Almost Thirty.

It’s a time of now’s and no tomorrow’s. It’s that moment in your life when you find yourself assessing where you are, what you’ve done. It’s a time of not looking back, of forging ahead with everything you’ve made out of yourself, because you have a feeling the next few years will find you realizing that you’ve either found your purpose, or it’s been a total waste.

I’m not sure if you’d agree, but that’s the way I see this age and time in my life. I’ve come to the point where it’s not anymore ok to not know much, yet unrealistic to assume that you know everything there is to possibly know.

It’s a time that gives you a long, hard look at the reality that you and your friends are, after all, not immortal. It’s when the people you know make their own turns at that point of no return, which often mean separations and drifting apart.

It’s that time you think that no, you’re not ready to let go of the fun, the naïveté of the twenty-somethings. It’s that time you suddenly realize that, hey, you’ve got to get serious NOW. You have kids? You think about all that you’ve missed. You don’t? You wonder if you’re missing anything. You realize, if you don’t have children yet, that there’s no way you’ll ever enjoy that kind of parent-child relationship others say is great when the parents are barely more than kids themselves.

It’s that point where you realize you will never be a lawyer or a young genius doctor. You’ll never fly a rocket ship or sing your own songs that others will sing along to. Rather, you are where you are at your career here and now. You’re lucky if you like it. If you don’t, you find other things in your life that you feel can compensate, and say, “Ah well. Life is not all about work.”

It’s that time when, if you don’t have a way of achieving what you initially wanted to do, you stop killing yourself trying to find out how to do it, and start bargaining with Reality. Your parents didn’t love you; your 3^rd year teacher said things that left you scarred forever; some guy broke your heart about 10 years ago and nothing was ever the same again – and so you are who you are, and such.

It’s realizing there are some things you will have to do, lest you die not getting to do any of them, because you’ve been hiding behind excuses for not doing them all these years. You realize, it’s either you act or you don’t. You either write, or you don’t. You either quit smoking or you don’t. You either start eating vegetables, or you’re a carnivore for life.

You can’t teach an almost-thirty dog new tricks. There are just some things that you can’t change – in yourself as well as others. The past cannot be erased. Your father left when you were young, so you will never have one that you grew up with.

People around you start doing grown up things like working for their families, leaving forever, getting sick, getting married, separating. You stop sleeping late. You realize you need to go to the gym. You’re not as strong as you used to be.

But you’re not as confused. You still do not know the answers to Life’s questions, but you realize that for the most part, it’s ok.

You are not as pretentious as you used to be.

You can say things more freely than before, because yours is the age where the future is now.

You are more forgiving, because you have forgiven yourself so many times, you feel you owe the world some level of understanding and acceptance.

You are less angry.

You have, at this point, realized that love does not come often in Life, so you know better than to let it go once you have it.

You know who your real friends are.

You are not afraid to eat alone.

Admit it – you like yourself just a little better nowadays.

Does it get better the next 10 years?

Achingly Relaxed (from Aug. 31, 2006)

As I've mentioned, my writing is in its Dark Ages. It has to do with repeatedly being forced to organize my thoughts. I guess concentrating on structure does have its downside. In any case, I’m still recovering from that beating I took from my previous job, which has caused my lingering inability to write something sensible and noteworthy without due demand from a superior or a client.

It is midweek and I still have yet to accomplish anything groundbreaking. My boss seems content to let me sit pretty, at the moment. What makes it short of unbearable is not the work – or lack of it thereof – but the general situation of employees in the company, save for me and a couple of other middle management people.

A researcher recently resigned from office after having worked for four years in the monitoring firm of the group of companies I’m now a part of. The reason for her resignation was, predictably, monetary in nature. After her first increase during her regularization in 2003, she has received no further raises, despite having developed a reputation of being one of the most hardworking people in the company. She’s in her mid-30’s, has three kids, and has been having a hard time making ends meet. The decision to resign came after her son recently enrolled for school. With three mouths to feed and school matriculation to pay for, her salary, even combined with that of her husband’s, just can’t accommodate their expenses. Thus, she sought other opportunities and received an offer from a Call Center. The odd hours of work would be a major challenge, but what the heck. The job offered better compensation than what she’s been receiving.

