wasn't any local peg, my editor didn't ask me to write any story at all.

Anyway, I was reading the portfolio of the candidates that were given to us during the event. As I am fascinated with Barack Obama's candidacy, I opened the magazine and read his biography first.

I must admit, I've heard a lot of stories about him, as he was featured in Time magazine, coverages from New York Times, and a few more stories from missionaries and friends who are going to vote.

One of the main contentions my friends have is that he makes it appear that he is a Christian when in turn, he is actually a Muslim. Now I don't know how true this allegation could be, but the mere idea that they wouldn't vote for him because he is a Muslim already raises an eyebrow.

Maybe I'm just liberated, as one of them would often refer me, or maybe I'm just being nice, but I really don't like the idea of discrimination because of religion. Religion, I think, should not be the measure for a person to be deserving in a position, especially with regard to the Muslim religion.

I'd like to quote what United Nations Secretary-General Bak Ki Moon said in his message for the Asian Conference on Religions for Peace. He said, "It is man who created war in the name of religion."

Because of this war against terrorism, people have started looking down on the Islam religion, that terrorism is a product of extremist religion, that it is the Islam religion that cultivates this extreme methods. However, they do not recognize the idea of ideology, that terrorism in its sense is actually a protest against the world power.

Now, on this point, Obama says the US should keep it's stand in the global power seat and yet he advocates for the end of the war in Middle East and resort to diplomatic settlements.

At one point, it seems quite ironic, to keep power and yet settle with those that are against you're being there. Then again, no one could very well achieve it unless he would actually know why there are these protests, make them feel that you understand them, and convince them to meet at a certain level, exactly the same element of synthesis Karl Marx discussed in his conflict theory.

My parents would have killed me by now if they would hear I have to say about this election such that they are being fed by the allegations against Obama. Quite honestly, I have much more to say but just to clarify, I'm not exactly pro-Obama. I'd like to think, thank God I'm not an American to be thinking who to vote. But yes, this elections is still quite interesting.

journalism lectures

Since last week, I have received quite a number of lectures from my editors. Although of course, one almost killed me, but it was actually the first time I felt they started caring about what I've been writing and how I'm going to write it.

Now I have to be honest, much of the lessons they've given me are obvious notes on journalism but when you're in the field, everything seems so different. Theories have separated from practice, and the initial reaction of a new reporter in a beat is to actually go with the flow and join the bandwagon.

Lesson 1. Call.
It amazes me how my reporter-friends can survive through phone calls when I had to always at some sort of event to get a story. But seeing her makes me realize it is possible. I just have to have the guts to call.
Lesson 2. What's in it for the Philippines?
As a foreign affairs writer, not everything they say matters. It may be newsworthy for them, but for us Filipinos, we might not care a big. When doing a story, this is always the first question I need to ask myself.
Lesson 3. Treat each day as if there's no press conference.
Of course. I can never be dependent of coverages and press releases. I should also learn how to look for a story. I really have to make phone calls.
Lesson 4. Always call the agencies involved for reactions.
Lesson 5. Just call. Don't be apprehensive.
Yeah, keep telling me that.
Lesson 6. Take advantage of your femininity.
It's actually quite funny to notice how some melt at the sight of young ladies. This is probably because a lot are older than 30 (or at least look like it). There seems to be some sort of kindness towards us younger ones. It funny but it works.

surviving

After exactly two weeks in the beat, like a fish taken out of the water, I am trying to get all the necessary air I can get to live as long as possible.

I have been bombarded with press conferences last week that I am usually assured of at least one story everyday. And how I wish it would go on until I decide to resign from work but then, it's just a wish.

I am starting my week with nothing, a blank paper. I checked out the newspaper where my friend is working, only to find out she does have stories to pass and they do actually get published. And I will not withhold from her the credit she deserves. She is excelling in the beat.

I'd like to think life is unfair, that she gets stories and I don't. But then, I'm just entering my third week on the beat. Aside from her, I've only had two friends in the beat, one would be my newspaper's photographer.

I opened all my electronic inbox in hopes to find a press release to start off the day. If I could get a lead of something, I might actually have something good to write on for the afternoon. But no, all I get are messages telling me of blog entries.

I checked on the embassy websites in hopes to find something new. Aside from the transcripts of interviews one of my editors had with the Australian Trade Minister, I didn't find anything else.

I went back to my mother, feeling depressed. And when I found myself alone, I broke into tears. I didn't really understand why but now, I am admitting that this job is killing me.

But then, life goes on. I am no quitter. I do not see myself backing out in the middle of any battle. I left and headed for the beat office.

Sure, I had some ideas on what to work on but never got the courage to do it. A few minutes after two in the afternoon, the beat spokesperson texted, informing the release of Filipino seamen in Nigeria.

I was happy enough to realize that I have a story for the day. But thinking that I had started passing two stories last week, I simply do not want to slow down the momentum.

I found a press release from the vice. Although I tried making it not a press release, circumstances drove me to passing it without getting an expert's opinion.

It's still depressing to find myself passing crappy articles. Then again, I shouldn't be complaining at this stage. I was able to pass two articles. That's what's important. Getting it published will come eventually.

I will get there someday.

just got killed

I would very much admit now that though I was not able to pass an article daily last week, if the managing editor had been there, I would have resigned or received a memo for my incompetency even before the week ends.

It had been frustrating then, but it would been even more if the managing editor had not been in Europe last week.

By the time he got back to work, I was filled with events and big time press conferences that I had been able to pass at least one every day.

Of course, much of what I had planned still were flushed in the toilet for either lack of newsworthiness, lack of facts, or simply never followed up.

Given that Friday was supposedly the lightest day of the week, I was truly thankful enough that I still had an event to cover, which meant a sure-ball article and I will still have enough time to follow up on stories I've been thinking to do.

Then again, everything just seemed to fade away so sudden.

Who would have thought that I could never get anything from an ASEAN event? I have been into the health beat for the week and I'm pretty sure I have enough knowledge to go about the press conference. I called up my editor to slug in my story, only to find out it was not worth the internet space.

Allow me to insert this here. This was the only time my editor really talked to me about my beat. Much of the phone call we had for the past few days were "this is my story" and "ok". But this time, he was telling what I should always be looking for in my beat, which is basically, "What will the Philippines get in this?"

With our phone conversation this afternoon, I was able to realize how vague and superficial ASEAN statements could get such that I couldn't really find anything concrete for the Philippines. I'm sure there are, but with less than an hour of open forum to a secretary who never really gave in to interviews, there wasn't enough opportunity to probe in these questions. And so, my story was scraped but he also gave me the feeling that it's ok since I'm just starting to get in the beat.

By the time my friend and I were in a taxi to get to a netshop, the desk texted me, telling me that my managing editor was looking for my stories, and should I further emphasize this, STORIES.

I was obviously obliged to call him and when I did, I realized I was talking to him without any story in my mind.

As expected, he was frustrated and started questioning me on what I had been doing the whole day. I had to explain the delay of schedule for the press conference and my attempts to look for a story even during the morning.

