My tears are not wasted

24 February 2013

No week in 2013 has passed without me crying. I always felt for people and I do not run out of reasons to cry.

As I run through every spot in a thick blood smear under the low power objective, I kept thinking that I had to do what I was doing well. A person’s life depended on what I was doing – we (June and I) were giving diagnosis for lymphatic filariasis. Then our statistician’s father experienced ventricular defibrillation. If not for a balloon stent procedure, he would’ve died. And our diagnostic parasitology expert is in very bad shape – she probably would not recover fully for employment.  

Other than all those, I saw continuously how other people had to accept blame for other people’s actions (Paul for our immediate supervisor’s idea about adding arrows. How my immediate supervisor assumed I wrote the articles on the bulletin he had many corrections on when actually our male research associate penned all the articles where he found a lot of errors.) and how people’s efforts are unappreciated or disregarded (Paul worked much on clock and shirt designs but they all reverted to zero status; all input the team put in it eclipsed by the team leader’s decision.). Power play was also evident with how other people misinterpreted what others meant and how they would not accept other people’s explanations simply because the other is of a lower status. (I meant by my presentation that the diagnostic parasitology expert position would be vacant so the IEC material I was assigned to do couldn’t push through without having that position filled in. And I also tried to present GAHI mapping in such a way that they would have it clear for them how the data we contribute would be presented in the GAHI site. The team leader refused to listen. I was operating on half of my wits; I was not hearing what he was saying that I went on showing at once the output contrary to what I planned. I should’ve stood up for myself. Next time I would make sure I get my point across.)

How the team’s system works, how though it is set with an intention of optimizing outputs, it is a setback that frustrates people from having open communication and exercising team efficiency. I do want to break the cycle. Boldness come hither, I call unto you. I am asserting my human birthright of power, love and self-control. My power to not become affected by my conjured thoughts of other people about me and to accept censure without taking it to heart, my not being easily frustrated or fully dejected and dissuaded, is not complete. I lack boldness. At times I let it lie low. I do not channel it when I have to make my point clear, I do not fight for myself even when I know I have a point. Reticence is helpful but it is not what all situations call for. I can handle rejection but I am not willing to risk yet. Acknowledging my passivity should push me to become assertive and get me into the gambling game of human dynamics.

There was also this experience of seeing how people, through being in an esteemed position for long (actually growing old with that title) could become so self-important in his own mind, as if only his thoughts mattered; that he knew everything already. What a mistake. He will remain stagnant and would eventually decay if he would no longer be open to other people’s ideas.

I saw where I stood. I remain in the learner’s category, I allowed myself to be wrong and to make mistakes. But I was too much into it. I have to be a learner who will be able to risk failure just to learn; not a learner who does not aim to win as she learns. I should be forgiving of myself when I do something wrong but that doesn’t justify my allowing myself to be wrong always; I should aim to do things right the first time. I can be wrong every time but I should venture out being wrong if that would eventually lead me into being right. So I should speak out what’s on my mind regardless of who I am talking to; my thoughts are important too. I also shouldn’t settle with being wrong. If I got it wrong now, I should get it right along the way and be gracious to accept if I am again proven wrong.

I have enlisted myself under a hierarchy of supervision (2 seniors then 3 research associates then the immediate supervisor, also a research associate, endorses the output for the team leader’s scrutiny) which doesn’t work that way in reality. My female senior approved before a version of the poster. After getting the other senior’s approval for it, the immediate supervisor was already signing it for endorsement but the female senior saw it and wanted some changes. Another instance was when the male research associate said he’s okay with the bulletin so I could have it checked by the immediate supervisor. The immediate supervisor signed it for endorsement then the male research associate said he would now edit the write-up. Isn’t this system confusing? Just when will I have any output delivered out of my hands. I also cannot understand yet how to deal with each one in the team. Aside from those, my mother is the main beneficiary of my prayer petitions. She is recently beleaguered by debt and Shiela’s alarming conditions. Her attacks occur almost without breaks, going on even if she’s already too exhausted with it she’s already asleep (Seizures in sleep for an eight year old!). Really, I could file a complaint on heaven’s desk on cruelty for what they’re letting us go through.

But I can’t. I’m grateful. I am grateful my Shiela’s alive to suffer intensely without having to understand that she does. I am grateful that my mom has begged on every person she knows to lend her money and is having her heart broken by it. I am grateful that Sam’s having it hard with her school requirements that she causes mom to worry when she goes home late.  I am grateful that I am having difficulty with how I would address and attend to each person in the office, the immediate group, and I am not earning enough to contribute pay to halt being in arrears.  This is the truth. What else can I do with it? Can I peddle it on the streets and expect Maalaala Mo Kaya to get wind of my story and eventually pay for its copyright?  (Then I would have a solution for a part of our money issues.) I don’t know anymore how else I am going to react to all of this other than to be grateful. I have no choice. I do not know what else to do. The present may be very bleak. But it doesn’t end here yet.

Why am I so sure? Because of the one I sleep with every night, the reason why I can’t sleep and the same cause of my being soundly asleep – my dream. It keeps me awake at night; I could hardly sleep because I would not consciously think of them then. I also get to sleep deep because I know that each morning that comes after would provide me with an opportunity to make it real. I do not doubt still that it will all become real.

I am also sure that my dreams would materialize because I am not abandoned; I still taste and see that the Lord is good. I will not neglect how I have been very well provided for. I am living the way others dream of – I live in a condominium unit. I live in a condominium unit I do not own but pay for a minimal fee out of the owners’ kindness. I still get to eat three meals a day. In fact I have gone to places and had experiences I otherwise wouldn’t have access to if not for work. I went to UNILAB Bayanihan Annex building in Mandaluyong for a forum and was in room K with schistosomiasis experts. I also went to Century Park Sheraton Hotel where I was in the grand ballroom with scientists in the country. I saw in person people of rank; I never surmised the seatmate I was chatting to be a guest speaker until she was before the podium, delivering her speech. I had a taste of meals for rich people, meals I would not get to eat (or would dare to spend for) on ordinary days.

I still have people near me who affirm me and we still have chances to be together. DJ and I were in the Metropolitan Museum of Manila yesterday. There each art work presented me with freedom - challenging me to interpret and appreciate them as I wish. Each exhibit piece was not right or wrong or beautiful or ugly as long as it was there. (It made me long to be seen that way, as someone to be respected simply for existing - as someone who was not beautiful or ugly, healthy or sick, intelligent or dumb, good or bad.  I wish people saw through each person that way.) I was to react to them, they were to illicit from me thoughts that I usually don’t get to think. And my thoughts on them would not be wrong or right but would simply be thoughts on them. They do not get their value from my thoughts just as they do not get their value from how they look, how they take up space in people’s consciousness, what they were made of or who made them. Though the pieces were immobile, they were free. They presented a layer of the dimension that is detached from convention. My favorite piece was Venus, a plaster of Paris statue by Guillermo Tolentino. And I am most disappointed that Hidalgo’s The Boat of Acheron is not in our territory. I was fawning at a copy of it at the Met. (I even told DJ that by virtue of jus sanguinis, since Hidalgo’s a Filipino, we have a right to demand the painting back.)

We also ate at Bon Chon (My first Bon Chon chicken after I first heard of that brand during my MT boards September last year). I wasn’t hindered in any way when I was with DJ so that must be where the fun I had stemmed from. That girl knows a lot. I hope I didn’t bore her. I wish she had fun as well.