Needless to say, the managing director of the company, who’s also a good friend of mine, was devastated. This has been the second resignation in a month, among people who’ve been working in the firm for more or less four years. I watched it from the sidelines, and halfheartedly offered some subdued comments as my friend whined her complaints to me after receiving the news. In the process of beefing up manpower to augment the services of her company, she now faces the need to fill in gaps made by those who left.

A lot of companies nowadays still do not place adequate priority on Manpower. The Big Boss usually hires top people for middle management – assets, he calls them, but he usually doesn’t give a damn about entry-level positions, the ones who implement the tasks to render the company able to effectively deliver its services.

I’ve always believed that happy workers are productive workers. So it wouldn’t hurt to invest on them a little, would it?

And in the midst of it all, here I am with my ho-hum job, doing almost nothing at the moment and getting paid three times what the other employees are getting! If you ask me, my boss is doing a really bad job maximizing the generous salary he has afforded to give me, in exchange for my prompt services.

My personal issue on this matter is, I’d like to feel that whatever I’m getting out of this job is hard-earned money. I guess this opinion is not something many would share. I’m willing to bet that a lot of people reading this would scoff and tell me I should recognize a good thing when it's there and learn when to keep my mouth shut.

But more than the money I’m earning, It has been my firm belief that work is supposed to be an opportunity to become part of something bigger than yourself. It’s a duty you render to make a difference, no matter how small the scope. I’ve had the honor to lead in advocacy communications, but I have yet to accomplish anything to render me a full-fledged advocate, in anything.

Sure, I can watch movies, pay my credit card and phone bills, buy DVDs, designer make-up and fragrances, go to bars and enjoy fine dining. I can take my family out during weekends, get full body massages and enjoy wine/beer/vodka and oysters, go out of town with friends, etc… But I miss buying stuff and doing things and going places and feeling that it’s worth it to have a little fun out of life, after a busy, accomplished week. I’m hoping that it will only be a matter of time before this finally gets underway. I’m beginning to be a trifle impatient.

Two years worth of writer’s block (from July 28, 2006)

Bring back the cells burnt
By alcohol and cigarettes
Let me be free again
To put words to my feelings.
Bring me back my freedom
I unknowingly curtailed
Loving life too much.
Satisfied my cravings
Hurt my soul
Lost my voice.
Lack of words
Is all I have left.
I’ve lost my friends
My solace
My secret haven of thoughts on paper
And uneasy fingers on the keyboard.
Bring it back!
I have quenched my thirst
I have assuaged my gluttony.
All I wanna be
Is be whole again.

Can my thoughts run across cyberspace, towards the next life? (from July 3, 2006)

You have, through life, become a person who has always been either at the foreground or periphery of my every single day. But being human and unaware of how fleeting a lifetime with you is, I have been too tired and too busy with life to even take a peek in your room as you slept peacefully at night. Oftentimes, I found your peculiar ways such a nuisance. Radios that played too loud. Bathrooms that stayed occupied for too long. Days after I lost you, I remember.

I remember when you used to take me places, all over Manila, to your churches and in Avenida, where the avenues were lit with various colors of light and the streets were all dusty and cacophonous and alive. You used to carry my things, because they were too heavy and I was all of 4 feet and 5 inches and scrawny. You must’ve thought I was glass. I remember we once chased after a bus where you accidentally left my school bag; we miraculously retrieved it. You used to always smell of rum and paper, and the house was filled with your pens and countless writings, which you hid jealously from us, curious grandchildren. I remember how I used to steal into your room and rummage into your stuff while you were out somewhere, envying your handwriting and not understanding a single word of the dialect you used in your texts.

I remember how your voice thundered at my mistakes when I was nine or ten. How you were the only father I ever lived with. Your prayers at the dining table that always seemed too long when I was way past hungry. How you always insisted on what you believed was right, when all I wanted to do was be young and make mistakes.

I remember how you became your wife’s life’s meaning, more and more as years passed. I remember how friends, relatives, your children, your children’s wives, and your children’s children looked to you with fear, respect, and sometimes, love. I remember how hard you stood by your principles, even if it meant ending relationships, or sowing bitterness in others. Good, for you, was absolute, like your God. I remember how I wanted to hate you longer, but couldn’t, because I have become you, in a way. I have aspired to emulate your courage unwittingly. I have become your child more than ever.

I remember a photo taken during my high school graduation, with your flowing script at the back, telling of your dreams of who you want me to someday be, which for you had already come true. In your secret world.

