Answers from the Great Beyond...

"I'm pushing an elephant up the stairs
I'm tossing up punch lines that were never there
Over my shoulder a piano falls
Crashing to the ground
I'm breaking through
I'm bending spoons
I'm keeping flowers in full bloom
I'm looking for answers from the great beyond"
-REM, The Great Beyond

A lot of things have been happening, lately. In fact, things have been happening too fast. There are changes in our life (mine and character c's) which we would rather not have. However, the bulk of the choices have had to be made on my part.

We all know that eventually, we'll arrive at a crossroad. Whether it's in our professional or personal lives, dilemmas are sure to appear. My dilemma of late has been of the professional kind. But not strictly so. It's also intertwined with my ideology and how I have planned to live the rest of my life.

Last February, I left my corporate job to go back to activism. Since then, character c and I have been waiting for that one call. The one call which would assure us our former circle would like to have us back.

The past months have been very hard on us financially; specifically because I turned down a lot of corporate jobs. I turned these down because I wanted to keep my schedule (and options) open; just in case our activist colleagues called us back to duty.

It has been four months. Four dire months.

Yesterday, I received a call from a really good company (let's call it company 55). Their salary was great and so were the add-ons and the benefits. Their offer was hard to ignore. They invited me to sign on. The appointment was made for Monday.

And as if I was being played for a fool by fate; the call I've been waiting for came in after company 55's call. I was asked by colleague R to report for duty on Monday.

Thus, I am in a major dilemma. Should I sacrifice my family's security for unstable employment? It's not just about the financial aspect. It's about the amount of waiting character c and I had to go through for this certain unstable job. An unstable job that I would love.

In my heart of hearts, I know that I'd like to drop everything for colleague R's proposal. But recent life-changes has forced pragmatism on me. And in my pragmatism, I've learned that not all things we love will love us back. Not everything we wait for comes at opportune time.

If it's true that when we want something, the universe conspires to give it to us; I have a message for the universe.

Dear Universe,

You're late. You're proposal will be given much thought and discussion. I cannot guarantee my approval. Don't do be late again.

Tish

Backlog: Maybe you're Gone

"Won't be the first heart that you break
Won't be the last beautiful...
One that you wrecked, won't take you back
If you were the last beautiful..."

I was once told by a close personal friend, that when someone falls out of love; it is usually because of falling in love with someone else. At that point of our alcohol-induced conversation, I did not believe a word my friend said. I have always believed that love is a conscious decision you make, not something you just tumble into. In the many relationships I have gone through in my life, I have seen my philosophy about love to be true. And I have applied this to all areas of my life. I keep on telling myself that the decisions I make are mine; that I am never to tell myself that I have no choice but to go through with things. It is also true that while we cannot always choose our circumstances, we can choose how to respond. Now that I am at the ripe old age of 22, I can say that I have made choices that weren't exactly what one would call wise. I have wrecked my life numerous times and in the process, I have wrecked others' lives as well. But despite all these, I still do not have the shadow of regret on my persona. Why? It's because I just let everything go. No matter how painful (and sometimes humilating) circumtsances are, I recover because I know that even if I may feel like dying; I really won't.

Today was a case in point. After more than two years of emotional investment and efforts, another relationship has ended. Even though we have not really been smooth sailing for a while, I really did not expect this. For countless times, I chose to work things out. I chose to painstakingly make compromises that hurt my pride. I chose him, over and over again. And while I have been doing this for the past two years of my life, he chose a different route. I need not expound further for you to be able to understand that he did not choose me.

I have always been a fighter, but over time; I have learned to pick my fights. When someone tells you straight to you face that he wants to leave you, it's useless to swallow your pride and beg him not to leave. Especially if you have done everything humanly possible not to get to this point. It simply isn't worth the energy and the self-doubt. And while I would have liked to counter his statements with sentences such as: "How dare you, you filthy lowlife!" or "I never really loved you anyway."; all these are also not worth the trouble. When he told me he wanted out, I simply gave in. Mind you, it was not a rare show of weakness. Au contraire, it took all the restraint left in me not to retaliate. I just felt that if he cannot even give our relationship a chance, if he can just let it go after investing so much; he is simply not worth my time or words.