He wasn't that mad, but I remembered from him is that I should be treating my day as if no events were to happen and therefore I should be striving hard to get a story. The good part here though, is that he said since this was the first time, he's going to let it pass and instructed me to call him if I was able to come up with a story (which is an hour before the deadline).

I was scared really. I knew he was right and I needed to hear that. My editor and the managing editor has some sort of balance that both made me start moving on and try to do better. Moreover, I saw the blessing that has hidden from me last week, that if he had been there, I would have been dead by now.

I was killed today, yes, but it put a lot of pressure on me and I was still able to pass two stories for the day (although one of it is 30mins late). Welcome to the journ life of the business paper.

being a reporter

Being a journalist is not a far-fetched idea for friends who've known me and have been with me since time and memorial. Studying the craft for five years makes people think that I have been equipped with the necessary principles and skills to become a true journalist.

Yeah, right. Who ever said it was going this hard?

But then, to give credit to all my professors in college, journalism was never easy. Doing an article daily and living each day at a time may be stressing but students could really get use to it. They did not lack in reminding us of the perils of the system, not just the political but the media itself. With the communication theories, ethical principles and journalism artciles we've done in the past, how can the work field be so different?

Haha. It is. And my stress level had never got up this high, with my appetite shifting and my mind rejecting food as it is filled with plans and ideas for stories instead. (And by the way, I am a stress eater)

From the very moment I wake up, my mind worries of the stories I need to do, much of them I don't know where to get, where to look for. As I worry, I start praying hard, telling God to just grant me with stories that will get me through the day.

Around eight in the morning, I venture the computer shop in hopes to find a press release in my inbox. If not, I'd really be hoping that the beat spokesperson would suddenly text for updates on overseas Filipino workers stories.

If I had not been successful to look for a story by 10, I start getting depressed with no ice cream to compensate for what I feel.

I tried coming by the office during those times, but with my computer located right behind the line of editors, the more I feel tensed. And by feeling tensed, I literally mean shaking. If I would want to get out the office, it would be very hard because I had to pass by my editor's table and he would usually look at me every time I walk there.

If by 0ne in the afternoon, I still have no story (which by the way usually happens), I feel like I want to hide. It's a feeling of shame, embarassment of admition of incompetency that I just want to fade away.

Getting out of the office is not that different actually. Being assigned in a beat where most reporters are rather old, new reporters are not really easily welcomed. The press office is fantastic. Computers are available. Newspapers are on the desk. A television (and I think cables for PSP) is ready to use. Phone lines are everywhere, and the best part, the room is air-conditioned. But then, no one usually comes there, unless something important is going to happen or somebody wants to sleep during office hours.

Courtesy calls for the big people in the beat are simple fantasies for new reporters. The only event that I was able to see any official at the building is when the secretary was about to leave the building. I had tried asking permission to even at least, meet the spokesperson but no one ever allowed me. In activist terms, the agency is very bureaucratic and the media is expected to be simply an information dissemination agent. Probing is, I guess, discouraged.

So how had I been amidst the pressure and the beat, I'm trying to survive. Ergo, I must survive. I know very well that God had given me this job and to give up so easily is by far giving up on what God wants for me. Anyway, I'm just on my first week. Who ever said the first week was going to be easy? In fact, it might take me a month or so for just adjusting. Then again, being a christian journalist is never easy. I am obliged to live each day at a time with stress but still and always in faith.

I will survive, sing it with me :D

mega-ness

Thursday night.

I spent my whole day at the office updating the directory for the research department's biggest project, the top 1000 corporations for 2008. Since I couldn't take as much responsibility in the project such that I might be pulled out of the department any time, my temporary boss asked me to help out with the phone calls instead. Given the 1000 corporations, Judy and I had to call each company, check if we have the right phone number and address.

Since it was also Thursday, our cell group day, Ate Rona and I decided to buy something for Ate Beth's birthday. I left the office earlier than usual, went straight to Go-Nuts Donuts and bought their Mix-n-Match treat. By 5:30pm, I was already headed for home and expected to be at the church before 7pm.

A few minutes before seven, rain started to pour. A few minutes more, the roads were flooded. Quite shockingly, I have never seen that road get flooded with the 18 years that I had lived in Cainta.

Then, I started to pray. More than that, I was singing in my head. Though it has been raining this month, God has not let me go in the flood just to get home. I had never been stuck anywhere in the rain and I knew, at that time, God was not going to let anything of that sort happen to me. In other words, I was singing praises. I have always been in love with the rain and it has never been a pest in my life.

By the time I got to Bayanihan (where flood is most likely deep), the jeep to where I was didn't have any problem and I was praising God even more.

My mom texted me a few minutes after, telling me my dad was going to get me at the subdivision gate. After waiting for about 30 mins, I saw my dad in a raincoat holding my pair of slippers. That meant only one thing. I was going to go in the flood. Oh no.

We started walking near our old church building. It was flooding alright, but it was only less than 6 inches deep. I was still happy.

By the time we reached San Francisco Street, oh my, the flood started to climb up to my knees.

By the time we were walking in front of our new church building, it wasn't just flood. It was a mega-flood. Tne waters had reached half-way my thighs. It was still raining. My bag was already wet, and did I tell you? I was wearing my favorite blue skirt that day. And it was just flooded, it was a flash flood. The water current was strong that I had to walk really slow in fear that I might slip (and drown...)

What was even funnier was that I was reminded of how I praised God a few minutes before I started walking in the rain. And I knew, someone wanted me to take back my praise.

Instead, while I was walking through the flash flood, I was singing. From the verses of Close to You, I headed for the notes of For All You've Done. Though it was a pest that I was walking inches deep in dirty flood water, I knew what it felt to be a David, singing praises to God despite the whatevers in life. And to that, I was even more glad.

super blessed! (part 2)

A few days before my grandfather's (mother's side) birthday, the family decided to have lunch at my grandparents' house.

Before I go on telling the story, allow me to provide a little context of the family. My grandfather (we call him Papi) is a devoted Catholic. My mom became a Christian through my dad a few months before they were married and basically, Papi hated that. Let's just say the grandchildren had some emotion impact on the grandparents that we were included on gatherings. He still doesn't like my dad as much though. Anyway...

We were at the dining table. My mother announced that I just got a job this week. Without looking at me, Papi asked me where and what kind of job I would be doing. I told him I'm going to be a reporter for a business paper. He asked what exactly does a reporter do. I told him I have to write articles that are aimed to be published on the paper. He looked at me with some concern and asked if the pay was going to be on the basis of the published work. When I told him no, he started eating once more.

After awhile, he started saying that's very good. I'm going to be on a good track. By being exposed with a variety of businesses, I would be able to know what kind of business to put up and how to handle it. He kept saying very good.

He asked me what will become of my studies. I told him I just graduated last April so I'm all for working.

The only advice he could give me as he said, if I may quote him, is "Don't fall in love seriously." He said it will keep me from aiming higher things in life. I think what he really meant there is that I should not hurry to get married.

I've always had that pressure of becoming the better person in place of my dad, especially in front of Papi. Obviously, he knew very little in my life, little in fact I doubt if he ever knew I transfered schools four years ago. Hearing these words which is basically the only advice he had given me for the past 22 years, I definitely will never forget this episode in my life.

super blessed!

