Nothing I dream is new

20 & anything goes

1. I have trouble holding down a job. In my first job, I was an account manager in a PR company for barely 2 months. I hated my boss and my officemates (there were only 5 of them, boss included.) I was a program researcher for a TV show but I only worked there 6 months. I hated the people there 100 times more. This is the reason why I couldn’t stay in one company: I have a hard time pretending to be nice around people I dislike / di ko vibes for various reasons (e.g. unprofessional, too loud, freeloaders, backstabbers etc.) The longest I’ve ever been employed was 10 months. I just bummed around and did freelance gigs, and mostly went to school in between all that.

2. I do miss having an office job. If ever I find another job, I’ll probably quit it again in less than a year. HA!

3. I loathe unnecessary plastikan. I’m getting too old for that.

4. Most of what I do today is influenced by my mood. I’m so afraid my mood swings have taken over my life that I can’t become productive anymore.

5. Despite my lack of commitment to any type of job, being late for classes or meetings, and not having any real structure in my life for the past 2 and a half years, I am in fact what you call a manang. Proof: I spend Friday nights at home with chips and soda / tea / coffee AND a lovely book. I don’t keep alcohol for myself at home (well, not anymore.)

6. On the evening of my high school graduation, I got a call from my old yaya who left when I was ten years old. After congratulating me, she asked if I already knew I was adopted. I had no idea what she was talking about, so I tried my best to sound unsurprised. I ended up sort of saying I’ve known it for a while. When I asked who told her I was adopted, she simply said one of our other maids (her cousin) revealed it to her. I didn’t believe her because something about how she knew a thing like that seemed fishy. However unconvinced, I still felt insecure. What if it was true? I started fishing for information from my brother, the other maids, and my folks. You could imagine how my heart dropped when my brother said he couldn’t remember our mom being pregnant with me. Of course he could have been too young to remember, but it still left me worried. Anyway, to cut the long story short, I talked to our oldest maid and I found out it’s just a joke one of the yaya’s made up which my old yaya apparently took too seriously. What a bummer.

7. I’ve had pneumonia 3 times in my 25 years of existence. Most of my friends know I quit smoking (except when I was in Dumaguete, but I haven’t touched a stick since I came back) and this, aside from my fear of getting cancer, is the reason why. I was 16 when I first got sick with it not knowing how serious it was after coughing and wheezing for a month. I got well after taking antibiotics for a week every six hours. The second time I had it was after a medical exam administered by the college I was attending. A week later the family doctor said I got it again. I got really scared the third time around (call me paranoid but I think it’s bronchitis!) I swear to god if I get it again it might be the end of me.

8. There was a time I dated a girl in college when my then boyfriend was away in Ilo-ilo. The girl turned out to have a girlfriend as well. An even sadder story? When we both decided to return to our partners, none of our relationships worked out. It took us a year to talk casually with each other again. We endured another 2 years of awkwardly working together on group projects (e.g. shooting a film for an entire semester.) After we graduated, I messaged her just to say I was sorry. The girl asked to meet me and I never replied. We’re still friends on FB.

9. I received an indecent proposal when I was working in GMA. A gay make-up artist tried to convince me to sleep with a lesbian balik bayan from the U.K. He thought I’d be delighted with the prospect of having a sugar mama. (I wonder why?)

10. Other indecent proposals: When I was 19, a girl who was stalking me on Multiply asked if I was interested in having a threesome with her and her ex-boyfriend. I was so young and innocent I turned it down. Today I think I should put this on my bucket list. (We’ll see?)

11. I have never seen A Walk to Remember.

12. Four years ago, I almost got caught with marijuana when the police stopped our car for a random check-point under the Katipunan flyover. My ex-boyfriend and I were in a friend’s car and we were smoking weed on our way to Mag:net (oh god where have I been?!) We noticed the police before hitting the U-turn slot and pulled over a few blocks. We opened our windows and turned the A/C on full blast. Our friend came prepared with Lysol. We hid the stash under my seat. After briefing ourselves with what to say when the police asked us stuff, we went for it. It was one of the scariest experiences of my life. Good thing they didn’t have a drug sniffing dog. I remember laughing like a retard after passing the police, but I was depressed for 3 days after that.

13. I was a member of our parish choir for 5 years. I used to love singing in church. I even learned how to play the guitar in church.

14. I am vacillating between agnosticism and atheism. Don’t worry; I am very tolerant with religious beliefs EXCEPT the bigoted kind.

15. I’ve tried sending my CV to schools in hopes of becoming a college professor. Good luck with that.

16. I am mostly insecure about everything because I know that whatever I do well can be done better by someone else. It’s a very humbling thought, and also a very inhibiting one.

17. Latest realization: Nothing’s / nobody’s worth all the trouble. At the end of the day, you only have yourself. Well, that’s just me.

