Moving Out

I will miss this blog. Terribly. I spent more or less two years getting this to work and I am overwhelmed that I recorded more than 200 comments through my write-ups that saw print in Sun.Star Cebu. But now, as I celebrate my first year anniversary in my new job in a non-profit organization as a development worker, I will have to stop blogging here and move on to a new area. I am no longer a reporter so I have no more business news to post here to keep this blog sustainable. What I’ve got is my love for writing. And this is shown through my new blog. Click here.

Thank you for all your support. See you there!

Filed under: Unliquidated Thoughts

Counting

I know I shouldn’t count. But I do. Figures. Items. Money. Even moments. It has become a habit that I could not shake off so easily, even when advised that I should, or else… Probably,counting comes naturally for me who wants fairness in all things—at least in things I see, encounter, and feel. Well, as a result, a lot of other things are compromised. Like relationships. But I still keep on counting. Bad times. Good times. Friends. Enemies. Frustrations. And yes, for fairness. For equality. If not to be used as stupid excuses.

Filed under: Unliquidated Thoughts

Fear

(I was surprised to have found this in my old files. I wrote this, as far as I could remember, shortly before I was accepted as a correspondent for a local daily, about more than a year ago, during my embarrassingly dramatic moments in life. I posted this in my now inactive Friendster blog.)

I am now afraid each time my mother gets sick. It would mean a painful outburst of words that would come slashing out at me or at my sister, and I will have to retreat to my own room for comfort or get away from it all. I am now afraid of my father whose moods I could not exactly differentiate with this day from yesterday. I am now afraid that my sister will grow up as boring as I am or as fearful of life as I am. Although we always make a mental note to keep our relationship in constant repair, I still am quite afraid to be late during a date with my boyfriend. I am afraid I will grow old with no friends to grow old with, save for Ruth. I am afraid of responsibilities, such that I may not fulfill them as I want them to be accomplished or as what others want them to be achieved. I am now afraid to take risks, for I have learned and experienced that life is tough and I have eventually submitted myself to being less tough than I should be; no longer eager, as I always was, to rise above my ordinary self. I am now afraid of change and how it might shook some things in my life to the point of blowing them out of proportion, in a state I would no longer have control of. I am afraid to lie, for these lies might come hitting back at me like a dart and I would say in the end, “Oh my, I didn’t see that coming!” Above all these fears is the newfound fear to write, which I unknowingly abandoned several months ago. I have burdened myself with other professional preoccupations that, in the first place, have nothing to do with my heart’s truest desires.

However, each time the sun announces another glorious day, I felt within me the rising sensation, almost too painful, that I will give a shot at purely literary writing in this brand new day. Each time the thought of having something significant to put in black and white, in pen and ink, would give my heart a full somersault of excitement. Yet here comes multi-tasking responsibilities for other people that I have to fulfill and in this daily process, I would just have to forget my yearnings for a while and try to enjoy what these responsibilities will teach me. Perhaps after work, I would tell myself. Ah, but at the end of the day, I would be physically burned out and I would likely be found in hang-outs to clear my head and chill out or on my bed, dead asleep with tiredness.

I am absorbed into another world where my only identification card to keep me down to earth is the rarely spoken dream of becoming a smalltime writer for the paper or for a publishing house. So many other people believe in my capabilities in leadership, in management, in production, and other talents that do not involved literary writing at all. Even my parents are trying, in their discreet way, to persuade me that I am very much secured on where I am standing now and I should not be impulsive on matters that will shake things a bit. Secured, yes. Happy, quite, especially with my boyfriend with whom I spent the best time of my life for the last eleven months and especially with a wacky sister and a circle of few true friends. Content? Well, I am still trying to get there. I mean, I have an A-ok cool job with all the benefits and perks an employee would dream of, my family and friends, so I’m cool.

So what more do you think I could ask for? The answer will lead us to my heart’s burning desire to return to writing, be it freelance or a hobby. Then get down to it, you would say. I have been used to writing for a deadline far too long that my system wouldn’t shake off the nasty thought that I need a deadline and a topic in order to write. In fact, blogs are not really my kind of stuff. But I guess all I need now is a positive mental frame that I need not afraid to write. Funny that I remember an awful time several weeks ago during when, hugging a pen and a notebook, I spent hours thinking of what I will write. I slept without even writing a word. I still have a few ounces of fear that I need to shed off my system. But, at least, I am not alone in this endeavor. I have a best friend who, I know, will keep pulling me back to earth and show me just how simply wonderful LIVING THE PRESENT is. And I have found God, to whom I committed numerous shortcomings that I dare not repeat them. And I still carry a dream with me that keep me alive, smiling and laughing everyday. I may be afraid of many things that I am beginning to wonder how much a psychological MATURITY test would cause me to determine whether of not these fears shrank me into another atrocious person. Silly me for thinking such unnecessary thoughts. Well, this is life, so why not as well NOT take life seriously. As Bugs Bunny would say, nobody comes out of it alive. He has a point. And I’ll take it. So help me. Help me, Bo. Help me, God.