What bothers me is that we did not even have an easy start. Even the most turbulent of relationships are given at least that.From the very beginning, I could see that we did not have much in common. You could say that we were bonded by two things: proximity and ideology. When I met him, we were both part of a political group. He was part of my immediate circle. What drew me to him was his energy, his vivacity and his drive to further the cause of our group. I have always been drawn to people with those qualities. I saw in him someone who would share my commitment to the movement. I thought that I had finally met someone who would support me. Well, I guess that most people are optimistic at the blossoming of love. That he and I came frome different backgrounds is an understatement. We were polar opposites. I was an undergraduate student at a prestigious university then, he didn't even give college a shot. I don't blame him for not going to college though. He chose upholding human rights and freedom over getting a college degree. I admired him for that then and I still admire him now.

But sometimes, these are not enough to make the spark last. You can admire a person from afar. You need not have a relationship with that person. The trouble started when I began to see that aside from our commitments to the struggle, we had nothing else to talk about. We did not have the same friends. We did not have the same interests. We didn't even agree with what we did on dates. Given that reading is one of my primary habits, I felt fairly disappointed that he did not have any favorite books. In fact, he barely read for leisure at all. To his credit, he did try to read the books that I gave him. Though I don't recall him finishing any of it. But at that point in time, I didn't see it as a fatal incompatibility. I thought that our differences would make our relationship richer. I thought that because we were so different, we would learn and grow from each other.

I was never so wrong in my life.

Over time, I grew to discover that our differences were more than skin deep. It was not a matter of preferences. We simply did not agree on anything. To be able to hurdle our differences, we did not talk about them anymore. And slowly, we came to a time when silence engulfed us. At first, that silence was thought to be the comfortable kind. Personally, I thought that we had finally become so stable that we did not need words. Of course I was wrong. The worse part of it was I knew that something bad was happening. I watched our relationship slowly whither away. I was a spectator to our deaths. I stood there, paralyzed; my eyes fixed on the destruction of what we worked so hard to have. I was loosing him and I had never felt so disempowered in my life. For me, that would easily be the lowest point of life. I have never felt powerless before.

But why was that

I felt that I could do nothing to salvage our relationship. I felt like that because he did not do anything to show me otherwise. And for the life of me, I could never figure it out. I did not understand then, I do not understand now. The months that preceded our break up were quiet at best. And when we fought, I was usually the first to concede.

He began belittling everything I did. He told me that I was not contributing anything to our cause. He began criticizing my style of work. His criticisms were riddled with broken glass. What he said were painful. He even went to the length of telling me that my college degree was useless and my family was nothing more than a bunch of apathetic bourgeoisie people, living off the blood of the poor around them. Did I leave him when he said those things? Of course not. I am not a woman who gives in easily.

All the hurtful things he said, I chalked up to us growing up differently. In retrospect, I could have been as hurtful. I could have said that he made politics his excuse for his laziness. That he had no aptitude to make a name for himself, that he had no capacity to be able to give me a decent life. But love can make us get over ourselves. I did not say these things because I loved him. I did not want things to take a turn for the worst. Those things were hurtful, they hurt my pride. Strangely enough, even with my pride being pulverized right before my eyes; I did not even flinch. Despite all these attacks, separation was not even an option for me. Through all the troubles we had, I believed that everything was just a chapter in our story. I believed that we would go through the other chapters together.

I had no idea that the bloody end was near.

Maybe, I did not think that he had enough balls to leave me. I under estimated him. I over appraised myself. Sure, I was wrong to just stand there as he was slowly walking away from me. I am not a passive person. But when I dealt with him, I chose to be passive. And therein lies the fault. I wonder what would have happened if I had asserted myself. If he wouldn't have left if I told him how bruised I was with his words. I would silence my words because I was so afraid to loose him. In skirting all those "danger subjects", I had failed to save what was left of our relationship. I cannot say that I did all these things because I loved him so much. Rather, I did not try so hard because I did not love him enough. I did not love him enough to call out his short comings.