This week, I am proud to say, have overflowed me with blessings.

I got a call from a business paper last week telling me I was to have an interview last Wednesday. Come Wednesday, I was face to face the paper's managing editor. He asked me the basic stuff, like why I chose to apply for that paper, where else did I apply for work, and what was my thesis about. He also inquired if I were an activist but aside from these, most of what has been said in the interview is about the newspaper, the reporter's working condition and what to expect if I were to work there.

Now, I have to make a confession. I don't think I did good during the interview. I was, the most, honest such that I told them the reason why I applied for that paper is because I felt like it and my dad always dreamed that his daughter would be a business reporter instead of going into politics writing.

Wednesday night, one of the editors to where I had my internship called me up to tell me I got the job at their organization. Of course, I was happy indeed but since the managing editor of the business paper told me that they'd call me the next day, I had to be honest to tell him I want to wait for the result from the other company.

I got a call from the business paper Thursday afternoon telling me I got the job.

Now I have to be honest. I love where I had my internship. It was a blessing during the time I was out of focus and I had more than one priority in mind. Though they are not strict with the time at the office, I had learned a lot and the experience is something I will always remember. And I was actually happy to settle with them. But then, the opportunity at the business paper came.

I've always wanted to write for a newspaper, a broadsheet to be exact, although I really think I do not have the ability for such. I am not a good writer (especially if compared to my batchmates) and I have a lot of other things in mind, like the church and my other commitments with God. I also had some apprehension if I would really get into too much politics like I did when I was in the council (because I know for myself I will have that same passion for action which will put me in a difficult position again).

The business paper offers a good pay (better than I had hoped and prayed for). Since it is a weekday paper, much of the work will be done on weekdays. Although Sundays could be in danger to sacrifice, the managing editor told me that ever since he was assigned to his position (which is since 1992), he only had two reporters that resigned because Sunday was taken away from them. Writing for this paper will put me into politics but not as much as other newspapers and my concern for direct action will not be triggered too much (I hope).

This opportunity is a clear-cut blessing which I cannot deny and I am just simply happy God has put me in this. I know it's not going to be easy but I think I'll just be too happy to think about stress. Anyway, I've been stress ever since I ran for the elections. How different will be?

to visit or not to visit?

I really find myself weird and sometimes, I think it’s good to ask why I am like this.

My mother has been texting me this morning while she is still in the hospital which is a clear manifestation of her being bum. She’s also been joking a lot, which makes me think maybe she will be crazy after all.

However, her boredom usually also signals her longing for a visitor. Since my dad has been at the church all morning, she has no one with her except the television.

One of the girls’ grandmother and my sister is at the hospital at the very moment. My brother wants to visit her sometime as well, although I doubt if he would be able to since he has long days at school. My youngest brother misses his mommy and whines that he visit her as well but since he has exams this week, I don’t think we can afford to make him get out of the house.

And I? The best word to describe it is “kebs”. Don’t get me wrong now. It’s not that I don’t care. It’s just that it’s isn’t so necessary. It’s not like my mother is dying already. I guess I’m pretty satisfied to know she’s in a normal condition and do the things I have to do here at home.

Yes, I know. I can be so detached. I may be like my dad who worries but I’d rather worry alone and isolated. It’s weird and sometimes I hate myself for being such.

Luke 10: 38 – 41 describe a family in Bethany when Jesus came to visit them. While Mary listened to the words of the Lord, her sister, Martha, opted to do the household chores and eventually ended up complaining because of all her worries about unimportant yet rational details.

This passage always reminds me of who I am. Even if Martha was the bad one when the story is told to grade school kids, my mother had still taken my name from this passage. What we all find quite amazing is that I am very much like this Biblical character.

Maybe this sort of detachment isn’t anything to do with how my parents raised me. Maybe it’s more of my concern for other details while my mother is away. Maybe I can still be describe as the bad one in the family but it doesn’t mean I don’t really care; a sort of irony probably. At some point, it disturbs me but what can I do? This is how I am, although at times I try harder. Or best yet, maybe we should kill the Martha to whom my mother got my name. Haha. Parents, be careful of what you name your children. :D

side effects of surgery

While the Filipinos are busy reacting on Mrs. Arroyo's State of the Nation Address (SONA) and despite that I was watching it at home with the slightest feeling of boredom, my mind was off somewhere else.

My mother just had a hysterectomy this morning, a surgical procedure removing the uterus. Although my mom looks ten years younger than her age, this wasn't really a surprise for us. We just saw a menopausal episode of her friend earlier this year and we knew it would be coming to her soon. My dad seems extremely worried and I'd have to admit, I am more concerned with my dad than with my mom.

She has been visiting her doctor for some time now and the doctor would also usually talk to my dad, especially when the option of hysterectomy came up. Since an important part of the woman's body is to be removed, there will be changes with her hormone levels which also meant changes with her mood.

Now, I have to say this. My mom has very obvious mood swings when she has her period, which is not different from the ones her daughters experience like extreme depression (and liters of tears), easily irritated, sudden outburst aggravated by almost anything and the list goes on.

I guess my dad is very worried on how extreme unreasonable she could be and this could affect almost everyone, her family, the people in the church, the children of our preschool & their mothers. and god, there's even one kid who's an extreme brat.

However, her other doctor also told her that she was already medicated with some hormone medicines which meant the side effect of her surgery will most likely be similar to what she is now. Let me tell you, my mother has been extremely happy these past few weeks.

So now, I'm torn. I don't know which one to believe, my dad or the other doctor. At some point, I want to deny the idea that it could be worse but logically speaking, I have not heard of a hormonal imbalance story that turned out positively. yeah, yeah, me and my over concern for details. But then, I still have to prepare myself if it gets worse.

Now I'm thinking. I am no fan of my mom's mood swings and ever since I graduated, I would usually opt to either keep quiet or stay away when my mom bursts. Maybe this time, I can no longer escape that. Since she might explode at anyone, anytime, I feel like I have to be there even more, to mediate or worse, do the things she's suppose to do so that others won't be prone to her outburst.

details, details. Sometimes God reprimands me of my overly concern with details since it puts Him out of the picture. My mom works full time at the church and if this surgery will negatively affect how she relates to other people, I think it's a crap if God doesn't think of all these. He will never put things to worse (Jer. 29:11).

Then again, I'm just plainly worried.

what happened next

The next few episode of that first job interview were really quite interesting.

By the time I got home Friday afternoon, I was actually almost decided that I will never return to that office for a job again. (hyberbole here, please note :D ) However, it was a dilemma as to how I would tell my supposed editor about it. Without any idea what exactly to say, I delayed telling him until I was suppose to be at the office.

Actually, I got no courage to tell him. When my parents arrived Saturday afternoon, I asked my dad to help me compose the most appropriate message to send my "editor" only to realize, I was only in fact in need of moral support. After sending him a thank-you-but-I'm-not-going-to-take-the-job text message, I left my phone at home and headed to the park for a volleyball game with some of my church friends.

