The Reason Behind the 4th RPM

I graduated Bachelor of Secondary Education majoring in English. I passed the licensure exam. I endured the 1 year of OJT, a semester in a private school and another in public. I taught for a year in my alma mater because that was my plan - to make my way up the ranks and eventually realize my motto has come true: "I want to be someone someday."

I taught sophomore Journalism and Drama and English and Junior English. It was bliss. Teaching was already in my system even before I even realized it. I wanted to strangle the kids sometimes but I loved all of them most days. Of course I cursed the paperwork and I dreaded the moments when I had to fail someone but still ... I loved it.

And then the most audacious thing happened ... I left without a back-up plan. I had nowhere to go. I was a bum for a while. I was now actually stepping out of my safe zone to actually look for a job. It wasn't easy. Those online job sites aren't as helpful as I thought they would be. I was scared as hell yet I felt relieved. Odd. For someone who said she's doing her dream job, I was actually nonchalant about leaving.

Then there's this call center. Oh wow. This was the industry I belittled for some time. PEOPLE ARE NOT MEANT TO WORK DURING THE NIGHT! Oh yeah, there was conviction in that statement. And then, just like they say about karma, it hit me in the guts. The job that I swore will never do was the only one who cradled me during the time I was lost. It was such a nostalgic feeling whenever they told me I need to go back the following day at 11PM for an interview.

Then moment of truth ... client interview. I was going to be asked by 3 Americans, over the phone, about why I was here and why this job. I couldn't think straight. I'm usually confident in this kind of situation. Oh brother. I can literally see words in the air whenever they ask me something. I just pick one word and then another, hoping I was constructing sensible sentences. The only thing I remembered was :

Client: How come you're so fluent in English?
Now, I always have one answer for this question. "I always found English easy when I was a kid." But for a bizaare twist of fate, I said:

Me: "Oh, I liked watching Sesame Street when I was a kid."

Mother of Pearl! Where the heck did that come from?! I just laughed nervously, wishing the ground would open up and send me straight to hell. But apparently, it worked. I got the job. Thus started my night life and the crazy antics I need to do just to cope with whatever was going to happen to me.

Now, I hate Math. I hate it with every fiber of my being. I know 1 + 1 = 2. But don't go asking me about the square root of some random number or else you will get seriously injured. I liked Algebra but that was it. I respect the mathematicians and scientists who does all the complicated calculations so the rest of us can have an easy life - but I would never dream of joining their ranks. Not even as a maid for a Math professor will be included in my list of hypothetical jobs. But gracious me, after spending 3 years, I realized I'm working for an engineering company. How could I have not known, I have no idea. I was trying so hard to absorb the numbers it didn't even dawn on me that I'm working with, well ... NUMBERS! And I'm in SALES!!! That's another job I didn't want to be in. Great. The 2 words I least expected to be associated with me became my bread and butter.

It's a good thing that the people I'm working with basically has the same history that I have - graduated with a non-engineering course, looking for another job, and then here we are all together.

I didn't want to be any part of their fun. I was still in denial that I was in this kind of job. They would go out for breakfasts and have jokes - I was just in my little corner, trying to figure out wht I even bothered. I guess it was a mutual feeling. I didn't exist for them too, after work hours that is. I was cool with it. I told myself and my friends that I will resign in 6 months. I kept trying to convince myself that I was better than this job. It was like when I was in the fast food business all over again. Depression and disbelief gripped me the first 3 months. I tried to let go and let things be whatever they are because, frankly, I was tired of resisting.

The 6 months came and went. The years flew by. Before I knew it, it'll be my fourth year this May 8. I had friends, I lost friends, I made enemies, I created issues, I've been served with written reprimands for my lates (hehe. 18 lates in 6 months), I did exemplary work (sometimes), I had flings (boo yeah) .... I crafted a whole new history for myself that I found lil 'ol me thankful for staying.

The road ahead is unfinished. The finish line is a distant goal. I run, I walk, I sprint, I crawl ... but still I go on. The RPM will only get faster and faster. The HP will get higher and higher. Hopefully, my constitution is sturdy enough for me not to fail. Warranty is not ensured.

Si Harold at si Chad; si Chad at si Harold

CHarold ... HaChad... no one can beat this duo when it comes to health consciousness (woooooohhhh) and funny antics (kung cute ka, mas cute sila). I used to walk with them towards the bus station on our way home and I don't need to do anything except listen and laugh. Chad will comment and Harold will just go "huh?"

This is one of the conversations I couldn't get out of my head:

Chad (points to a lean-looking guy crossing the street): Harold, gusto mo maging kasing katawan kayo nung lalake?
Harold: OO! OO! Sige!
Chad: Pero ....
Harold: Pero?
Chad: Kasing boses mo si Mahal. BWAHAHAHAHAHA

Or this one ....

Harold: Kaya dapat, look after tayo dun sa kinakain natin. Sayang ang gym
Nina: Oo nga
Chad: Oo ... kelangan na natin mag-shred ng weight.
(Silence)
Chad: Shred ba o shed?
Nina: Di na nga pinansin eh! Comment ka pa din!

Or ...

Harold: Centipede
Chad: Centripede
Harold: Ano?!
Chad: Centripede!
Harold: hahahaha

Merong 2 lalaki sa may opisina, kwela silang kasama, patawa yung isa, figure conscious naman yung pangalawa, pero nakukumpleto nila ang araw ng circle of friends nila.
Yung isa negosyante, yung isa mukha lang negosyante, yung isa mukhang celebrity, yung isa mukha lang side kick, pero can't live without each other yan. I love you pare, ika nga.
Mahilig sya sa chicken and spag, pusa naman trip nung isa, lobo at clowns ang specialty ni C, failure sa stress management naman kay H.