18. I don’t invest energy on being liked anymore. I think I’m merely making life easier for all of us. I’ve let go of some social aspects of myself for a year now. I really don’t mind if people find me boring, inattentive, insensitive, aloof etc. It’s mostly true. And I find that being away from a lot of people keeps me from wondering what other people think of me (did I say anything offensive? did I do well enough? why is so and so mean towards me? etc.,) an activity which isn’t exactly productive either. But when I’m there, I’m there. I give you all my time and attention.

19. What makes me sad: Having impossible standards even I can’t achieve.

20. Truth: I am a better reader/critic than I am a writer. 

As much as I’d like to claim I am a writer, I’m not sure I’ll ever be good enough to become one. I've always had to remind myself that the writing and the poetry is all just part of it. The goal has always been to live.

Nowhere Chronicles (Part 2)

After resigning, it took me a month to find another job. I kept my expectations simple. I didn’t bother to make any real long-term plans. I told myself I’d save money to travel, watch all the concerts I wanted, read more books, get inked, hang-out with friends and basically do what every person in their early twenties wanted. I was looking for work which came with a decent salary, and hopefully lesser stress. I wanted to have enough time for myself.

When an HR person called back to tell me I was hired, I was pretty happy. I specifically intended to take a fair-paying writing job. It meant less social stress because I didn’t have to coordinate with a lot of people. It also meant I could do something I actually liked, which was writing. It wasn’t any creative writing post, but I accepted the offer and officially became a web content writer. I said it before, and I’d say it again: it was the best pseudo writing job I ever took. A job with definite work hours allowed me to draw a thick line between my professional and personal life. My initial expectations were fulfilled of course, and somehow unexpectedly, I met a few friends along the way. For a good while I was able to afford most of the things I couldn’t buy when I was in college (mostly clothes, shoes, and books, and even the very laptop I’m using today) and reached a certain level of financial independence. For the first time, I had a regular job with social security, health benefits, and generous incentives. I knew I could afford to move out of the house if I worked a few months longer. More importantly, I felt my family respected me a bit more, seeing that I was responsible and able enough to support myself.

However, just like any job, it came with its own set of impediments. As expected, I didn’t grow fond of my other workmates. And like any typical BPO, we were overworked; we rendered overtime hours daily for months, sometimes until Saturday mornings. As to whether that kind of work was interesting or fun, it was certainly a very monotonous one. It only took a few hours of churning out generic websites for anyone to get bored out of their wits. It's worth mentioning the company allows one to practice technical writing, and for web designers, basic graphics and lay-outing skills. But anyone in their right mind knows this isn’t the kind of job they should settle for. Still, these were the least of my concerns.

My real setback was the odd hours. The work required me to render night shifts for two weeks at a time, a serious constraint that messed up my social life (yes, I have relationships,) body clock, and overall health. I knew it was becoming a hindrance when it was slowly becoming difficult to have a life outside of work. It's the kind of stress that builds up exponentially until you're burnt-out. In a way, the nature of work somehow dictates the psychological and emotional space left for people to dwell in. The second one, which I consider the major setback, came eight months later when the company forced most of its writers to take calls instead. It meant working graveyard hours permanently. The change really threw me out of my comfort zone, and once again, I felt the urge to move away.

During that time, I was in a relationship that was turning cold, my father was diagnosed with a rare type of cancer, and I was slowly losing interest in my work. Good people in the company cheered me up from time to time and it kept me going a bit longer. I was in denial of my depression. Now, I wouldn’t go through all the convoluting details of my resignation. By the end of that year, I knew I wouldn’t be working in the company anymore.

If you’ll ask me whether my co-workers there had any sympathy for what they did, I’d have to say I saw some of it in my team leaders and close workmates. Then again, most of the people who signed up to become day-sleepers certainly weren’t in it to “help businesses.” They were there for the money, and they stayed there so they can support their families financially. If they really cared at all, it’s only because they had important connections with people in the company.  

Despite these disadvantages, looking back, I wouldn’t say that BPO stint was a waste of time. I have always sought value in the things I did, whether it meant I’d earn income or simply feel a sense of fulfillment. What turned out to be one of the most stressful times of my life also afforded me enough space for myself to think about what purpose I wish to commit myself to. I had time to engage in personal writing projects, read good books, and communicate with people who had more or less the same concerns. I enjoyed a degree of solitude yet felt that I wasn’t completely alone. It was bittersweet.

By ten months I had an idea what I was saving all my money for. It wasn’t just for vacations, concert tickets, or an apartment. I was still in that place where I didn’t know what to do with what I wanted, but I figured an academic atmosphere should help give me much needed direction. When I left the company, I decided I would go back to school. I had to learn how to write better—that was the plan.