Around ten in the evening, I received a response from him. He told me to pray about it and think about being even a researcher for the paper. I thought, since he mentioned something about praying, it was the best time to explain to him that this isn't actually the job God was referring. And this is what he texted me next: "You do not need to wait for manna to come down from heaven. You should labour, work and find it, find it hard."

Now, I've had to admit, I found the message quite amusing in a sense. But instead of making an issue out of it, I reiterated my point that I've prayed about it and I'm backing out.

This is what he told me next: "You are backing out from blessing. I don't get it. There are millions of unemployed Filipinos. I consider my job as blessing. Even Paul work hard and did not rely on offerings."

With that message, I almost flipped. I have no intentions to question whether his job is a blessing or not but the idea that I'm going to be really overworked and underpaid in that company doesn't make it a blessing for me. There will be great experiences for me, I'm sure but the expenses cannot compensate the burden.

At the same time, the manna delivered everyday for the Israelites was not a simple compensation from God. He was the One who brought them out of Egypt despite their contentment of their conditions. God had promised them of a better life, and although the journey for that was not easy, He showed each day that they do not have to work very hard as to have doubts that God was not providing for them. God will always be with them even in the wilderness.

Paul worked hard for God's ministries. His job as a tent maker was a simple detail of the very great mission he had for the Lord. It coincided with God's plans. It should not be taken out of context.

Of course, I could not tell me editor that. I think it would be very disrespectful of me still. Whether it were a form of manipulation or simply sincere, I dare not question. I opted not to reply.

I prayed once more that night and that was when I heard this song.

Sing to me the song of the stars
of Your galaxy, dancing and laughing
and laughing again
When it feels my dreams so far
Sing to me of the plans
that You have for me over again

The best thing that happened to me, I realized I was an Israelite journeying through the wilderness and God has and will be providing me the manna that I needed.

my first job interview

I received a text yesterday morning asking me if I could come by their office for a job interview. Although the text message had the name of the one who sent it, I absolutely had no idea what company it was or what position I was supposedly applying for.

Well you see, my former bible study leader had referred the person to me. I had my share of doubts before I actually sent my resume. The only thing I knew about this was that this is a new broadsheet and they were looking for business reporters.

If my dad was given the power and the choice, he would have opted me to become a business reporter. I think he believes this beat is safer and offers bigger wages than a reporter interested in politics.

Anyway, I decided to come for that interview. I called the guy who texted me and as it turns out, the name of the paper is Philippine Gazette, a new broadsheet to come out next week. They have nothing to do with the former Philippine Gazette paper and they are in desperate need of writers. Their office was to be found at Port Area, Manila.

I went in their office, which is basically a newly renovated but not yet finished structure beside Manila Standard Today office. The guy introduced me to his boss. They looked at my resume and asked me to do a sort of rewriting the lead as an exam.

This exam turns out to be lifted from the Associated Press (AP) stylebook that describes very loaded leads. What was quite weird is that they expected me to rewrite these leads exactly how the book rewrote it. True enough, AP is AP and it has been an international standard when it comes to news writing but to expect an specific type of answer omits the idea of a writer's own style. Then again, who am I to complain?

I talked with the big boss of the newspaper once more. As it turns out, I was applying as a contributor and therefore my pay would be based on my published articles but here's the catch. I am obliged to be in their office seven times a week. I'd be in training for a few weeks as a researcher and web content organizer. It will be only after sometime that they'll decide if I can be trained for the Senate beat. After a few more reminders and stuff, they wanted me to start this afternoon.

I honestly don't mind the low pay, as long as I don't find myself spending more than what I would be getting. I'd rather write for a newspaper, like how I first intended when I took up journalism than getting a good pay in advertising.

At the same time, working as a researcher and being in training for the Senate beat sounds too ideal. I know for myself that's what I wanted to hear but I never imagined myself working seven times a week. And with an undetermined pay, I feel like I was going to be harassed!

I left the office with an uneasy feeling, as if I was getting sick, as if my knees were getting weak and my lungs are having a hard time doing its job to help me breathe. I never thought of working somewhere at Port Area. I had the image that most newspapers which are based there as tabloids (although not all of them are). As I was waiting to get a ride, I am reminded of Weng who is working for a development company in Ortigas. She's a writer working for the night shift. She has a really big pay and gets free food most of the time. If she can get a job like that, why can't I?

I was on the LRT on my way home and I felt like I literally wanted to cry. This is the same feeling I get every time I feel like there's something wrong and I can't exactly point out what is. I guess it's one of God's ways of making me realize what I'm getting myself in. It's a disturbing and depressing feeling. I never want to go back to that office again.

another story unfolded in front me

yet another story unfolded in front of me. actually, i did not want to have anything to do with it. as i would usually say, i'd rather appreciate it from a distance. the more i be with people, the more it makes realize the details and lessons of my own life.

we never really got along very well. i find him very obnoxious at times, especially his political views. he does very irritating jokes that i couldn't really find funny. plus, he even described talking to me as if he was talking to a 27-year-old adult, six years older than his age. we won't talk as much as he would with other people. there are only two things we'd actually talk about, politics and other people.

she's three years older than me, got a good job, and has good sense of humor but can be quite a grouch because that's what her profession calls for. we don't talk much actually but we do get along very well. i know a lot about her life, the same thing goes for her but we never actually confirm these things to each other.

what unfolded in these six months was something beyond crossing cultural communities.

he would talk to me about it quite more often than he would with my kuya. i guess it must have something to do with the points of view and the perspectives i get from the weird people around me. he'd sometimes ask me what i think about what my parents think. i would usually tell him he's concerned with too much details, the very same lines i would hear from God last year as He tells me to let go and go with His flow.

i'd see her worry as i had been last year. i mean, who could blame her for feeling lost and depressed in such a situation. but then, god has a plan. he's not playing game with people's emotions.

it feels weird actually to have a story like unfold in front me, as if the story were telling me something beyond my eyes can see, as if God Himself is talking to me in the complicated situation that He had led me.

ten again, we all have our own worries. But who are we to question what God unfolds in us? If there was something I got from all these, it a form of reaffirmation, of control and at the same time a tinge of hope that God has His own ways and what He is about to do will never be boring. it's an episode that we must all wait with anticipation, with hopes that in His proper time, we will all have our own share in life.

something so wrong

About a year ago, my dad had forced my brother and I to get a student driver permit. He aimed to have me driving by the time I graduate. And since I have been so busy on my last year with the student council and my thesis of course, I have not had the time to actually learn how to drive.

By summer vacation, my dad had been so busy with church stuff that we only had one chance to teach me whatever it is that I have to learn. And since my dad buys the big cars, I had to learn to drive with a Pajero.

So ok. The Pajero is actually lovable. It's very easy to handle. The breaks are good. The condition of the clutch is good. So what's wrong?

Actually, I couldn't reach the clutch very well everytime I had to hit the breaks. In other words, I guess I'm too small to drive the Pajero. Kuya Jonell says I should learn using automatic cars instead. He even volunteered to teach me given that my dad didn't have time. However, both my parents disagrees of course.