Love is many things, but it is never blind obedience. I feel as if I deluded myself into thinking that all our hardships would pass if we refused to talk about it. I would like to have stayed in love with him. I would like to have loved him more. But after all has been said and done, wanting cannot heal a pulverized heart. Broken self-respect cannot be fixed by an apology.

I do not regret getting into a relationship with someone like him. I cannot say that I would like to turn back the clock. We were unequally matched, that much is true. But our problems were deeper than that. We had both refused to recognize our problems. We had both stood back as everything fell apart. I have been hurt, I have been humiliated and I have been walked out on. But I have no monopoly of pain. I know that somewhere within the deep belly of Metro Manila, he is there; also wallowing in pain. We have both lost two years of our lives we can never get back. We have both lost our unborn children. Most especially, we have both lost the future we have planned for ourselves. In the aftermath of it all, we are both derelict and alone.

But all these thoughts are moot and academic. There is no longer an "us".

One, two, 23!

"Time makes you bolder..."
-Landslide

OMG.

Of all the things to say on the very minute I turned 23, OMG just had to be it. On many occasions, I suspect that I am not as smart as I should be. Reasons for this mainly stem from my personal brand of word vomit. I tend to say or think the ditziest remarks on crucial moments.

It's a great, great thing I know better to edit myself in social situations. It's partly due to the fact that I have been embarrassed a lot in the past.

But since I was alone in my apartment waiting for the clock to strike twelve, I had nothing to worry about.

Anyways, after the said Elle Woods-inspired remark, I stealthily began my way back into sanity. I did some retrospection, watched some news, took note of the major changes in my life and watched a little Rachel Zoe Project.

Scratch that last bit.

23 is but a number. But it's a good number.

One the best (and worst) things about being in this age is independence. And since I have talked about this before, I won't anymore.

I'm still not at that point where I resent getting older. And I hope I will never arrive at that juncture. I believe in growing old gracefully...and looking like Jackie O. or Audrey Hepburn when I'm 70.

Cheers. :)

Child Rearing in these Precariuous Times

“They get what they want,
But they never want it again
Go on take everything,
Take everything you want to...
You should learn to say no.”
-Violet, Hole

I was a crazy kid in high school.

Reminiscing high school life fills me with alternating dread and relief. I was so “socially adept”, it was horrible. At that juncture of my life; I didn’t have much respect for authority. Generally, I lacked respect for anyone. Irreverent, would be a nice-sounding description for it.Thankfully, I did eventually grow out of that phase.

And while I am as irreverent as ever, I have learned to channel my energies better. Call it maturity, call it getting older, call it getting tired…basta napagod ako sa pagiging pasaway.

When those “open party” stories circulated through the blogosphere some time back, I was left reminiscing times past. After sifting through epic proportions of reposts and replies, I now have the basic facts:

A high school kid went to an open party. He danced with a girl. They cam whored. And some time later, the same kid got beat up.

End of facts.

When I look at the incident through my wild child high powered lenses (also known as I thought about it for five minutes…while taking a dump), my reactions were the following (in order of thought process):

-Whut?! OMAYGAD. That’s so appaling. How could these people do this?

-I am never letting my (future) kids parteeeey

-Meh. It’s so epic. And so high school.

-Must get to the bottom of this.

So I made an effort. I sifted through more blogs. I even wrote to the people involved. It was a helluvalot of clicking and googling. Such a Herculean task. But I didn’t want to just repost stuff. I mean, so many people have reposted the beat up kid’s mom’s letter. I didn’t want to join in, repost without verifying.

In short, ang arte ko kasi kaya nag hirap akong magresearch.

After all that investigative journalism, I came up with these conclusions:

• The kid was beat up at an open party, that much is true. But when it comes to determining which party he went to, confusion abounds. There were two open parties that night.

• Some people and groups have become whipping boys. Other kids have taken (undeserved) heat for this. Just because they were mentioned in the beat up kid’s mom’s letter.

