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.