Anyway, our student permit is to expire this friday. That means we have to get a non professional licesnse before it expires or else we do the same process all over again. (and crap, I really hate LTO when it comes to lines). The big question now is what did we do?

To make the story short, I am currently holding onto my driver's license but I still don't know how to drive. So ok, I know how go left & right, forward & backward without pushing the breaks. That's it. I've come to join that bandwagon that I wanted to change for so long and I was forced to benefit that sort of faulty and crappy system of government agencies.

This is life in this country. It sucks.

nanood ng Prince Caspian

"Buti na lang hot si Prince Caspian." Ilang ulit na sinabi ni Jam iyan noong nagpalipas kami ng gabi sa kanila.

Pero aaminin ko, buti na lang talaga cute si Prince Caspian (Ben Barnes). Kung hindi siya cute, baka nawalan na talaga ako ng ganang manood.

Paano ba naman kasi, hindi ko talaga nagustuhan yung unang movie ng Narnia, The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe. Parang walang dating, walang magic, walang x-factor. O siguro dahil nabasa ko yung libro at napanood ko yung stage play ng Trumpets (Kamusta naman! Trumpets na yun! One of best stage performers kaya sila!) Isa siyang disappointment at hindi na-capture ang mga importanteng scenes ng pelikula.

Anyway, medyo nagdalawang isip ako kung papanoorin ko ba talaga itong Prince Caspian. Hindi ko rin masyado nagustuhan yung libro. Na-frustrate na lang ako na yun na ang last adventure nila Peter at Susan, gayong si Peter pa naman ang favorite character ko dun.

Siguro din, hindi ko talaga masyado naintindihan yung libro. Alam mo naman sa relihiyon namin. Dahil kilalang ka-relihiyon namin sina J.R.R. Tolkien (Lord of the Rings) at C.S. Lewis (Chronicles of Narnia), may mga hidden biblical messages ang mga kwento nito. Tulad na lamang ng The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe na tumutukoy sa salvation kung saan ipinapareho si Hesus kay Aslan na siyang namatay upang iligtas si Edmund.

Ang nakita ko lamang sa Prince Caspian nung binasa ko ang libro ang usapin ng spritual warfare. Ngayon ko naiisip, dahil ilang taon na rin ang nakakalipas nang basahin ko ang libro, maaari ngang bata pa ako para maintindihan ko ano ba talaga ang warfare na tinutukoy dito.

Ayun na nga. Kasama ko sina Ate Ems, Leeloo, Twinkle, JD at Kristia kahapon upang manood ng Prince Caspian at natuwa naman ako.

Naging loyal naman sa libro ang pelikula, although hindi ganon ka-perfect. Bagamat sa estasyon ng tren nagbukas ang pinto papunta ng Narnia, hindi ito tulad ng ipinakita sa pelikula. At walang naganap na romantic something kay Prince Caspian at Susan (Anna Popplewell). Marami ring mga eksena sa libro na tinanggal nila, tulad ng kung paano pinalaki si Caspian ng kanyang tiyo at tiya at ilang eksena kung saan parang nagpakita si Aslan sa mga magkakapatid ngunit hindi masyadong pinansin. Hindi rin talaga kasali si Susan sa digmaan tulad ng ipinakita sa pelikula.

Mas na-capture ng Prince Caspian ang mga eksena at mensahe ng kwento. Sa totoo lang, naging malinaw sa akin ang usapin ng spiritual warfare habang pinanonood ko ang pelikula. Mas naintindihan ko ang kahalagahan ng paninindigan sa buhay kahit na nagiisa ka lang sa pinaglalaban mo.

Nakita ko na rin ngayon ang mga pinagpareho ng Two Towers ni Tolkien at ng Prince Caspian ni Lewis, na may haring kinakailangan i-reclaim ang trono, nagiisang sundalo bihasa sa pana, isang napaka-importanteng espada, may aalis na kasama sa kalagitnaan ng digmaan at babalik ng may mga kasamang mga kakamping puno.

Bakit kelangan may reclaim something pa? Bakit kelangan almost failed yung digmaan bago darating ang mga bagong kakampi? Bakit laging may pana at lovable ang humahawak ng pana? At bakit kelangan laging puno ang tatapos ng digmaan?

"Masyado ka lang nag-ooveranalyze," madalas sabihin sa akin ni Weng. Siguro nga, masyado ko lang din binasa yung mga pelikula hindi ko na natutunan enjoyin.

Buti na lang cute si Prince Caspian. Lalo ko pang kinatuwa, cute din pala yung gumanap ni Peter (William Moseley). Buti na lang din talaga.

falling in love again

(If you really think I was going to write a full entry on romance and sweet nothings, you don't know me at all. Instead, to refresh your frustration, refer to the fireworks post for background.)

The minute I realized I was under a fireworks display with ashes falling on my face, I instantly fell in love with the moment. For me, it was one of greatest moments God ever did on Earth and I would continue to look forward to seeing another one of these whatever happens.

It has been five years since that moment and it has brought me nothing but joy until last December's fireworks in UP. Whatever happened during the late months of last year definitely had something to do with my inner frustrations and it was until later that I realized I was keeping hatred deep inside me such that even the smallest thing I would usually appreciate were nothing but mere moments of action and living.

I stopped thinking about all my bitterness the moment God made me realized the wounds I was trying to caress deep in me, seeking for nothing good for the people involved. All the hatred had gone away. Maybe it was time for me to grow up.

My friends and I decided to watch the pyrolympics at the Mall of Asia on its last day. As usual, I instantly said yes even if I knew I would have a hard time asking permission to go out that night. But it didn't matter. I was going to watch the fireworks. The thought made me happy again.

There were two sets of fireworks to be display and I have no idea who sponsored each one. As the first set started, I found myself excited, stood up and looked up. Although the rockets had shoot way up such that some were actually above us, I was actually disappointed. These were the same things I see every year and I was looking for something new. I took pictures instead.

Ok. So there was that heart shaped formation. cheesy. eew. no thanks. But then, these were fireworks and I don't usually make a fuss about it. Maybe the kid has grown up. Memories of last year keep flashing in my head.

When the second set started, I knew I had to get over the same feeling once more and this time I have to prevail. Instead of taking much pictures, I looked up to the sky and said a little greeting to God. A few minutes after, I felt myself smiling. It was that happy thought again, the feeling that left me a few months back.


It has been five years since that moment and it has brought me nothing but joy. It has been years and I'm still holding on to life. Maybe the child has to grow up in me. Maybe some things had to change. But it didn't matter. The moment the fires rained on me, I was happy. I instantly fell in love with the moment and I would be looking forward for more.

16 pesos roller coaster ride

Saturday night.

Jam, Weng, Masol & I were on our way to Jam's house for a sort-of sleepover from Mall of Asia after watching the pyrolympics. Since there were lots of people and we couldn't get a decent ride from the mall itself, we decided to take the ordinary bus passing EDSA, and crap, were we so wrong!