• So many people have posted,reposted and reacted to this issue; it has become a case of mass paranoia.

• People seem to have forgotten that high school kids tend to do stupid things, it’s what they’re supposed to be doing at that point. We “grown ups” should hold ourselves morally accountable to them. And accountability as elders includes being mature enough to keep oneself in check before lashing out on kids. This means that: GROWN UPS SHOULDN’T JUST REPOST WITHOUT CHECKING OUT THE FACTS.

• And lastly, though justice must and should be served; let us not blow things out of proportion. I will say this again: these are high school kids.

When you think about it, it is not their morality that we should question.It is our own morality that we should question. We should ask ourselves how could we have let this happen? And how could we call ourselves adults if we refuse to see beyond the blame game?

This incident should serve as a wake up call for all of us. It is not a reason for vendetta or prohibition campaigns. It is a call for tolerance and maturity. It is a call for self-examination.

Raising children will be difficult, no matter what decade you happen to be in. When our children get hurt, we naturally want to retaliate. We want to strike back at once. We suffer with our children. We have all the reason to be mad.

But you know what?

When we strike back at those other kids who have hurt our own; WE FORGET THAT THOSE KIDS HAVE LOVING PARENTS TOO. And that these parents can and will be equally hurt by our actions.

Who shall cast the first stone, then? Cast it you may, but remember to look at the dirt on your palms.

The Real World vs. the Realistic World and Other Anomalies

When I was in college, I used to be told by my parents that I would get my shot at independence when I moved out and got a job. Then I would know the hardships of the real world and appreciate how much they sacrificed to give me a good education and stuff.

Luckily (or unfortunately...it depends), I had my shot at independence long before I finished college. I did not have to wait to finish my degree to get pushed into the real world. I didn’t need a diploma to know what it was to starve. I made a deal with my parents: let me do my activist stuff and will not ask for money.

Now that I’m working, I’ve moved out and have generally steered clear of my family’s precarious finances; I would like to commemorate this event by listing down the top ten things that set “Icanmakeitonmyown” from “Buymestuffmommeh”.

10. The consequences of waking up late.

Waking up late in college meant two things: not showing up at class and sleeping the day off or two, spending your day’s allowance drinking, lamierdizing (bwahahahaha) or going to random places.

Yuppie stage: waking up late can mean a number of things. It can mean a salary deduction, it can me you were too drunk the night before to remember you had work the next day, it could mean staying late at the office to finish stuff you could have finished if you’d arrived on time or it could me you take a day off and drink more beer.

Being a yuppie will force you to wake up on time. When you are faced with HR personnel from hell, administrators that make hell seem like a peachy place to be and demanding bosses who can make Hitler cry; you have no choice.

Actually you do: you can quit your job.

9. The consequences of being pissed drunk at 6AM.

Being one of the cool kids in college; I had my share of drunken 6AM, 10AM, 3PM and what am pm (?!) moments. As much as I would like to say that I paid dearly for these drunken festivities, in all brutal honesty; I didn’t. And if I did, I may have been too hung over to remember.

When you’re earning your keep, one of the major consequences of being pissed drunk at 6 AM is no. 10’s consequences. That, and you can’t make heads or tails of anything at the office when you come in (if you do).

8. When you want something, you…

Ask your parents to buy it. Whine till they buy it. Or skip lunch for a whole week so you can buy it. Pretty simple, right?

In the real world, you learn that saving money isn’t a suggestion, it’s a must. Especially if you’ve moved away from you parents, saving up and controlling your expenses can be a real challenge. And by challenging, I mean practicing practical consumerism can drive you to tears. No matter how much or little you make, you will always have to save for a rainy day. Corollary to that; this also means that you can’t just splurge on impulse buys, conditioners in pretty containers, sleek gadgets and foodstuff that strike your fancy.

You have no mummy or daddy to “borrow” extra money for “stuffineedpleaseohplease” You will have to bite the bullet and admit that you may be a little too poor for some things.