Nowhere Chronicles (Part 1)

Three years ago, I made a decision to quit my job as a program researcher for a television network in pursuit of another career path which I hope would bring me closer to my true self.

Barely a year out of college and six months into production work, I had hardly known what I was giving up my job for. At that time, the most rational decision to make was work long enough to get promoted as a segment producer even if it meant being a contractual employee who didn’t receive any medical or social security benefits for years (most of my bosses were still contractual employees when I left.) Working conditions could get rather toxic especially for a newbie in the field. While we didn’t have to go to the office daily, being a researcher meant overseeing everything from start to finish, so I was practically working until I went to bed. Although some of my research assignments were fun and interesting—going different places and meeting popular personalities, testing beauty products to tasting unique dishes, shooting with a professional camera and making decisions that gave me a degree of artistic freedom—my enthusiasm to perform well gradually waned.

When I left my post, I convinced myself it must have been the low pay and lack of real security which drove me to search for another job, preferably a more comfortable one. Looking back, it was more than that. It must have been the people I worked with and their demanding, often complacent and unprofessional attitudes that caused my anxiety. It was inevitable because production is all about team work. Ultimately, I had this growing resentment towards my co-workers for failing to own up to their shortcomings and pointing their fingers on the easiest person or thing to blame. At the same time, knowing some form of politics will always be present in any office, I was aware moving to a different workplace wouldn’t rid me of this problem. We simply cannot choose the kind of people we can work with. Nevertheless, I found comfort in the idea of moving away.

Unfortunately for my co-workers, the introvert in me happened to dislike most of them. At first it was the act of not spending too much time with people I felt uncomfortable with. I would only deal with them when my work required me to. I usually had lunch or dinner alone. I didn’t stay in our cubicle when most of my co-workers were there. Short cigarette breaks with some members of the crew were alright. But after working with them for months, it proved difficult to draw the line between my work and personal life. I could only imagine how this was for senior researchers and producers, losing all distinction between professional and personal life, becoming used to eating, sleeping, and bathing in the office with strange people for days at a time.  

The general atmosphere was one of constant pressure to deliver; it wasn’t enough to meet the deadline, we had to be good or we’d get a mean and embarrassing remark from our producer. It was quite terrifying, to be honest. I was afraid my contract would not be renewed (which was baseless because if they really got rid of people, they should have axed half of the crew a long time ago.) Though my co-workers were just as afraid to face our producer, I figured they’ve gotten so used to her bitching that it didn’t affect their performance anymore. Most of them, I felt, did not have any real sense of sympathy for their job. It didn’t matter how they accomplished it, as long as it was done. And it didn’t matter whom I worked with, I was always left compromised. When something went wrong, they would rather put someone else under the bus. It was every man for himself.

Was I able to rise above the expectations, deal with unprofessional co-workers? I think so. I knew it was only a matter of time until I got promoted and received better salary. Given the nature of the work, I wasn’t the only person thinking of resigning. In fact, a few were already leaving at the time, and staying there guaranteed I’d get dibs on a better post. However, by then even this thought did not ease my anxiety.

I was uncertain of a lot of things, but I was sure working in production or media in general wasn’t the right career for me. I couldn’t imagine myself doing that kind of work for the next twenty or so years. Underneath all the rationalizing, what I really hoped to find was something closer to who I was. It wasn’t that I didn’t like shooting features or writing scripts. Apart from struggling with difficult people, it just came to a point where the stresses outweighed what made production work interesting and meaningful. So, I thought: If I was going to do something for the rest of my life, it had to be something I was really interested in and passionate about. It had to be something worth doing. If a career would require me to associate with people I’m uncomfortable with (which frankly means everyone) and if it would demand so much of my life, I must do something I truly love. So, what is it? I had to ask myself that.

The most frightening thing wasn’t that I didn’t know; it was the fact that I actually had an idea what it was. Somewhere inside, I knew. I didn’t understand what I was going through, so I shrugged it off for a while longer. I didn’t really know what to do with what I wanted. 

Where words would never do.

I just wanted to make you something beautiful
--Industries of the Blind

Harmony in the Boudoir

After years of marriage, he stands at the foot of the bed and
tells his wife that she will never know him, that for everything
he says there is more that he does not say, that behind each
word he utters there is another word, and hundreds more be-
hind that one. All those unsaid words, he says, contain his true
self, which has been betrayed by the superficial self before her.
"So you see," he says, kicking off his slippers, "I am more than
what I have led you to believe I am." "Oh, you silly man," says
his wife, "of course you are. I find that just thinking of you
having so many selves receding into nothingness is very excit-
ing. That you barely exist as you are couldn't please me more."


-- Mark Strand

Begin Again

Dream, how I dream to feel
Dream, how I dream to feel

And everything will fill with light
A golden sun would fool this night

And all that is and ever was
Begin again, begin again.