So here I am again, instead of sulking, proclaiming that all I have now came to me out of grace, not something I have worked for or deserved to get. I received them by mercy or just because it was a natural mandate; a spontaneous event that had nothing to do with me except that I receive it. Thank you for everything Sovereign Lord. Everything – be they favorable or not. Thank you as well for the choice of enjoying and learning from everything. Thanks for choosing me as an object of your abiding faithful love.

It is God who arms me with strength and makes my way perfect.

                                                                                                                     Psalm 18: 32

Everything is meaningless

22 February 2013

I spent six hours of my life filling up an excel data file. Then that file, just before I was to send it to my immediate supervisor, became corrupted. I was supposed to get mad or annoyed or angry. But I smiled instead and had dinner (It’s almost 10pm; I had my last meal at 2pm). Now I am going to fill it up again. I don’t know how long it would take me this time. But I wouldn’t meet the deadline, 11:59pm.

I was supposed to be frustrated or exasperated. I wasn’t. What does this mean? Why am I at peace? Why was it automatic and instantaneous for me to think that I have to do it again anyway so why complain at all? Why was it natural for me to reason out, “Hey, it’s not accomplishing the task that matters, but the development of your character?”

That brings back to mind my conversation with my immediate supervisor yesterday. Finally, he endorsed the WOW Bulletin by signing the printout with his initials. He explained again that he had to insist on getting the layout and the write-up passable; he had been so strict with himself on his lay-out of the Highlights handout of NIH’s 15^th anniversary. I borrowed the copy and parsed through its pages. He condensed all information, historical and otherwise about NIH into those pages. How many times had he succumbed to the orders of his superiors? Then among the first pages, I caught sight of Dra. Perla Ocampo’s photo. She died without living through the fulfillment of her dream but she was able to start it by being the main founder of NIH. Me, will I even get to start my dreams? I was troubled I cannot appreciate the ledger anymore. He, my immediate supervisor, what will he gain for coming up with Highlights which only about 20 people would receive, 20 high profile people who would be too busy to even lift the front cover.

I wanted to swoon then. How many more people would not gain satisfaction proportional to the efforts they expended? That grim thought caused me to sleep deeply last night, not wanting to wake up as much as I usually did.

God has been giving me very diverse days lately. He made me realize that what I once held dear and what others built their lives around has no value. Maybe that was why Solomon continuously stresses in Ecclesiastes that everything is meaningless. Let’s laugh together now dearest Father; the efforts of humans are futile but Your will prevails.

There are no terrible days, only terrific ones

20 February 2013

Even the newspaper man called me baby. And that random Indian guy I came across on the sidewalk called me babes. Too much. Am I wearing a large name tag that is only invisible to me? Suddenly I became baby or babes. That’s not my name.

I lost my first and only dirham coin, worth 11 pesos. I didn’t mean to give it away but I did. There was this woman on the street that came after me. She said she simply needed 10 pesos to travel back home. Then she went saying she had cancer and that she was from Las Piñas and she needed 37 pesos to get home. Woah! She’s already told me more than what I asked from her and she’s changing statements quickly. I settled on giving her 10 pesos. Whether she be scheming or it is the truth, I accepted it. I willingly gave her 10 pesos knowing that she probably might be tricking me. In my haste, I handed her the dirham instead, mistaking it for a one peso coin. I will get a dirham coin again some other time. But that coin I lost has sentimental value. Tita Terry gave it to me. I’m sorry I’ve lost it.

We had a team meeting yesterday. By golly, I was able to do all that I had to do. It’s funny how it was hard to present to people who wouldn’t let you finish with what you’re trying to say or point out then they expect you to inform them of everything you’ve been doing. How’s that supposed to happen when I can’t impose that they let me finish; they won’t hear me out. They ended up misinterpreting what I wrote on my powerpoint. I let it be. There’s no point in exerting effort for people whose ears are closed, a moot cause. Now they tell me, “How come I did not know this?” I didn’t answer back even if the truth is I’ve already forwarded them the mail with that statement. Nobody reads my mails then.

I don’t know whether being observant pays well or not. But I do know for the second time how it feels to have someone angry at you. It was uncomfortable. It felt bad and uneasy. Though I acted as if I didn’t perceive that anger directed at me, I felt it clearly. I wanted it to fade away fast. This was only from one person, how much worse was it to be condemned to suffering by people you wanted to protect? Jesus, somehow I had an experience that was slightly similar as what You’ve had when you were at that cross for us. We were protecting people; I was standing by the team. I would every time. I was scalded for not presenting my deliverables before. I did not present because my presentation involved pinning down a team member. I voiced out a team member’s query even when I perfectly understood the context of the statement the query was based on. I know I sounded silly. That’s nothing. I am used to being laughed at and ridiculed and that would not debase me anymore. But I got the answer for his question. It felt good to do things right as I’ve aimed it to be.

More so, our team leader was right. It was difficult to hear different voices. When I was having the WOW Bulletin edited by the team, it was difficult to decide which to integrate or remove. Their opinions highly differed. Also with the mapping task, there were things that were clear to me but I have no power to impose upon other people to accept as it is, issues of seniority were at play. I am relieved that the research associate’s anger was assuaged after my presentation. I guess he was reveling at how I was lambasted before the team. Let him be happy. He was worrying too much about nothing; he deserved it even if I was to pay. I didn’t mind; I’m rich in those aspects.

I am again very grateful that I am not only protected from other people, I am protected even from myself, from my self-destructive thoughts. I am grateful that I am no longer inclined to suit myself according to men’s moods. They say women are moody and fickle. In my case, I see that I am more stable than my male team mates. Their moods swing like a crazy pendulum. (Someone please play Katy Perry’s Hot and Cold as the background music for the preceding text.)The team leader for instance, changes his mind. In the previous meeting, he said specifically to add something on the output. Then now when he saw it, he wanted it removed. People are dynamic so that’s justified. He has a lot to think of to even remember about a month’s occurrences exactly. And for the moods, well they’re volatile. One moment they send the message that they dissuade you from talking to them. Then they expect you to react on what they were presenting. They become accommodating and conniving; next they leave you out and expect you to know what they’ve been doing. At times they’re too helpful and at times they withold information to make you appear bad before the superiors. How’s that? It’s a good thing I no longer have in me the affinity to base my state of affairs on their moods; I will not crumble or become exultant based on how they feel. Only my dad gets me to react that way.

Our team expert on diagnostics had a stroke. They discussed her condition. I guess I wouldn’t get to see her dance with her husband, which they did effortlessly, as the team leader described. I felt ill as they were talking about how she was and how, though it was practical, they were segregating among the team the tasks she would no longer be capable of performing given her condition. It was sickening. I really wanted to bid her well but was having doubts on visiting her. I do not want to see her in that state; our team leader kept describing how full of life she was before the stroke. Then there’s this unplaced enmity on hospitals. Hospitals reek of disinfectant. That odor is too pretentious; I process that smell as masking odors of blood, debility, disease and death. I still do not want to visit sick people in hospitals. So even if I longed to wish her well, I did not go. It left me subdued. My humor left me.

As I’ve promised my mother, I went to Recto. I was supposed to get dad’s signature forged. When I saw how they did it, I decided I’d rather do it myself. I cannot bear entrusting those people with my dad’s signature. It’s my dad’s, I don’t want his signature desecrated. Better it be me, I’m his flesh and blood. I am again missing him. Mom’s at pains again, calling up relatives to borrow money. I am tired of this. I don’t want her to go over these experiences again. What should I do?

The lotto results came out. As usual, I hit the numbers right, 2 out of 6. Life is like getting a lotto ticket, you place bets on numbers hoping to get the jackpot but not all of them would hit it right every time.