7. There will always be food when I get home.

One of the most ignored facts of college life: your parents’ pantry. Getting that degree may throw so much shite at you, you’d wish you stayed in high school. But no matter what happens at school you can be sure you’ll be able to wolf down something when you get home.

Not so when you move out.

6. Your college self uses all the household utilities till kingdom come.

You pay the bills now. Enough said.

5. Explaining why you crawled in at 7AM the next day when your class ended at 3PM.

Moving out and being on your own does have its perks. If you’re like me and you live alone in an apartment, you can crawl in at any time of day or night. You have no one to answer to and conversely, no one to be stressed about.

Living alone means that you have to learn to take care of yourself. This also means you will have to know how to get home by yourself.

A lot of college kids take this for granted. Independence entails getting to places on your own. It also means figuring out how to get home when you’re wasted in a place which seems like another country.

End point: no explanations means no stressing. But it also means keeping up with the wide world out there by yourself.

4. Clean up your own mess.

Robert Fulghum one said: “being grown up means scooping the gunk out of the kitchen sink"

Let me tell you this: grown ups should not flinch at the sight of icky stuff. Or at least, should control their flinching. A big part of growing up is having sufficient gag reflex/strength to clean up your own mess.

We shouldn’t expect the following.

-that mommy will do your laundry

-that daddy will help you get a new job

-that you can run home when you run out of food

-that you can hide behind your parents’ influence/money/glamour/fame/personality when you fuck things up.

Growing up is like acknowledging poop. It’s disgusting, it’s hard to ignore but you can be mature and clean up.

3. Buying Furniture

When you move out, don’t bring all your teenage furniture with you. Leave your baggage at your parents’ house. Similarly, leave parental baggage behind. Just like pushing an old, bulky sofa up a flight of stairs: it is simply not worth it.

Buy new furniture. It will teach you the value of not spilling stuff on the upholstery. Something that your mother tried in vain to teach you when you were young.

2. Balance your life.

Balancing your schedule was hard enough in college (with all the parties, tests, parties and more tests). It becomes doubly harder to sort out your professional and personal schedule when you don’t live at home.

Make sure to call mom every week. Moving out isn’t about pushing your parents away. It is giving you and your parents room to grow.

Kung baga, tapos na paghihirap nila sa iyo. Mwahahahaha.

And lastly, independence means having two things: wisdom and freedom.

You are not supposed to be a wild child at this time of your life. You will just have to accept it. Embrace your freedom with some maturity. Make yo momma proud.

Love Letter

Sylvia Plath

Not easy to state the change you made.
If I'm alive now, then I was dead,
Though, like a stone, unbothered by it,
Staying put according to habit.
You didn't just toe me an inch, no--
Nor leave me to set my small bald eye
Skyward again, without hope, of course,
Of apprehending blueness, or stars.

That wasn't it. I slept, say: a snake
Masked among black rocks as a black rock
In the white hiatus of winter--
Like my neighbors, taking no pleasure
In the million perfectly-chiseled
Cheeks alighting each moment to melt
My cheek of basalt. They turned to tears,
Angels weeping over dull natures,
But didn't convince me. Those tears froze.
Each dead head had a visor of ice.

And I slept on like a bent finger.
The first thing I saw was sheer air
And the locked drops rising in a dew
Limpid as spirits. Many stones lay
Dense and expressionless round about.
I didn't know what to make of it.
I shone, mica-scaled, and unfolded
To pour myself out like a fluid
Among bird feet and the stems of plants.
I wasn't fooled. I knew you at once.

Tree and stone glittered, without shadows.
My finger-length grew lucent as glass.
I started to bud like a March twig:
An arm and a leg, an arm, a leg.
From stone to cloud, so I ascended.
Now I resemble a sort of god
Floating through the air in my soul-shift
Pure as a pane of ice. It's a gift.