As the bus was passing by EDSA, it's speed started to increase. It not only overtook cars, vans, trucks and buses but it also made weird and immediate turns such that I felt like I was flying and I could easily get off the bus by going out of the window. I could clearly see how close we were to the walls of the underpass as the driver made his turns. All our hands were holding onto the seats in front of me. If I was a loud person, I could have screamed my lungs out.

What was even more funny was that other passengers on the bus were staring at us, as if we were so peculiar. They were just sitting there, as in nothing was happening.

As we were getting off the bus, one of the guys there asked, "Did you enjoy the ride?"

Crap. I am never going to ride the ordinary bus at night again.

naghahanap ng gas

Biyernes ng gabi.

Pauwi ako mula sa paghahanap ng trabaho. Sumakay ako sa may terminal sa Cubao. Halos alas otso na ng gabi ito. Matapos mapuno ang jeep, nagtungo na ito padaan ng P. Tuazon at naghanap ng gas station.

Pagpunta namin sa unang gasulinahan, puno ng jeep ang pila ng discounted. Nagintay kami ng ilang sandali ngunit wala pa kami sa unahan ng pila, may lumapit na agad sa driver at sinabing wala na silang gas, kahit yung hindi discounted.

Nagmadali yung jeep na sinasakyan ko papunta sa susunod na gas station. Marami pa ring jeep na nakapila ngunit wala na rin silang gas.

Lumipat na naman kami sa isa pang gasulinahan. Mabuti na lang may gas pa sila kaya lang wala na para sa linya ng mga PUV (public utility vehicles) na discounted ang presyo. Bagamat halos sampung piso din ang ikakamura ng discounted gas, hindi na pinansin ng driver ang presyo. Basta kailangan na raw niya makapagpasada at nagbayad na lang ng P400. Nang tiningnan ko kung gaano karaming gasulina ang nabili niya sa presyong ito, halos 8 litro lang. Sa tingin ko, hindi pa ito makakaabot hanggang Antipolo kung magkataon.

Ang pangit isipin na ilang taon lang ang nakakalipas, kalahati pa ang presyo ng gasulina sa kung ano ito ngayon. Kung tutuusin, nagtaas na naman ang presyo pagdating ng Sabado ng umaga, gayong sabi sa balita hindi naman nagtaas ang presyo ng gas sa world market, bagkus ito'y bumaba pa. Bagamat ako kong tumaas ang presyo sa pamasahe, hindi ko rin maiaalis sa mga driver ng jeep na kailangan din nilang kumita kahit papaano para mabuhay.

Tapos makakakita ka ng mga patalastas na nagsasabing gumaganda ang ekonomiya ng bansa na parang wala tayong problema. Tanga na talaga ang magsasabing hindi naghihirap ang bansang ito.

job hunt, plans, reality

It's been two months since I've been out of school and I still remain jobless until now. The company that paid for my last year in college has not contacted me yet for a job they promised me last year and I'm actually starting to lose hope on that.

Well, of course my dad has his hopes still high. Actually that's his dream for me, to see me working for that television network and eventually rise into position.

Honestly, just a few months before graduation, I've started to feel a tinge of doubt in working for that network. I knew for myself that when I took up journalism, I had nothing but newspaper in mind, to chase after deadlines and pursue political stories. I guess that desire is still trying to make its way out of me.

But then, reality bites.

Just a week ago, a friend from one of my education classes called me up to tell me that there are job openings for teacher in an international school near our area. This school is in desperate need of grade school teachers such that a lot of their teachers had gone abroad (ahem), and is therefore not that strict when it comes to requirements for job applicants. Fresh graduates are most welcome to apply, as well as non-Education majors. License is not an ultimate requirement, although is an advantage.

International school, exclusive school for girls. Grade school. (Note: most schools require extra units in Elementary Education to be taken up by teachers in order to teach for grade school) With benefits. Near the Area. This is actually a good opportunity if I really want to pursue an Education-related track. The only doubt I have in me is that there is a big possibility that I might not be able to get out of teaching and venture journalism.

Then again, I'm not so sure what my dad would be saying about this.

This afternoon, Weng, Masol and I went to a job fair in hopes to get a chance with any media-related company. Although this job fair was sponsored by a newspaper, this company itself was not looking for anyone to hire. All that's left are mostly call centers and crap, everybody here will definitely kill me if I were to get that job.

Lately, I've been thinking of what fields to venture aside from politics since there isn't much opportunity for that. (reality bites. damn it) Although children and/or education is an option since it is my advocacy, there aren't any opportunities for that in this country, unless I try applying at UNESCO (kamusta naman). I could still try to be a teacher, but then I haven't talked to my family seriously about that (haha. coward me). I've also become interested in travels, most especially after Weng and I have finished our thesis which required us to go to places we've never been. I'm also thinking of that as a field, but not like the high society, places where you can have a vacation thing. I'm more interested to focus more on unknown & unappreciated places in the country, discussing its historical and cultural aspects and put emphasis on reasons why Philippines is a place to be proud of. (Wow. Studying about indigenous cultures excites me even more).

Bottomline, I'm still trying to look for some social relevance in life even if I were not directly involved with politics.

Of course, these are all my ideas, MY plans and not taking into consideration my religion and my family. I think I need another session of that career guidance thing with a christian counselor.

more medicine drinking mornings

A week ago (yeah, I know. haven't been posting lately) I went to my doctor for my long and overdue check-up. Actually, a week after I came to see her last time (which was sometime March), the cyst reappeared for the third time. To have it removed through that process I couldn't remember the name for the third time will make me resort to surgery if ever the cyst reappeared for the nth time. Given that the cause of this lump is simply stress and that I was in the midst of my thesis back then, I decided to let it stay there until I graduate.

Anyway, the good news with this visit to the doctor is that the lump has decrease its size by half a centimeter. However, because the doctor also thought of doing the process of removing as the third time, she opted not to do it anymore. Instead, if ever the size increase again, I have to come back to her. At the same time, I have to be under medication until the year ends.

Yes, I have to drink that medicine that makes me feel dehydrated easily for another six months. Just thinking about it makes me feel sicker even more. I really don't enjoy medicine-drinking morings at all.

small world syndrome

My family is getting ready for yet another youth camp of our church. We had one about a month ago, and this one is due to popular demand of another batch of missionaries. As you can see, these missionaries no longer care if the weather is too hot if they would be able to spent at least three days on the beach with our youth. Anyway...

And since the youth camp is almost free (we make it appear that it isn't but it actually almost is. haha. got you confused here), people (and by people, I mean children and teenagers) I have never seen in my life or if I did they're not so significant to have their faces registered in my brain (I'm better with photographic memory rather than memorization per se) appear in church the day before we leave. Don't get wrong, I'd like to give them the benefit of the doubt but really, the fact that the number of kids double the Sunday before the youth camp pisses me off.

Then again, maybe it's just my my love-for-the-small-world syndrome. My snob personality breaks free everytime the number of people around me increases. Damn it.

And I guess that's precisely the reason I'm writing right now. My mother has been receiving text messages of kids asking permission to join the camp. Apparently, from the usual 30 something number, we've reached around 60 people this time and my favorite people are not even coming! This includes my brother, Kuya Jonell, Millet, Helen, Nieves.