  

Travel Tour Expo 2013

17 February 2013

The snatched phone guy kept calling me Babes when he saw me the second time today. Oh golly, when was I christened Babes? Because I read Kleevan’s fb post on the 50% reduction for 2Go tickets, I decided to go by myself to the Travel Tour Expo 2013. At first I was having doubts about going but when I checked Saizen and found that origami and kirigami guides were sold out, I went there. The driver of the jeepney I happened to ride in was genial. He treated me as if we’ve been neighbors before.

There were lots of people in SMX Convention Center and the structure itself retained its marvel in my eyes. Such high ceilings and long escalators. It was another eye feast. This experience encouraged me to pursue DJ’s plans of visiting the Metropolitan Manila Museum. This day, I saw clearly how short I am. There are people of different nationalities participating in the event, most of them tall. Maybe they were even my height when they were only seven. The image of the three of us, Cze, Ling and I walking together flashed before me. My friends are both tall but they don’t mind my being short.

When I arrived and realized that I had to pay for admission, I almost decided against going. It’s the last day. I probably would’ve missed out the best of the expo. With that mindset I trailed off around MOA for an hour before I felt a tug to pursue my plan. So I went back to SMX and purchased that ticket. Finding the 2Go booth, I immediately bought tickets for Sam and me. I took advantage of the price reduction, thinking of her trip to Manila for college.

Despite being alone, I declare that I had a satisfying day at the expo. I was able to make the most out of it. I toured the entire enchilada, replete with flyers and people in different national costumes. Being there among all those bustling people made me forget I had short shorts on; people were too busy minding their own business to notice or size up others.

 MOA seemed to have an energy and clock of its own. The culture of people while in that compound is somewhat altered from what I sense in other places. The variety and copiousness of people is enthralling. The vibe is highly infectious. I’m seeing so much and learning so much just by looking at them.

Just when I thought there was nothing else to make me stay, there was this band there playing live. The amount I paid for admission wouldn’t amount to those four songs I’ve heard them play. They were astounding! They sounded great and their music really got to people, keeping us in their nets. I am no critique or musician but the lay person that I am in these matters, I can distinguish that they are of a different caliber. Too bad I was not able to take note of their name.  Hearing and seeing them perform fit describing them as playing. It was as if there was no effort at all, they were simply having fun; that we are onlookers, not people whose favor they want to get.  As I’ve seen they were a local band; Manila alone is filled with talented people. I would’ve invited them anywhere just to hear them play. Marvelous. They sounded good together. I hope they would not disband and that they would continue to create music.

After the last song ended, I headed for the Quiapo church replica, the Shrine of Jesus, the Way, the Truth and the Life. I even thought it eerie when people by the door looked at me with curiosity and a tinge of condemnation. I completely forgot I was wearing short shorts. Oh well, I still do not regret wearing them. I’ve shown off my legs – the legs which carried me all these 21 years. The same legs which enabled me to finish the fun run thrice around the sunken garden. (The fun run required only two rounds and I was that dumb to lose count. Okay Charles, you can laugh your head off. On the bright side, other than having something more to laugh about myself, I’ve proven my physical stamina commendable.). I should not be ashamed of them. And I discovered that I haven’t thrown my spoon. I left it in the salt canister.

Learning from Ling’s letters

16 February 2013

Because I was not able to get the much needed Grace Pati and Migi Villarin hug, I devoured Ling’s letters. Ling makes me laugh. It’s so much fun to hear my laughter echo in this empty room. I hope she would still make me laugh whenever I read from her letters.

It was endearing reading how your friend evolved day by day in thought, emotions and in knowledge. I’m proud of her; she’s within the top two students of her class though there’re only eleven of them. 

I never thought Ling and I were this similar. She avoids writing to me her personal issues. I keep from doing that as well even if I really want someone to talk to about them. I will keep those then exclusive to my prayers. I do not want to write to her and burden her about my issues.

I love the way she writes. I sense that she’s put too much thought in them. I’ve observed her when she writes. She drafts things first before re-writing them again. There’s security for her that by doing that, she was able to express herself clearly. No wonder she wrote that it was better for her to communicate through letters than verbally. I’m not sure but I guess I’m that way to some degree. My teacher in high school, M. Menor said that was usual with her students.

I’m learning more about Malaysia through her. She describes to me currency, geography, transportation systems, hospital protocols, school set-ups. I have multi-lingual, multi-national friends - Ling and Cze. It makes me excited. They say that similar people tend to get along so I guess this is a potent portent that I will travel nations too. Besides, what Ling has gone through where she tells me that she’s studied so much that somehow her ego’s affected when she was called on to do tasks she would surely not mess up like capping test tubes, reminds me of someone. I somehow could hear Jen telling me the same. It runs along the line, I did not study to do these things. Well here’s real life for us idealistic graduates. We are first taught to bow down and bend before we are shared responsibilities to take on. Dave is right. Be patient. That became my mantra somehow – primum non nocere – to remind me that I should make not hurting others a priority over getting what I aim for so be patient miss have-it-done-with-at-once. (How do you feel about reading a person chastising herself in public?) Along this line of thinking, I justified the need to make room for people who are older than I am if they are more set in their ways or if they do not try to understand other people’s reasoning. They must be too jaded or put premiums on their value systems more; after all they are the ones responsible for their own lives and as they are older, they have less time before them for recovery.

What cheered me most in Ling’s letters is her closing remarks: Love, Ling. I felt the love. I proclaim again how much I appreciate my friends. (Hear ye Ling and Cze!) They love me and I feel it. I hope I make them feel as well that I treasure them.

Smelting

16 February 2013

I am usually in a good mood. Since after I’ve been employed, I rarely feel bad. I did today. With just one call, all those that potentially would bring my spirits down crashed on me in a head on collision. One issue had penetrated the barrier and all the others saw the breach and made their way in. I am made aware again of the scope of God’s protection over me. He kept from me those that would’ve robbed me the mechanisms for being forgiving and finding happiness in simple things. He wanted me to retain the spark in my eyes.

What should I do with this gloom? Should I call upon it to sit with me in my den or let it up in the balcony to serenade the garden below with melodies of destitution, injustice, filth and denigration? Should I lead it to my table, eating my scones and enjoying my tea while I shift uncomfortably in my seat? Would I be uncomfortable before it? Isn’t it a friend who happened to visit, much like the seasons that come unbidden but are put up with? It settled on me and changed me as if the me that was always on, the dominant me, was off for a long vacation (it felt as if it won’t come back) that the recessive me had the chance to manifest. I was no longer cheerful and hopeful, capable of amusing myself or brimming with security from my innate entitlement as a being. It’s as if that person was a distant relative I only remember as someone I played with one holiday when I was five, not even knowing how she looks like now or remembering what her name is.

How come after one unfavorable event I became so attuned to seeing only the negative side? I mentioned that question and asked for discernment in my prayers. Whatever it was that came, it was overpowering; it gave me the urge to cry and vomit for how vile things turned out and how un-human people became. I resisted both urges and decided to sleep instead after praying. I know very well that not thinking of being in arrears will not stop interests from compounding or dissolve it altogether. Sleep doesn’t either but I was fast asleep.