The Choices We Make

“Too many walls have been built in between us
Too many dreams have been shattered around us
If I seem to give up they'll still never win
Deep in my heart I know the strength is within”
-Too Many Walls, Cathy Dennis

Sometimes I wonder why I even bothered to be idealistic. I spent most of my college life marching around Metro Manila whilst shouting for the downfall of the government. I spent the better part of my so-called youth learning about poverty (other’s and my own) and the lack of empathy my fellow students had.

So many hours have been spent fuming at spineless student body presidents, ranting relentlessly and even falling apart from sheer exhaustion. All these have made my college experience in Ateneo two things: academically suicidal and borderline non-existent.

Again I ask myself; “Why did I even bother?”

I’m thinking about these things as I’m sitting here on my cushy chair in an air conditioned office in Ortigas. The irony of ironies never fails to present itself when I report for work each day. Why did I go against the corporate flow all my college life only to sell out and become a corporate whore thereafter?

The answer is frustratingly simple: I did this because I could.

After almost half a decade of being active in cause-oriented groups I have met astounding people who have lived out their life’s calling. These were not twenty somethings assuring you of their lifetime commitment. These were people who were jailed and tortured during Martial law, people who gave the prime of their lives to serving the people. These people, despite all their hardships are the lucky ones. They have purpose, their lives are meaningful.

A good friend once told me: “You’re lucky to have something to die for. The rest of us are just ambling along aimlessly.”

A few years after those fateful words were spoken, I found myself at a job interview. Apparently, I had enough qualifications to become a copywriter for a lingerie retail company. At the time, I was still very much active in the movement and I was a bit hesitant to try anything else. But I was also a firm believer in stretching my wings, trying out things I had never considered before. Needless to say, I accepted the offer.

And here I am now. Staring at underwire bras, soft cup bras, push up bras, Wonderbras, girdles, thongs, boy shorts and whatnot for eight hours a day while trying to amuse myself with more cerebral activities. Though I am far from being a jaded employee, I am still bothered that I am even employed at a corporation; albeit a small one.

After countless recounts of my college activist days, certain thoughts have come into play. I realize that all I needed was a change of scenery to be able to tell myself that I cannot turn my back on activism. I guess you could say that a step back is all you need to realize that you have indeed found your life’s calling. And that your calling doesn’t involve staring at breasts for hours on end.

Every time I am reminded of the sordid situation this country is in, I am appalled by the lack of response from my fellow yuppies. I cannot believe that people can just go about their business and not notice that our country is submerged in a political, moral and economic cesspool. Coming to terms with the growing apathy among young professionals is disheartening.

It is so disturbing to hear those Americanized twangs in Starbucks, talking about their iPods while the rest of our nation is in turmoil. I wish people would learn to be more proactive. Moreover, I wish yuppies would see that no matter how much you make; no matter how accented your speech is and no matter where you go: you will always be Filipino.

We should stop heaping thick unnatural accents on our heritage in an effort to hide it. We should stop playing the apathetic dunces who make money. We should stop because in truth, caring about the society we live in is what sets us apart from the other members of the animal kingdom.

Youth enables one to do so many things. Being young means having enough energy and gall to try and change the status quo. A young professional actually has more reason for rage when taxpayer’s money is pocketed by individuals. You actually pay income tax now. By virtue of shelling out money for the government every month, one should naturally be concerned where it goes.

Which all boils down to my daily question; why did I even bother to become a yuppie if I despise corporations and paying tax so much?

I entered the corporate world because I could. I am employed in an American corporation despite all my political convictions because I can be employed and also, because I am afraid. I am afraid to pass up a chance. I’m afraid that if all I do is march down streets, shout political slogans and discuss ideologies I will never ever learn anything else.

The dissipation of my lifetime learning curve is something that I cannot stomach. But now that I can say: I tried working in a cushy corporate job and it sucks, I can go back to my former life.

Now no one can say I never tried anything else but activism. No one can say that I never experienced a hard day’s labor or that I never paid taxes. I’ve been overworked for measly pay.

One needs options in order to choose. And now that I’ve tried both corporate whore and militant activist, I can determine where I am called to be.

And you know what?

I’ve decided to turn in my resignation and return to the streets.