Argh! My small world is being offended. How will I survive my three days with a dozen of Canadians whose names I couldn't remember at all and a few more dozen of younger kids I don't usually talk to because I look scary to them! Kuya Jonell had been saving me from this syndrome by keeping me company (and crap, that's why a lot of missionaries had already thought we're dating which by the way is so out this world). And with my brother not around, who will save me from my syndrome?

Plans are literally running through my mind. Maybe I can bring my laptop and a few DVDs just in case I started to feel curling up again. I had all my batteries recharged for my mp3 and digital camera which will also keep me company. I've prepared a lot of papers in case I want to write. Argh! I feel so pathetic.

I won't be around for three days and if the next post is another ranting session, you'd probably know why. God help me...

high school reunion

My high school organized a grand reunion for all its alumni supposedly held today at Parkridge Clubhouse.

I was quite cynical about it, actually. For one thing, it's not as if the school had already reached its silver year of existence, most especially the high school department. If I remember it correctly, we graduated as the 6th batch from the school (and that was just like five years ago). And there's really not much to celebrate.

And then of course, there's some sort of payment here, P250 that is. For a person not yet employed by any of the capitalists institutions, the money I would be paying here would probably be from my parents. I feel like being made a consumer, taken advantage by an institution for that supposedly once-in-a-bluemoon experience of seeing your former classmates again.

Don't get me wrong. If my school needed funds, they could have at least asked for it in a more explicit manner such that I would not have felt that they made the experience a commodity and I would have readily promised at least some sort of help. Do I sound so bitter still?

Well, let's just say I have not had the best experiences in that school and if there would be a reason for me to go to that reunion, it would simply be because my friends are coming. Let me further emphasize the words. MY FRIENDS. Simply said, you meet a lot of people in high school, the real ones and the not-so-real ones. Besides, I've always been curling up as the number of people around me increases so I guess, I really have my doubts of going to that party. Come to think of it, I don't like parties at all.

Anyway, what really happened today is just a get together. Instead of going to a crappy high school reunion, we (Airah, Rica, Maui and Shamaine who is only 2 hours younger than me) headed for Eastwook City to grab dinner and talk. It was my first time to eat at Dencio's and I was actually quite conscious of the food I eat because of my allergies. Since this is a restaurant that serves alcohol, much of their meats go best with the drinks, which meant food that easily triggers my allergies. (Let me just say this, damn allergy)

Seeing and talking to these people reminds me of how nasty and nice I had been when I was younger. Yes, I had been more reserved then and the closest to me are the only ones who would hear me rant but I really rant bad. Being with them now, however, made me realized that I had been happier these past few years, that I was able to open myself up and be more honest with myself and others without actually getting myself in trouble. While I intentionally detached myself from my batchmates years back to look for a happier me, instead of actually going to a reunion pretending to be so tactful and yet dishonest to myself I guess is less worthwhile than having to realize myself for free. (ahem, ahem. I still hate payments though. haha)

another visit to UP

I went to UP yesterday to claim our graduation pictures.

And crap, how it reminds me of how we were hoarded by the photographers, corsage sellers and what else is there to sell the minute we got off the car. Even if you say no to them, they would still follow you to the door of Cine Adarna just to make you buy. It's stressful.

Anyway, I went to their booth in front of Cine Adarna and they made me look for my pictures. After going through piles of pictures, I was able to find only three out of the 11 pictures I paid.

I had to start teasing the staff there, that if they could not give me what I paid for, I will be demanding for refund. They promised to look for it this week.

It's such a waste if I came to UP just for that picture and so I paid my EDCO professor a visit, who already gave me a deadline for my paper. Not only that, she also made a few changes with the things she wants me to do in that paper. Although I did not promise her to pass before May 14, I might actually have it done by Friday.

Oh well. I'm glad it's almost over. I can now start looking for a job.

feminist

“You are in no way a feminist,” our Canadian friend told me.

Kuya Jonell asked me last night how my driving lessons went. I told him I was having problems with the clutch simply because I couldn’t very well reach it, even if I had pulled the seat closest possible. Simply said, I find myself rather too small to drive a Pajero.

Of course, Kuya Jonell and Darell found it very funny and I have nothing against it. However, Darell reacted a bit further.

“You’re going to have other problems in driving as well, because you’re a girl.”

I don’ know if it was my activist side that burst out but I realized myself talking without thinking, as if offended to what maybe an unintended comment.

“What problems? That I would not be taken seriously as driver? That girls are unusual drivers? That girls are not so aggressive on the street and that if a man damages my car, he would take advantage to put the blame on me simply because I’m a girl?”

“No. That was a joke, a guy joke.”

Well actually, it didn’t matter to me if it was a joke or not but having such a comment irritates me. But of course, I couldn’t be as harsh as I would often be against these comments thinking that this person is helping out our church in the construction of a new building.

“Careful. Feminist.” (referring to myself).

“You are in no way a feminist.”

“I am, although not the radical kind but I am.”

“Feminists are lesbian, and you’re not.”

Wow. What an observation! A Feminist = Lesbian equation is so sweeping generalization.

Whether I truly am a feminist or just in the making, I am not sure. But one thing is for certain. I’ve always hated discriminatory jokes, may it be racial, gender, or physical discrimination against a person. I do not have to take on another gender role for me to realize that there are people who look down on others because of their sexuality. All are equal and should be respected for what they are.

Don’t get me wrong. This friend of mine is not totally prejudiced. I have heard comments from him that are to be very much appreciated. I remember a time when he spent a night helping out a bunch of high school kids of missionaries in the country. He hated the idea that these missionaries (and their kids even) had been staying in the country for more than 10 years and yet knows nothing of the Filipino language, much more the culture. He saw a foreigner buying mangoes that morning. She and vendor couldn’t understand each other. Not that the vendor couldn’t understand English, but the foreigner wanted to buy a single piece of mango, something that may be possible in their country that doesn’t apply here.

He could be socially relevant, but he could be so greatly unfair as well.

“I don’t have to be a lesbian to be at some point a feminist,” were the last thoughts I said before I switched the topic back to car driving.

then again

I don’t know if it has something to do with my idle moments at home but I sure do feel so bum at home to the point that I think I’m ready to work.

Then again, it’s just the bum moments.

Right when I started my classless days (and before I found out officially that one of my professors gave me an incomplete grade), I had listed things I wanted to do before I start working, much of which are artsy stuff. I guess I was hoping to give my artistic side a chance.

Haha. I actually want to try sand art, shirt designs and henna tattoo. But mind you, I want to be the one who paints the tattoo and not the one to have it on.

And then there’s what others, my family most especially, wanted me to do. My dad has been bugging me for weeks to apply to grad school. It’s not that I don’t want it. I just feel it’s not yet time for that.

At the same time, my dad has been expressing extreme desire to force me to learn to drive. Again, it’s not that I don’t want it. All he does, however, is talk about it but never actually had the time for it. Kuya Jonell has of course long offered to teach me but my parents never liked the idea that someone else will be teaching me.

I have to say this. I have been bombarded with lines in relation to marriage, as if I was to get married before the year ends! Seriously now.