Filed under: Unliquidated Thoughts

Reality?

Incredible.

I am amazed at the way some people—educated and professionals even—will resort to any means favorable to them in order to get what they want.

They think they can twist and change things, change standards.

They think they can control the minds of people by questioning their capability, by pushing them to the frightful edge of self-pity, no self-control, just the scary sense of vulnerability.

They are putting words in other people’s mouths, much to their advantage.

They ask to be understood but failed to give in a piece of their understanding to the other party concerned.

They wanted control over people who are already supposedly beyond their control—most probably because they fear or are threatened or distrustful of the power those people hold.

They don’t want their organization be placed in a bad light because people at the bleachers might be throwing foul stuff at them.

And when the other party wants a compromise, oh, no, they do not want that, because their reputation will be awfully compromised.

And when the other party presents what he can assure, the subject wants full assurance so he can sleep well.

Still, the same subject presents pieces of their wants and needs on the table.

That’s it. End of the first part of the story.

And the subject treat the person at the other end of the table as a threat—an enemy even.

While this “threat” or the “other party” merely repeats what he can assure and tries not to be affected in order to fulfill his mission, which the subject merely considers as a demolition mission…

While the other party tries to speak out and strives to make a compromise all by himself with what happened…

That’s it. End of the first part of the story.

What can I say?

Simply incredible.

Filed under: Unliquidated Thoughts

A Wednesday

Today, I learned to do something bad (but nothing new): To be patient in anger. It actually means I learned to prolong my anger when I know there shouldn’t be anything to be angry about anymore. In the end, there is (mostly) me to blame for the painful and tiring emotional ordeal.

Today is full of angry people. I realized that while I was in a room earlier filled with passionate (if not angry) pleas, asking to be understood. I was with them but my concerns did not include them. Then I suddenly felt stupid for being angry over something that could have been straightened out sooner had I kept a wider and virtuously patient perspective of things.

I hope by tomorrow, I’ll deal with my anger and other people’s anger better.

Filed under: Unliquidated Thoughts

Hyper

Much to my dismay, I did not report to work today. Well, I couldn’t. I am tired. More politically correct, I am sick—physically, emotionally, and mentally. No, I am only exaggerating.

I am only physically sick. But there is this lurking fear at the recesses of my mind that one of my illnesses (though nothing serious, according to the doctor) has come back to invade my beautiful life again.

My medical records would show you that I have a history of hyperthyroidism (maybe even hypothyroidism, though I didn’t get to see a doctor again after my three-month treatment). It’s a sickness which I share with Oprah Winfrey. Nothing to be happy about. It’s still illness. I don’t want to lose weight in a horrible kind of way. But I am losing weight so suddenly. Just this week (I regularly monitor my weight every other day so to make sure I am not imagining things), I lost three pounds in one week. At first, I thought it has something to do with my physical exercise on the Time Works every other day. Oh boy, was I happy, thinking that my 800 half revolutions of the machine paid off.

I never actually know such sickness exist until I had it. This sentiment is probably shared in about the same way when former President Cory Aquino is found out she got colon cancer—promptly positioning media reports on informing the people of what colon cancer is. You only learn about something when you had it—illness, passion, hobby, whatever. Strange that the former first president of this heartless country is made to become somewhat a promo girl of an illness that has long wiped out many of our kind. I shouldn’t be surprised, I guess. After all, Aquino was a President.

Anyway, I learned that this hyperthyroidism is nothing new (and almost everything about it is scientific or too technical); even the websites offering information of this “over-activity of the tissue within the thyroid gland” dated years past. And the more I read about it, the more my heart palpitates, this time with increased worry. What I know of hyperthyroidism during my first treatment last year was merely superficial and foolish me, I didn’t bother to learn more about it, especially when the doctor easily dismissed the case as curable. I remembered I almost cried when I was asked if it was serious (in my mind, I was already thinking of being admitted to a hospital with tubes and plastic wires all over my throat). “No, no, it can be cured,” he said before I felt wells of relief swept over me.