I felt I was the laziest person alive when I discovered the nap extended to a six hour sleep. I will not underrate sleep; that extended nap restored my dominant self. I acknowledge I need money badly but as of now I have no idea how I would meet up the amount mom asked me to provide. I no longer know what I should do but I am not filled with dread or the worst, with hopelessness. I must be so dumb but I still believe that that amount will be met even if I do not know how that would come to be. What is money to my Father who owns every mountain and sees all things even those in the dark recesses of the earth? What is money to the Sovereign who allows people to afford life regardless of their qualities? What is money to my Dad who makes all people populating the earth respire at this very moment? I remember thinking awhile ago how small I am; how unimportant, useless and completely forgettable. I thought that not even a pipit would cry when I die contrary to what Levi Celerio’s composition says. What is the value of my life in a multitude of peoples?

No matter how many people there are, how much many more people are better than I am in innumerable ways, how much the world would be better off without me on its back or how inhumane the conditions of others seem, my Father sees me. He loves me and would not love me any less. This realization is more worthy to cry about. I will not regret shedding tears for this truth. I will not see His promises as nil, ineffective, late or petty. I will not label them that. His promises of love and protection are outspoken and are greatly eclipsed by His actions. I will not limit their application in my life. I believe He will meet my needs.

Awaking from that sleep, I felt I was gold coming from the furnace. (My surname is Matira. [ma-ti-ra not mah-tay-ra or ma-tee-ra. ]We have a call phrase here in the Philippines saying: Matira ang matibay – the one left standing is the tough one. I have to stand by my father’s surname and be the tough one who is left standing.)

Struggles beat ennui

16 February 2013

My life will never be boring even if I try to see it that way. My ordinary day would be wake up for work, gallivant a little during work days to ate Ching, Aids, Camelle or Micai then go back home to be alone again. My days are much like that. If not for those people and my mother’s frequent calls, I would not have any chance at human intimacy.

But there are more things that make the otherwise mundane special. Thanks to musicians. Their songs cheer me up, bolster me to carry on, make me dance, cause me to think deeply and get me involved. Thanks to memories; they sustain me when I know there’s nothing memorable happening. Thanks to paper and crayons, they are in total surrender, passively allowing me to manipulate and create something with them even if the toll is their being changed forever. Thanks to time, the expendable and inescapable aspect of reality, I can see through the greens in gardens and walk through uneven asphalt.  Thanks to life and to people. Merely seeing people in the streets as I walk to the office make me happy. (It’s that easy to amuse me.)

I will always look up. How I enjoy being out in the sun, staring and making out shapes from clouds. Or marveling at the arcs of branches or how a tree’s branch is similar to a deer’s antlers and a microscopic fungal morphology described as fauvic chandeliers.

Yesterday when I was getting June and Paul their cakes, I almost slipped on the floor. If not for the arm of some random person which I grabbed on to keep me from landing awkwardly sprawled, that would be an instance of extreme humiliation. I was not even in an observer’s mood then. I am again blessed that when I get into my observer’s state, people don’t bump into me. (It is their duty to keep out. I am non-functional at minding my way when I’m into observing.)

Even if I have to sit like a cooped hen for long periods of time in our human-freezer room, I have the luxury of going out as I please. I do not abuse this privilege; I only go out when I will no longer be productive unless I have inspired myself. Even if I would’ve wanted to be physically active but could not because we’re more on the make-your-mind-work anthem that the main physical activity involved would be bringing Cedie close to the printer, the cubicle afforded me with privacy to stretch out, dance to music, color whenever I want, take short breaks by resting with eyes closed (I have to remind myself to blink. Concentrating on Cedie’s screen makes me forget I have to blink.) and have snacks without being too conscious that people are spying on me. However, it also isolates people, preventing human interactions.

I can only tolerate being still to observe stationary or moving objects, not keeping still for computer work. It has been difficult for me to not see moving people for long periods of time. More so to keep from blurting out a response to everything I hear. I always remind myself that it’s improper to butt in especially when Paul is talking to June. Music then became my default company. I guess the whole day exposure to and decibel accumulation blasting closely at my ears plus my more than 12 hours a day work before Cedie without blinking (I can’t help it. Blinking takes away my concentration from what I’m doing.) triggered those long-duration headaches.

I can’t run while using Cedie no matter how much I’d love to. I am torn between my inclination to movement and the necessity to keep still in concentration. It remains a wonder to me how I was able to manage. Oh let The Ting Tings play in full volume, as substitute to a deep sigh, We Walk.

Elusive essence

16 February 2013

Humans remain interesting. No wonder it’s hard to be in the field of sociology and psychology, people are candidly dynamic or petulantly stagnant. People make the world wonderfully crazy. Our differences in opinion make us more fruitful. I say so from my WOW Bulletin experience and the printouts of its evolved forms. It really is a team output. I did nothing, simply minding to ask inputs from others and applying those. I told our research associate that I was the executioner. Morbid isn’t it? Saying that calls more on the henchman definition than the literal, the one who executes orders. I remember telling our female research associate, “My head is on the block for this.” Did I mean it’s the henchman’s turn in the guillotine? That’s sardonic.

The professional world is complicated. It’s a very different culture. From the part where I am called Ma’am though they’re older than I am to the non-smiling aura and the intense attention to emails sent, all of those make me feel older in a retiree-like manner. (Reminds me again why I correlate coffee with being old and firmly set in your ways. I want to grow wise not old so I drink milk instead, fuzzy remembrances included.).

I am into the lax side, where when communicating, what matters more is the thought being expressed than the words used, or the rank of the person you communicate with. I still believe that is still the essence of communication – expression at the basis of being understood or taken as you meant and doing so for the other party. It has to be direct, honest and straight-forward. But now, there should be discipline, from the choice of words to the tone of voice to the mood of the statement. It’s as if not getting it right would mean the other person would crumble to pieces when they hear or read it; you should always be the considerate one. From what context would I be considerate? Are people really that sensitive or would they really give much thought to what was said in a supposedly spontaneous conversation?

Some people might deduce from conversation a person’s character, morals, beliefs. (I’ve been doing that.) But unless you are Sherlock Holmes, there is not much assurance that generalizations from your observations would be accurate. So I just let it go. Taking in people in into rigid stereotypes, as conditioned by society in our minds, is faulty. People are not depicted only by their words or by their actions. We are denser (in response to Snow Patrol’s track).

This week stressed to me that knowledge is power. But what is knowledge if it would be an end to itself? It would only be of importance if it is applied (I am not hinting blackmail with that. It works but I’m not into it.). What’s the use if I know how to differentiate mosquitoes through their wing veins? Einstein is still right, imagination is greater than knowledge. It helps me see through the day which otherwise I would’ve sulked about, home becomes a thought away. There I would again ride my bike in circles every evening, jog several rounds every twilight, overcome my aversion to pets because of Fluffy and receive assurance, love and honesty emitted by my innocent Shiela. That would be a plus for my EQ, surmounting the panic of IQ. Through it I am thrilled with seeing moss covered bark against a gray cloudy sky, and assuming age-old branches forebode cycles of gloom. Imagination enables me to smile and be vivid with what I get to see, wanting to absorb all as if we were one and the same. Aren’t we all made of the same units light, clouds, roaches, frogs and sand are made of?

The presence of my batch mates within the compound is my solace. Oh no! Aids will be in Cebu from Monday until Wednesday. I will definitely miss him. Since Aids’ room is in the first floor, it was always to him that I run to whenever I had to get out of the office – for a chat or for a free mefenamic pill. In one of these visits, I saw Aaron again and Paul was right, Aaron meant I wasn’t doing anything. Well is it my fault that I do not let the pressure get to my head? That does not mean I am not heeding my tasks or my devotion is less than anybody’s.