Then again, I feel so worthless lately, like I couldn’t do the things I suppose to do, as if my internal organs are not in the mood to function properly either.

And then again, I am not in my best state of mind I guess. Anyone care to join me for ice cream?

graduation

I recall when the student council ushered for last year’s graduation. I was unintentionally assigned at the front door, where the graduates are to line up for the procession, where the parents are to be assisted to their seats, where everybody seems to be asking for information and clarification which basically meant, I did all the shouting and something related to that.

I remember how hard it was to tell the graduates to fall in line. It seems like everyone was so excited. Everybody was busy taking pictures. Once they heard the music for the processional, almost all of them shouting in excitement and relief.

I remember the look my fellow council members gave me seeing that the graduates were miles away from being in order. I told them it’s ok. Once the line starts moving, they will realize it’s time them to move as well. Who knows, we might do the same thing when it’s time for us to graduate.

Haha. I was definitely not wrong. I saw Marian’s struggle to put us in order and everyone seemed to be too slow, including me that is. And once the music started, it was as if everyone was shouting with the same emotions I thought to have last year.

But then, I also have to consider that I was once in Marian’s position as an usher and was it hard as well. And so, I did not enjoy as much picture-taking as most of us did. The ones whose surnames were far from letter “T” and were not journalism majors were the ones I missed, like Bikoy, Tope, Patti, Ayeen, Preng, Jam (my cam didn’t work well when we tried to take a picture), Marian and Ruth (even though we were not in the same batch, I spent a year of struggle with them).

And so, the pictures on the side were the ONLY ones I got. So sad. (ahem, ahem. donate hahaha)

But I have to say this. I am so thankful Karol was able to find me at the end of the line (like 205th of the 210 graduates). If he hadn’t done so, I wouldn’t have had a picture with him. (Don’t react. What happened within the council for the past year is so over and we are now good friends, nothing more, nothing less.)

So this is really it.

* a few more notes of the event *

Since we came early that morning (which is so unsual for my mother who is definitely a late person), I spent most of my waiting time pointing out to my mother the people, which of course included the group leader, the professor I got so starstrucked, and a few other enemies (hahaha. kidding).

Of course I was hoping my parents would get to meet Sir Arao, the very first person to actually believe that I am somehow related to Sir Teodoro.

Again, I just have to say this but Weng and I knew from the very start Jam was going to win the GMA President's Medal Award, even if she describes how farfetched that could be. As friends, we always knew and she actually did.

Anyway, life goes on.

what a day

Today is my brother's 20th birthday. This day too, my grandmother died.

DVDs

After my almost-not-graduating situation, I decided to treat myself to sessions of movie marathon. Right after I talked to my professor, I went straigh to Quiapo for some DVD hunting.

So, ok. Now I'm admitting that I'm actually a supporter of the pirated DVDs but I can't help it. I love watching films, and this piracy thing has provided me the opportunity not only to escape from all the stress and pressure I feel, but as sort of personal statement that much of the Asian films are a lot better than the Western ones.

No. This has nothing to do with my activist side. I guess it must be all the intertextuality and semiotics present in Asian films which characterized the tastes of the Asian audience.

Anyway, after months of delving into Korean television series, I went in search for Japanese series this time, as suggested by friends who have enjoyed quite a lot of this type of series. Now, I've seen quite a few on tv, much of which I really didn't like, Hana Yori Dango for one. Although it did have an blockbuster plot, the lines and camera handling was pathetic. But sure, my friends have a good taste of films and so I should try seeing what they've suggested.

The first one I got was One Liter of Tears, which is about a fifteen year old lady who had spinocerebral degeneration. What makes this series interesting is that it was based on the Kito Aya's diary and so much of what the series had presented almost felt real. Later did I imagine when I was watching that I would literally cry a liter of tears. I actually enjoyed the series to the point that I have been recommending it to almost everyone.

Oh well. Having to enjoy the Japanese series lately, I guess I do have something to do when I feel so bum at home waiting for a company to call me.

making sure

After accompanying Lisa to UA&P, we went to UP in hopes to get my clearance and make sure I am to graduate in two weeks.

Crap. Long line for the clearance. As it appears, many graduating students are after a copy of their grades for the application for license exam. And since there were lots of students, the administrator opted to prioritize those who were for the purpose of the copy of grades. I left anyway.

I visited Ate Terry, the one assigned for the student records, who already exclaimed that I was cleared of all my requirements for graduation. As it turns out, she had been texting me and calling me at home to check and remind me that the last day for filing for graduating students is on April 17.

Funny. I repeated to her, "So Ate, gagraduate ako?"

"Oo naman."

"Pwede akong umatend ng university graduation?"

"Oo nga."

hapines :D

meeting with the professor

Given that I was notified that my EDCO professor is handling summer classes, I checked her schedule and came to the college in time for her break, which by the way is less than 20 minutes.

I checked her classroom and seeing that no one was there, I went to the department. There I heard a baby crying which only meant she was there. I waited for some time so that she could calm her daughter and it wouldn't be much of a bother for her. Her son went out of the room. Realizing I was there, he called out her mom. The child was quiet by that time.

"Oi! Ano na?" were the first words my professor said to me when she saw me. At least she knew it was I who had been bothering her for some time. She started explaining that she couldn't accept the papers I passed last week because it would be unfair for others. But then, since I was graduating, she had to think of a project as soon as possible. When I told her I was only aiming for the college graduation because we did not make it to the deadline for the university graduation, she was quite shocked. As it appears, she didn't know about the deadline.

Anyway, she wanted me to interview two Gawad Chanselor awardees for Natatanging Guro, ask them about classroom management and then assess the classroom situation as explained by the professor to answer the question why they won the award.

And since such project will need more time, the professor already gave me a grade so that I can graduate. I however, promised to pass the requirements by May. (Taga nyo sa bato. I will pass that requirement as promised).

And so, after everything that has happened, I'm still graduating on time.

I just found out too. I might actually make it to the university list of graduating students.

Don't you just love God for this? : )

still blessed despite all these

(disclaimer: if you're not so religious, might as well not read this. haha)

Every time I open my YM and my emails, messages would pop out from friends expressing their sympathy, hope on my situation and I guess I've never felt so blessed to have such people around me.

Come to think of it, this situation I am in is not as big as a matter of life and death to provoke people with such reactions. There's a lot of other pertinent things to worry about, like that rice shortage, oil and basic necessities price hike. But then, here they are, telling me that they'll pray for me and how I love them more.

This somehow reminds me of the book It's Not About Me by Max Lucado. In one of his chapters, he posed the question, are people strengthened by your struggles? "Your faith in the face of suffering cranks up the volume of God's song."

Maybe my situation, as simple as it can be, had somehow made other people look once more to their long-forgotten faith in hopes that their prayers will help me. Whatever, I am ready to accept this unfortunate event anyway. It's not a messianic thought to compensate whatever desperation I feel. If God will be glorified in whatever that is happening, I will smile and welcome it with open arms. Because in the first place, (Romans 11: 36) "[f]or from Him and through Him and to Him are all things. To God be the glory forever!"