This time—although it is yet to be confirmed medically if it will my second time to be treated for the same sickness—I am experiencing similar symptoms of hyperthyroidism again. Unfortunately, these include weight loss despite normal appetite, insomnia, fatigue, palpitations of the heart, and tremors. Last year, my weight significantly dropped by seven pounds in just a few weeks. Eventually, after I started my medication, I happily bloated to some 12 pounds and counting (in our culture of discrimination, I would gaily beam when complimented being fat)—until recently, that is. This week, a lost a pound or two. Sounds like it’s really nothing to be alarmed.

The thing is, I am always tired. Even talking or simply expressing gratitude for a good deed takes a lot of effort. I keep sighing and breathing heavily lots of air to calm my nervous heart—nervous-over-I-don’t-know-what. Believe it or not, even sitting is already tiring. One of my options is not to think about this whole annoying thing that’s keeping me from performing well as a daughter, sister, girlfriend, and worker. It helps, yet how could I possibly ignore the way my left hand would shake unnaturally before and after writing? My other option, I understand, is to see a doctor the soonest possible time. Wait six hours in the lounge of my doctor who entertains a client every 30 minutes and then, pay three days’ worth of wages to him? I don’t think so. I did try to look up the list of doctors under the company’s health insurance earlier this morning and find one but is on vacation until June (strange) and another one (a woman, fortunately) whose clinic is just five to ten minutes drive from home (so there is less worry if my palpitating heart will render me incapable of driving within that time) but she will only be available on Thursday.

Bad. My emergency leave will only be until tomorrow. Well, I’ll have have to drive 30 minutes to an hour tomorrow morning under the heat of the sun in the horribly congested Banilad-Talamban area (or drive through a much longer route) to the City where most of the local doctors are and try to check who will be available. I hate being absent from work. I never wanted to be a burden to anybody, especially not in my line of work where (learning the hard way) competition is, well, tiresome and outscoops are daily one-shot nightmares.

But health matters. I am a sickly person who happens to be about 20 percent deaf, with some 20-degree scoliosis, with allergies, with bloody sensitive gums, and with hyperthyroidism. My mother is now warning (or threatening) me with diabetes because I love sweets and the illness runs in the family.

Honestly, I am scared. I think I have every right to be alarmed because I am still 24 years old. (this year, that is). And if I am getting all these illnesses in just a year or so, I wonder how long I’ll live.

Filed under: Unliquidated Thoughts

30 is to 90

I have two fears in writing a news report. First, I fear to commit mistakes even with the minutest detail. Second, I fear to leave out even minutest detail.

If I won’t get over these fears, I’ll go mad. If I can’t overcome these fears sooner, I’d rather not do my job.

Plus I have to get comfortable (ironically) with competition and getting “outscooped” sometimes.

Every coverage I do reminds me that I am no superwoman. Sadly, it also reminded me of my illnesses and how fragile I am (literally). Perhaps the drive to do things right (or even control things to make them what I think is right) makes me want to do more than I am capable of. Perhaps, in the recesses of my mind lurked the unconscious impulse that life is what I make of it (it would follow that if I would not do anything good about my life, nothing good would happen).

My loved ones would ask me why I work so hard or why I have to take a second employment (in the past). I don’t even have my own family yet. Why don’t I take things lightly, as they are, one day at a time? Why I am so serious?

Oftentimes, I would just shrug and say, “Work is work.” And my boyfriend would retort, “Yeah, but work is not your life.” Then he would scare me that by the time I grow 30 years old, I’ll have the wrinkles (and even the posture) of a 90-year-old grandmother.

I won’t deny that I like my job. It awes me each time I would finish knitting the details of a story at the end of the day (and be able to generate reactions through praises or accusations the following day). It awes me to be working with respectable veterans and talented journalists who share beautiful stories of being human. It awes me to be addressing with different kinds of people, most of them are learning to be wary with the questions from the media.

On the other side of the coin, I won’t deny either that I grow up seeing (and feeling) my father and mother working too hard to cope up with the difficulties of the times. I see them spending little time having fun for themselves that it would be me uncomfortable on my part to have so much fun for myself.

My sister and I grow up with almost similar kind of mentality. Each time we wanted to purchase an item, we would check the price first, think kindly of our parents, and save for the item. Sometimes, we would end up not buying the item or having to wait a few weeks to own it.

Well, I cannot speak for my sister. For me, though, I am not blaming my parents for not having so much fun as much as I want to. In fact, I am grateful to them because I actually learn to be patient, to be wary of buying things, to think of others more than myself, to save for the future, to be sensitive, and many more.

I guess we have to meet other persons to learn more, make us whole, and keep us sane. My friends do that, thank God!

At work, well, I still believe work is work. I just have to learn to be more kind to myself so that by the time I’ll be 30 years old, my news sources will still recognize me.

As a start, I have to overcome my two fears.

Filed under: Unliquidated Thoughts