Micai said that her agitated day was made well by the egg sandwich I delivered. Aids was thankful as well. I was expecting they’d be laughing at me. Maybe that’s how it is with my immediate support group – ate Ching, Aids, Micai, Camelle and Abi – it’s the thought that counts. I miss Czelene and Selina. When I’m with them as well it’s the essence of things that matter, not the packaging as Dr. Destura promoted. When both agree that it’s the thought that counts more, I get to sense that a conversation’s genuine. There are no pretenses, chances of falsehood, role playing, mental manipulation or composition of mental dummies you really are not or have no reason to stress out before the other person. But the world doesn’t work that way. In the business sense of things, words matter, imaging takes center stage. A person is presented as a package, the 21^st century version of sculpting busts for pedestals – perfect but lifeless, a solid creative lie, or in philosophy, a straw man everyone can punch at and the original of the replica can abdicate. I prefer to remain imperfect, my own brand of imperfect, and let others see it because that’s what makes me real.

I will not run out of things to learn and it’s something I look forward to each day. The group function is my friend and I’ve made my first 2D child using shapes in ppt. It only looks more like a duck. I’ve been aware of the GIS basics, the raster, polygon maps. And I’ve been familiar with different acronyms: LAMP, PCARI, GAHI, UCB, and UCSF. These are terms that they use that I couldn’t leave out. I was taught how to set-up Cedie with the projector (Fn+F4), how to switch windows (Alt+Tab), the thesaurus shortcut (Shift+F7) and how to lock aspect ratio of images. I’ve been briefed on the rule of picture placing for newspapers. Our female research associate also taught me a new way of folding paper. (I know Ling will put into use the origami guide so I wouldn’t miss it.) And, I can already use the printer by myself (with lots of glitches though. I executed the print command once and then 2 copies came out. I’m sure I’ve only printed a single copy. What a waste!).

There is this notion of being prepared - I did not understand that I should do something unless I was told directly what I should do. They sometimes assume that I know already and I understand it differently. My guts, go to work! Come on, don’t let me down. In these instances I rely on you since words are futile. But I would want to clarify again that words are not entirely useless. They fail at times, if not properly propelled. Take for instance my dear NVM Gonzales. He has elucidated real life perfectly in his writings, as if he’s what Vertical Horizon was talking about, He says all the right things at exactly the right time. There is no question why he became an acclaimed writer though he did not graduate from college. I am delighted to belong to a nation that proclaimed him as its national artist. I have another reason to own up my heritage.

Micai attributes her February 14 peace to my star girl magic. Stars burn and fall to the earth as Jason Mraz sings of. I’m fallen dust and molten matter, a crater-former, how can I be magic?

Unordained Donut Week

13 February 2013

Waiting for my mom’s call while nursing a headache left me asleep by nine pm at the sofa. I woke up from the fetal position I was forced to take to fit in the sofa at 1 am. My body clock’s amazing, it’s set at four hours. But because not even sleep can annihilate the headache, I slept on to wake up again at 3am. More headache. I stirred myself a mug of milk and popped an ibuprofen. It’s 4am, no change at all. I stretched myself prostrate in bed with the lights on. I was awake again before it was five. I don’t feel any better but I am going to work. Residual lethargy’s left but it’s a beautiful morning to fawn at. I’ve brought my umbrella with me.

I opened up my mail to our team leader’s assignment for me – collation of data from his published studies for the prevalence of infections since 1998. Wow! That’s plenty. And I planned to catch up on my slide reading today. Another headache’s on play. But I managed on. I’ve taken another paracetamol and it did not take effect. Even if Aaron commented that I was benign again, and even if it seems he meant it as Paul said, I’m chill with it. I revised the WOW Bulletin again according to June and Paul’s instructions for our research associate’s editing. June, Paul and our research associate conducted interviews for summer applicants. Before noon, I was starting with reading the first pdf among the published studies of our team leader. Someone’s demolishing the structures in my brain. I kept quiet. The pain remains but I’ve got to work. Mom said I should see an optometrist. Please no, I don’t want to wear glasses.

I’ve mailed people and got replies before I left for home. People from the mapping project reply promptly. They sent me a template to fill up. I also got my UP Webmail account. Yes! I’ve bugged Melissa enough she’s made me one. Just joking, my NIH employee status made me eligible for applying for an account. I was initially deferred from having an account because I am an alumna already; they only cater to current students. But because I was persistent, I really want to register at research gate, I tried asking Melissa how I could get an institution-linked webmail based on my background.  Tadah! I have my own UP webmail now. I feel more like a professional with all the fuzzy feelings of a four year old who just ate a cookie and had milk before being tucked to bed.

June taught me how to print the newsletter properly. Paul gave me copies of the articles I was to fish data from and was again patient with checking on the summary of expenses I made. Our research associate commented on the newsletter and taught me rules on photo placing in newspaper layouts. He and our female research associate were classmates. They sometimes think alike and sometimes think oppositely. I will never mention to them changes I applied to the newsletter according to their opposing inputs. I will not dare tell them anything that could stir up conflict. Having a lot of people to ask comments from is rad. I get to see how I could manipulate the contents of the newsletter based on their perspectives. Even if at times their suggestions clash, it only proves that people have differences in opinion. It was never placed before me as stark as this. What a revelation!

Just when I could not take the headache any longer and ibuprofen and paracetamol were both futile, I visited Aids. He gave me mefenamic acid. Its effects were immediate. Hurrah for mefenamic acid! Aids, I owe you.

“Donuts taste better when shared with friends,” Micai started when she met up with me at the workplace before she went home. We shared almond besprinkled donuts. :) It must be my donut week. Micai is just so sweet. We both preferred the white chocolate one better than (was it coffee or) caramel as we shared stories of our day. She advised that I play cupid to June and Paul. As if I could. I wish I could. Thanks to Dra. Alice Alma C. Bungay. If not for her decision to give Micai those donuts, we would not share something.

Wonderful people surround me. People who I’m already more than okay with and people who test me and strengthen me. I always have something to learn from each one. Though their approach might be different, the other nurturing and the other challenging, I am grateful for both. The existence of this variety makes my life colorful. It makes me long to see every day the odd houses in my street, one with no eaves at all and the other pretentiously-4d-one-walled-house (only at some angles would you see that it’s actually flat).  Monotony interspersed with variety is to be marveled at.  It makes me want to look up at the stars and beam at the church’s cross that I always see as I walk home. 

Head ayck

12 February 2013

Head ayck

 I woke up early today and realized fully the disadvantages of a condominium set-up. I was already taking a bath, all my hair wet and sticky with conditioner when the lights went out. I thought I was going to buy new bulbs again. The hallway light was on. Oh, it’s the generator. By the time I finished my bath, there was still no sign power interruption was over. How dependent we are now on electricity.

Maybe I woke up earlier just so I would have spare time to fix myself for work through this darkness. God is truly an entity of purpose. I used the common stairway, descending 16 floors down to get to work. Thank goodness, power went off not because there was a fire. I do hope our building is equipped with an intercom or functional fire alarms in strategic posts to make sure everyone was informed if there was a fire. Then after that flight of stairs, I went out to a dusky and drizzling Tuesday morning.

I’m not sure if it’s because I slept for three hours only or because I was under the rain this morning. My headache is an evolving one from a dull throb, it became a drilling ordeal until by lunch, I actually feel my brains floating in primordial soup. My right brain worked in equalizing the stress on the left side. I feel woozy, as if I’m gonna have a fainting spell (How could I say that? I’ve never fainted yet. Nah, I’m expecting that was close to passing out). But talk with DJ about Jpop girl group Scandal made me feel better. Hearing people share their passions is invigorating. By the end of my one hour lunch break, my headache’s balmed by Jpop talk. Sarah and Regis are fun to be with as always. Sarah said I should wear leather boots. Regis said we NIH employees are polar bears, we thrive at the below zero zone.