I have a crush on these 2 men. It's not the gooey-eye, heart racing kind of crush (that's reserved for Marc Nelson). It's the type that just adores them for who they are. They are the perfect combination of comedy and wits. No one can match the comedic sarcasm of Chad and the charismatic youthfulness of Harold. (I can hear thunder and lightning from a distance)

This blog entry is just a dedication for the 2 rascals who managed to weave through people's lives without much effort. Hindi man kami mukhang Shivaker, hindi man kami marunong mag dogstyle ng balloon (doggie style?), kudos kay ChaRold ... Kampai!

Fluffy Panda Doing Backbends

I am fat.

I admit it. It took me months to admit it so to those who have been biting their lips to say that to me, lo and behold, you can breathe a sigh of relief. I have gone already through the 5 stages of acceptance and #5 is a breath of fresh air. It wasn't easy but here I am. I look in the mirror and I acknowledge the fact that I am twice as big as I was in highschool. I always say I'm just "soft and fluffy" ... but then again, I'm actually just "squishy".

I was subconsciously aware of how big I was. I was going to the gym, jogging, dieting pills all just for the "fun" of it. But ... ugh, all of those were tiring and quite frankly, painful. I just didn't have enough dedication and interest on those things. I would try for a month and then I was back to sleeping and eating. The latter were easier. But then again, my clothes started to suffocate me. Great.

Sometimes there are these moments when I get sudden enlightenment. Like a light bulb turning on, I realized the ultimate solution to my ultimate problem - yoga. I don't have to go out, I don't have to wear gym clothes and sneakers, I don't have to be with arrogant people, and most importantly, I'll be flexible! I joked with my friends why I want to be flexible. If you're reading enough Cosmopolitan and FHM magazine, you'll know what I mean

On a more serious note, I'm very thankful that this is my chosen exercise. It was just what the doctor ordered. The instructor had a relaxing aura around her and my fellow students were all serious yoga. The room was quiet and had a serene atmosphere that it made me relax and hear nothing else but my own heartbeat. It was just perfect.

Whenever I feel that stretch on my legs, the bend on my back and the trickling of my sweat down my face, I know not that I'm just burning calories, I'm improving my focus and meditation. 20 minutes a day everyday is enough. It's slow progress but I'd rather have this than to go back on my old ways. It made me conscious about the choices I make too. It's not only about the food I eat - it's also made me realize what kind of company I keep. It's that clarity of thought that came unexpectedly.

Don't worry. I won't write about me dieting or make a blog on weight tracking. That'll just be nasty. Haha

The Uninspired Writer Without Her Pen

Blue. Black. Green. Neon Pink. Red. Purple. Orange. Permanent markers. Pilot. Panda. Stabilo.

Yes, I love pens - all shapes and sizes and colors and brands. As long as I have a pen in my hand, I know I can write about absolutely anything. It's not about if I have a clue on what I'm writing about. It's the fact that I'm writing that matters to me. I'm not a great writer like Paulo Coelho or Audrey Niffenegger but I'd like to think I'm a good writer in my own right. I can write almost anything as long as I have a good pen and paper in front of me. It was an obsession to have lots of pens for I had that belief that my writing is affected by the pen I'm using.

I love writing. I adored that art. A day didn't pass that a poem or a beginning of a short story would pass through my hands and into a piece of paper. It was usually about love that I would write about (come on, a high school student would not talk about anything else). I would always be amazed at how good the Carolyn Keene* writers of Nancy Drew would create such mind-boggling mysteries and yet not so much it would bore its young readers. If the mood strikes, I would write about emotions and dreams. I always wrote about things that are intangible and insubstantial. For me, all things, earthly or not, deserves a chance to be mentioned with ink. I had so much gusto in writing that I’m sure if I had compiled all my work, it would be as thick as 3 FHM’s special edition magazines.

Of course, where else can I utilize such love (again) and devotion but in the newspaper club. Feature writing was my forte.  I love playing with words and I can’t do that with news. Tell me any topic, even if I hated it, and I’ll write it. It was an opportunity for me to choose a colour of pen and write. It was ironic when I was told to compete for editorial cartooning rather than editorial writing but winning 6th place in the inter-school journalists’ competition was sweet.

Then college came. My art started to take a more specific form – lesson plan. “What’s the objective of your lesson?” “What materials are needed for it?” “What steps do you take to execute the lesson?” “Cite examples you’re expecting from your students.” Wow. There are these questions I have to consider before even grabbing a pen. My protagonists are real people now – 60 people in a classroom in fact. So many personalities I don’t know which one to focus on. Who’s my heroine? Who’s her prince? Am I the evil witch or the fairy god parent? If I give a test would that be like The Labours of Hercules for them? With all these doubts, my zest for the ink art started to waiver a little. It was a bit strenuous and burdening. I didn’t expect it to be such ….. waaaahhhhh!!!

I have had 10 diaries in my life. Very few are serious records of my life. A lot are just about my nonsense. It was important for me to document my existence – every excruciating detail of it. It was probably a proof for me that I’m alive. But when I started working for an engineering firm, all my passion for my art is gone. Typing my thoughts isn’t usually the way I want to do it, but the longing for a pen went from 200% to a mere 5% so I know starting a new diary will just be a disaster. Plus, I realized, it’s getting really difficult for me to write anything that’s not work-related. It’s terrible. Horrible!

Now that my pen is gone, hopefully the replacement ink will work it’s wonder and bring back the spirit I have lost. This is going to be painful rebirth for me. I lost my pen and my pen lost me. Now I have to look for it and bring it back.