 I’ve already finished reading on the basics of GIS yesterday from a GIS software manual. I quote its author, Kang-tsung Chang, “We do not learn well if we just follow the instructions to complete a task without pausing and thinking about the process.” I am trying to entertain myself but the recurring headache surely gave me a hard time. Aside from Cedie hanging up, this headache is annoying me. And our ac again, though not on its full setting, reinforced the thought that it’s always winter in RFR. I am so aware that I am not moving on my normal energy reserves. I am lethargic. My muscles ache for no reason and I cannot function normally. So goodbye for now from reading 100 thick smears for microfilaria. I decided to read instead a WHO published book on the importance of research for meeting MDGs (Millenium Development Goals). It sure is driving at something and I can’t help but feel sad that poverty begets poverty and all other circumstances that are ridiculously below human entitlement.

And I know I shouldn’t be talking about the WOW Bulletin again but I have to. I feel I’m getting close to its end. Our sole female research associate commented on it and I’ve got not much to revise. I’ve also been able to print using the HP k209a printer by myself yeye! I had to wait until June and Paul were both home before I tried it. I’ll be invading June’s space when I use that printer and I’d be too embarrassed if I end up wasting paper and printer ink again.

Ling’s Law

12 February 2013

My head is having a bad time. It’s still aching. But it will not stop me from recounting the fun night I had yesterday. Ling is back! Finally, I got to see her after so many years.

Before I even attempted to load my phone account, Ling called me up. I had a capital time with Ling’s AUP friends. Em, Donna and Eira are easy to get along with. I shared two boxes of donuts with them. One of the original glazed variant and the other box, an assortment of heart-shaped Valentine’s Day edition donuts that were of three flavors. We ranked the original donut as top one. Among the heart donuts, we loved the one with choco shavings best. It’s really more fun and cheaper to eat out with a group. Just as Pooh says, the more, the merrier! Em showed us how to make a complicated 3d rose origami. The demonstration only taught me one thing – Em’s good at it. She was folding paper as we were walking but it went out fantastically. Eira loves anime, particularly Loki. Donna is currently a government employee taking up her masters in philosophy.  They’re all dorks when it comes to school supplies. And those people are all artsy people.  Eira is a CPA but she’s a violin tutor just as the RN Em is. I love them already! When people are receptive and open to other people, it’s so easy to get along. I never thought it was this easy to connect with others; especially now that my relationship with my team mates at work is still strained. It’s reassuring to be around people who let you be yourself while having fun together. I would no longer be offended that they do not know at all who Malificent is. Thanks Ling not only for coming back here but for letting me meet your friends!

More so, I am having second thoughts about speaking of my time with Ling. I wonder why Cze’s always out of the country when Ling’s here. She missed our Enchanted Kingdom adventure. Now she’s missing all this. I’m sure the three of us would be able to get out together some other time.

Ling is just as sweet as ever. She gave me a post Chinese new year, pre-valentine package.

I posted in my fb account that I would want to have more than five million pesos to my name before February 10. Ling read that and decided to give me five gold bars instead. Yum! She even thought of giving me the bear treatment, giving me a bear purse and a bear print mini-towel. I laughed hard at the mini towel, “Ling, did you really consider me as this puny?” But it’s cute nonetheless and my humor should not offend Ling at all, I appreciate everything. I even received my first-ever crocheted-for-me gift. Ling made a green scarf for me. I plan to use it but I was wondering how, given that I live in the tropics more than the fact that I’m not adept in wearing it. But I promise, I will use it. Just as I will use the blank date organizer she got for me. I’ve received so much in a day! All I’ve been able to give Ling was an origami instruction book, complete with sheets to fold with.

And the letters! Oh how I love to hear Ling play over and over again as if she’s recorded her thoughts in a cassette tape. After I’ve arrived from MOA, I was stopping myself from reading all of those in one sitting. I will savor it, reading one letter at a time. At this moment I’ve already read two.

She must’ve left already for Malaysia by this time. I’m so glad what’s between us remains. Ling is still my friend and though she’s having difficulty speaking Tagalog, being multi-lingual already (English, Tagalog, Malaysian, Chinese), we still have that unbroken thread that connects us as friends though we’ve spent lots of hours away from each other. I’m sure we’ve changed somehow but we did not change so much we no longer can sustain our friendship. I’ve never thought I could keep up a friend like this. I’ve always been letting the friendship wane away through time and distance. I must be doing something right this time.

WOW WOW WOW Bulletin

08 February 2013

This WOW Bulletin affair is testing my patience. I really want it out of my responsibility list. I made innumerable changes and I hope it becomes a final piece. My morning and afternoon gone for that newsletter; have I made any outstanding changes? I hope so. Tutelage from both June and Paul was definitely indispensable. Seeing its evolution from the first print-out to the present one showed how much invaluable their inputs are.

My lunch break was a surprise. After rushing out printing the newsletter (disturbing June in the process because I still can’t download the HP K209a driver and make it install the software for the printer) for our research associate’s revision, I met DJ! The entire morning I was pressured on polishing the newsletter because our research associate arrived early today. The print-out only materialized by 11:30. I left for lunch, 11:40. I was so relieved it was out of my desk already then I saw someone who would make me happy! (She’s my 2^nd level buddy. My immediate junior buddy was Clang whom I also met at the CPH Annex this evening.) During our lunch together, we met Sarah and Regis. I am glad I made DJ laugh hard when I told her she seemed like the type of person who would bubble wrap a breakable item twice, with the second bubble wrap layer (the outermost) serving the purpose of protecting the first layer from popping out. I also had time to accomplish the bank transaction I planned to do yesterday.

And for a side comment, Chéf  Boy Logro is inarguably of Filipino descent. It is reflective of his life chant: Yum Yum Yum. That thought’s brought about by me seeing his magazine with that title. (It is natural for Filipinos to be into repeating syllables, having pet names such as Mai-Mai, Jun-Jun and the like.)

09 February 2013

I am convinced of how much this WOW Bulletin affects me. In my dream last night, June and Paul were still teaching me on how I should edit it. Oh common, WOW Bulletin, give me a break. Don’t visit me even in REM sleep.

Oh my hang-ups

08 February 2013

I slept for only two hours for Wednesday night. It was early morning Thursday when I had my night’s sleep. In my restlessness, I thought of paying back Paul 300Php. Since he’s no longer conscripted under the ACT-DDN project, he would not be earning anything from his efforts for it. He complained Wednesday morning that he spent up Php 300 on phone cards, calling up people for the project. I should’ve done that. That responsibility is mine now. He told me Tuesday afternoon that the next day, that day, Wednesday, he will let me handle the project’s contacts. It was unfair for him to work on something, investing on it, when he wouldn’t receive pay for all he’s done. So I thought of reimbursing him from my own pay for what he spent on doing something I should be doing. But because his Thursday morning was already ruined by his short sight on WOW clocks, he was fuming and ranting. I was cringing because I am made uncomfortable by such scenes. I cowered and did not give him the money. I was to compensate him for the money he spent on calling people up. It was supposed to be Thursday when I would ask him to hand over more of the project’s tasks to me. I didn’t push on with those two undertakings. And I intermittently felt as if my eyes were falling off. I must’ve dozed off. I don’t know how long but my eyes were burning throughout the afternoon. That nap caused me to miss the opportunity of seeing Micai as she facilitates a foreign speaker’s speech. (The speaker was Dr. Takami Okamoto[?], I’m unsure. Micai said the lecture was fun. The more I regret not being there.)

I look forward to the coming week because this Chinese New Year marks my fourth month of being a 21 year old person! And, I am anticipating Miriam Defensor-Santiago’s CAS visit on the 12^th.  If I was titillated seeing the back of Piolo’s head (only that because he has fierce guards with him but I saw Snooky Serna that day [Feb 2] so I didn’t mind not seeing Piolo’s face), how much more for sagacious Miriam!

Meta-analysis

08 February 2013

Finally, I have made up my mind to speak about meta-analysis. I’ve been evading talking about it since after my report before the team. The 116-page journal (in PDF format) that I made a report on is a meta-analysis. The research associate who assigned that to me said the day after the team meeting through email to the team that I made a good report. I felt he was just being polite or he was just building up on my self-esteem, making me feel at ease with the team. My own opinion of my presentation is on the negative. I haven’t finished my visual presentation, and there was no order in the way I presented it. I wasn’t even able to make it clear before the listeners what the journal was about. Because the team statistician was not there, I emailed him a softcopy of the journal to ask for his opinion. His reply was so technical but he made his point clear, that the meta-analysis wasn’t credible - internal and external validity both fell short.

I was trying not to impose on my audience then how I feel about that meta-analysis. I wanted them to decide for themselves if they would credit that study. I just wanted to present to them in plain terms how the authors managed all those RCTs. I failed on that objective; the basic assumption I hinged on to empower them to make enlightened decisions wasn’t invincible.

As for the statistical opinion, of course meta-analysis would fall short of statistical validity requirements, internal or external. Meta-analysis is in its early conception to pre-emergence stage, it is not yet perfect. I akin that to the time when the knowledgeable ones thought people came from fish, those times of people like Anaximander and Anaximenes. Their ideas seemed very profound then and we can laugh at their theories now because we can claim that we know better. But if not for those answers being formulated, the existence of a question to be addressed wouldn’t be made known to everyone. Those answers (however silly they may sound), confirm that the origins of humans should be known; and that knowing the answer to that question is an endeavor that needs to be undertaken by people.

Meta-analysis is only budding. It is a very exciting concept; I’m so glad that people have already thought of it in my time. As of now it is flawed and very vague, but the fact that it has made its way to the consciousness of more people who would later on be able to think more about it and contribute to its improvement, could not be overlooked. Its current framework (being prone to bias because the authors have complete power to decide for the study – which to include, remove; what should be taken into consideration; what to dismiss), methods of analysis and, attribution of effects from each included RCT to the generalized result are all dubitable but it still exists. That suffices to ensure it will be improved upon.

The tasks meta-analysis sets are gargantuan. It tries to remove the confounding effect of each study, standardizing each study until they are about equal in characteristics before they are all weighed out against each other and the combination of their results based on their weight (on a certain matter decided upon by the authors i.e., how long the RCT ran, how large their target population was, etc.) become the final results. The development of this concept is indisputable, especially now in our age where technology made advancements occur in exponentially shorter periods of time. Not convinced? Remember again ENIAC and EDVAC antiques and the ginormous floppy disks and how faster from innovation to innovation we had escalated. We are surmounting the paradigms of time and location with technology. That manner of progress is bound to spill out to other branches of learning and processes. I already foresee the structured meta-analysis that is yet to come.

Keep On

06 February 2013

The Lord has been looking at my affairs. Instead of receiving a penalty, the person who issued my association fees receipt overlooked that I paid past the due date! Wow! I will be ever thankful (despite the newly imposed 12% VAT). See? A day ago I did not have any money left to buy food at all. Now I have been able to pay for my residence (inclusive of tax). I have money now to bless other people. I have money that I could multiply (If only it were that easy. Two hundred dollar bills would be credited as 10,000.). I have money that could manifest love, respect, appreciation and goodwill. I have money to make amends. Money that comes to my hands becomes loving money – they work hard to express and efficiently manifest love.

I don’t want to acknowledge that at RFR I am made to feel that way– that I do not exist. I will validate my existence. The more stressed I get, the more I need to give myself time to rest and enjoy being me. I cannot function well with a troubled heart. It is my duty to guard my heart . I will put a premium on my happiness and peace of heart and mind first. Thinking of meeting up with people I’ve been with in PH makes me feel like a child again and my stress at work for how I should act before my seniors dissipates. I’m so glad I got the chance to meet up with Aids today. Only he can say ‘gurl’ the way he does. I laugh freely and speak without restraints. I will surround myself with people who make me feel alive. That must be the point of affirmation, acknowledgement of someone’s presence, a demonstration of respect and appreciation.

I will pray and write on and practice paper folding as my origami guide instructs. I will meet up with Micai and ask hugs from Camelle. I will laugh out with Aids and seek out Abi. I will leave notes for Joy. I will get out of RFR especially when it gets too cold for me that my nails are already blue and my intercostals are shivering. I will walk around the NIH building. I will play on songs and relate to them. I will frequent Lara Hall and I will avoid eating out my candy (I’m supposed to give those out, not eat them). My throat’s beginning to get sore. I will smile at everyone and wave as if there were no strangers. Everybody’s my sibling after all, even if there are pesky brothers, understanding ones, bitchy sisters and nurturing ones, all of which remain a brother or a sister.  Love covers up everything. 1 Cor 13 says it all better. I will dispel the penury of love that allows me to make room for seeing other people’s mistakes.

My dreams are starting to become strange. The other night I dreamt of a guy and a girl who were together but the guy ended being touchy, not to the girl she’s with but to me! That girl was someone from a different day in that dream who was practicing tennis as I passed by. Then last night I dreamt Bless was crying before me, telling me to stay out of her life. This was brought on by my destroying her camera out of ignorance of its operating procedures. She even said my presence at her debut party had been a source of shame for her. In that dream as well, Jow was my elder brother and we were both of Chinese descent. Jow and I do not look Chinese at all. I have no questions about him being my brother, I look up to him and respect him. There also was this detail where the second floor of our (Jow’s and mine) ancestral house was a hospital. There was an alley without anyone other than me, the walls were greenish, the color of my cubicle, and the lights were dim but I went on to come out on the other side of that floor.

In reality, I was having trouble with my nose. It itches constantly. I’d rather entertain the fancy story that nose itching occurs because someone is kissing the photograph of that person. That must be Shiela or Sam kissing my picture. I already miss them as well. Sam’s prom will be this Saturday. I would’ve wanted to be there. The plain truth that my nose is dirty is invalid.

Emotional Unloading

03 February 2013

Because no one would hear me out, I will write on. The ground floor guard said I was blooming, even at night time. Am I not supposed to be happy? I rarely receive compliments, much more from males. He must’ve told me that out of respect or for the sake of small talk or because he was simply friendly and kind, shouldn’t that cheer me up?

My emotions validate the fallibility of my logic. I feel bad. I don’t know how I was going to tell Sam she didn’t pass the UPCAT exams. She is having a great time; she just called, telling me she was happy because all her grades for the third grading period increased. She was developing her self-esteem, seeing how her efforts were paying off and I am not selfish to deny her credit that was due. She’s just starting to see her value and how if she worked for what she wanted that would bring her somewhere closer to what she desired. I cannot break her heart. I don’t want to be the one to tell her. Her resilience when it comes to failure is questionable. She’s just starting to find importance in herself by what she can do and what she can create. She even said she would really take it hard if she didn’t pass.

 Luneta wasn’t enough to cheer me up nor my trying to distract myself with what I see. How the wriggling shrimps in the restaurant aquarium were actually swimming, how the people by the sidewalk had expectant faces, how the moon and her cohorts were seeing I was miserable through their veil of orange clouds, how the mall cleaner affected the aura of an executive, how dark Orosa was at past six, how the dude at the front end of the entrance line waxed his hair artfully I was amazed and thought him cool – all that didn’t matter. I was not able to savor the present.

I no longer know what I should be doing. I was wishing for a time I was Wesley So, and I was great when it came to mind games.  Or that I was House and I didn’t mind how I acted because I have faithful people who would always stand by me no matter how shitty I got. I wanted to dream that my dad is a haciendero, and I was his heir and that we would ride to the borders of our land in horseback at times, galloping through the dust or creating a trail of dirt road dust with our four by four or race through mud puddles in our big motor bikes. Sam and I will both be gray with dust and we would be writing off on each other’s faces, wiping through that layer with our forefingers to form words. As far as the East was from the West, so would the borders of our land be. Shiela would be under the shade of a leafy tree and soon we would be taking turns swinging on the makeshift swing she was on. We will make beds out of boughs, sleeping as if birds without nests. We would laugh as we harvest pineapples or throw rocks at ripe cocoa pods. The three of us would be running and rolling on grass to rid ourselves of large red ants, the sentinels and verifiers of the sweetness foretold by the redness of rambutan growing in clusters. In our mischief, we would mix up seedlings in the flower beds, making sure the profusion when it blossoms no longer has order. We would practice walking through narrow sugarcane hedges, balancing through those hardened mounds of clay. We would pretend we were Edward Scissorhands, cutting shapes out of bushes. We would frolic better than waves do as they come back to the shore over and over again throughout our fields and our parents would hand us cups of hot chocolate and malagkit cooked in coconut milk, paired with succulent yellow mangoes. My dad would be there watching as the three of us fly each one’s kite and how the breeze was also a tolerant father indulging those whims to rise up but remain attached to the ground. Together, we would watch the sun set and see on each other’s faces the hue of a setting sun that promises another day of joy when it comes back tomorrow. Its pinks mix in with orange, yellow and red. We will saunter and look at it until it becomes a dreamy blue, reverence and gratefulness pouring from our hearts.

Word Power

03 February 2013

Reality is given form and immortalized by words (as I understood from Prof. Emeritus Gémino H. Abad’s UP CAL recognition day speech).

Still into reading Rich Dad Poor Dad. It makes so much sense and I find Robert K. very agreeable because he writes simply and he elucidates matters with brevity and certainty. I like that. When he was describing people who were caught up in what he calls the Tar Baby of Briar Rabbit, (hurrah to the fond memories of childhood!) he used words like comply and docile. That was enough to convince readers to take action out of the accustomed passivity. And he wrote sensibly simple, mentioning once in a while general things that most people could relate to like Little Red Riding Hood. This book got published when I was six years old, 15 years later (that’s my sister’s age), I am reading it and by page 159, he has already mentioned my country twice. What more cues for affinity could this book present for me?

This morning, at 2am, coming from the net café, I was anxious and hungry. Saw taho vendors by the corner of L.Guinto and P.Gil. Taho is a morning snack made of liquefied soybean curd (not sure if that’s really what it is. It looks jelly-like without the bounciness), sugar syrup, and tiny pearl spheres we call sago. The vendor was with a co-vendor comrade. They were in good spirits.

He, the vendor whom I did not buy a cup of taho from, said they were already up by 12am in response to my remark that they were up early. I inquired about when they get all their stuff sold. They said, by 8am, their containers, two tin drums, which they carry on their shoulders through a connecting pole (the tin drums are at opposite ends of this pole) were empty. That sounded good market for him, because he added that that happens because they’ve got many suki (regular customers). I thought that was tough for nine hours of work and voiced out that they should find another source of income. He was not offended and he reasoned out that he preferred taho selling because he was his own boss. I did not disagree with him anymore because I was handed the ten peso cup of taho. I bade them goodbye and after chants of blessings from them, I left.

I was a bit more than halfway my cup of taho, walking almost close to Taft avenue as I gulped it. I have to cross to the other side to get home when a child on the sidewalk was before me gesturing as if he wanted to take the cup from me. He asked me to give it to him. I told him that I was sorry I can’t because I was hungry as well.  When I was on the other side of Taft, I thought differently. Had I given him the rest of that taho serving, both of us would’ve had something in our tummies. He must be so ravenous. And he asked nicely.

He looked familiar, I somehow had thought flashes of seeing him asleep in the sidewalk with another kid and another instance when I was behind them (he and that same kid he slept side by side to when I first saw him) and they were walking barefoot. But he did not have that strong peppery smell vagrants have. Gab told me of her experience of having her soda float snatched from her grasp by a random by-stander (probably like this kid) as she was on the sidewalk. I can’t blame them, they’re hungry. And this kid did not let his hunger override his manners that he asked me for it, not snatched it away from me.

I resolved to follow the opposite directive when presented again with this same opportunity to share. My mind contradicted that, saying next times were rare. I tried to justify what I did, assuming that that kid would just litter the streets with the discarded cup after he emptied it up. Then I walked past a girl, holding an empty water bottle. She was slumped on the sidewalk, looking very distraught and hopeless. I do not want to see my people in this state. I do not want to see people suffering, hurt or treated unjustly and inhumanely. It was hurtful knowing that I could not do anything for them at the moment.

Under the watchful gaze of my favorite stars, I turned away from that disturbing reality. I suspected she already tried sniffing on solvents to drive out hunger. Maybe that boy kid who asked me for the rest of my taho would resort to that action as well when hunger became overpowering. Why did I not share? I know very well how it is to be hungry - that type of hunger where you know there could be no way to stave it off because you had no means to get food.

All that was eclipsed by the truth that Sam did not earn a spot in the UPCAT passer list. I was anxious of that. How would I tell her? She built her future on it. It would be a blow to her. I will hold on to her strength of spirit. Society may blind us into thinking that there is only one way by which we could achieve fulfillment or that there is a single formula for greatness but, it could not deceive all people all the time; we were bound to discover that we have alternatives. I want Sam to see that graduating from UP is not the only ticket to success. There are airlines other than being a UP graduate, selling tickets for that same destination.

No wonder people attach so much prestige to UPCAT passers. That exam was a selective process, barring those who were evidenced as lacking in aptitude from premier education the university offers. It was my parent’s source of pride, telling their acquaintances that their eldest was studying in (during my undergrad years)/graduated from UP. I always made it clear to them that by that, they were embarrassing me. When my mother shares the conversations she had with others and that part comes up, my insides blush (Trivia: Our stomach linings blush too when our faces become flushed. The bodily process of blood shunting is on when we blush.). I still avoid mentioning that when I am asked. I evade it by masking my alma mater as UPM; most people are only familiar with UPD or UPLB.

I do not want people to feel worthless or devalued because they did not qualify for admission to UP. The idea of exclusion remains foreign to me; I resist it still even if I subscribe to and enjoy prerogatives that come with it. I am ever grateful of being admitted to this state university. Here I did not bury myself in erudition; I was incited to observe the mechanics of people and I remain awed by it. I’ve met experts, people who are respected and prominent in their chosen field; people who keep on learning because the more they studied, the more they knew that what they already know was lacking; people who are not only of sharp intellect but people brimming with passion. It was evident that they were having the time of their lives sharing both their knowledge and passion, exercising their power of influence on batches of bright young teens who would later on take the reins of building up and running this nation. That is what I hold on to most – that what they worked for would not be for nothing.