I remember how you loved life. You loved it! Down to your last years. You walked down the street each passing day, waiting, always waiting for something. Talking to an invisible companion. I’d rush off to work and give you a wave, and you’d always smile back. You had started being forgetful by then; but you never forgot me.

I remember how you never wanted to be weak, never wanted to show it, even in your pain and need. I remember how I carried you the way you carried me those years ago on your lap while I slept on the way from school. I remember how the tears stood in your eyes during your last minutes, but never fell. I remembered how, in your painful slumber, I whispered “I love you”, and knew it was true. Do you?

I feel like a part of me has died when you passed away. I miss you now that you’re gone, and it’s all futile. I am lost, somehow, and I didn’t even notice how much when you were with us. I am bereft, needing to be strong for the other’s you’ve left behind. I may seem stronger and more astute sometimes, but I am just as lost as all your children. I, like all the others, wish for things that might’ve been but weren’t, things I could’ve said but didn’t.

But a part of me, deep down, is glad. Like your secret dreams. Glad that I won’t only have to think about the damp dark and how the dead are orphans, when my time comes. When my time comes, at least I would have you to come home to. That, to me, is a blessing.

Rexona (First Day High) (from June 23, 2006)

The first day of my new job. Everyone seems either too young or too old to hang out with. No visible sign of fast food joint or the ever-dependable Jolijeep. No PC yet. And I have 9 days to go before my very first deadline. Talk about bummer.

Thank God for my 9-day break. The normal me would be gnashing teeth by now.

I guess I gave this firm the ultimate lip power. Because I hardly thought I’d be assigned to a position as great sounding as director. However, I’ve been around enough to know those titles amount to about as much as a wad of (used) toilet paper in this industry. I’d still be expected to do chores that virtually everyone in the company performs, except I will be blamed on more things more often, so I have to cover my ass twice as much, as there are actually more opportunities to fuck up.

Sounds totally depressing: so totally me. I can’t imagine that anyone would want to hang out with me at this rate. Ha-ha. I just miss the way everything seemed familiar at my old workplace. I guess you can’t have it all.

But come to think of it, I can’t think of any other place I’d rather be in at the moment, than here.

my emotionally-draining resignation (from June 16, 2006)

This is my last day with my current company. You will not believe what I had to go through while filing my resignation. This week has been charged with emotion and angst, I get stressed out once I enter the office!

Just sad to be leaving at a bad note with my former boss. It does help to know I have a purpose for doing what I have to do, even though it may be hard to understand from the employer's point of view.

I'm looking at it philosophically, so I won't have to mind too much when the office (at least the few people who've been acting so immaturely about it) seems colder than usual, and so I'd have other things to think about aside from the fact that I JUST WANT TO GET OUT OF HERE.

Manila Mishap (from June 3, 2007)

I had my memory of Manila’s Quiapo and Carriedo areas refreshed when my sister and I visited them last Friday. Before this day, my last vivid recollection of those places was back when I was in grade school, when my lolo used to take me along on his trips to Dapitan, Plaza Miranda and the general vicinity. Last Friday was a shock! It was absolutely crazy.

I had my complete physical exam in this diagnostic clinic across the Philippine General Hospital. Since it was still early, I decided to try and reach the National Bureau of Investigation (NBI) to obtain my clearance.

The NBI Clearance center is located amidst this huge tiangge, a cross between Greenhills and Divisoria, where throngs of people crowded around stalls that sell mobile phones, pirated DVDs, shoes, clothes and other stuff. The place was packed. You would have to wade through piles and piles of warm bodies to get through. Ironically, the NBI building itself shares the venue with more stalls selling those counterfeit goods. The headquarters is actually on the third floor of the building. The moment I reached the floor, fixers offered me their services (“di ka na pipila, miss”, “mag-aantay ka lang”) in exchange for 300 bucks. Looking at how filthy, crowded and disorganized the place seemed, I had half the mind to actually say “yes” to their offer. The only thing that stopped me was the fear of being swindled out of my money, and the possible humiliation of getting caught (my uncle works for the NBI, and he’s a morally upright person who would frown upon anything dealt under the table; I can’t imagine having to explain such a fiasco to him).

My sister and I climbed up a steep row of stairs in what looked like a gymnasium separated into several floors. Then I had to go through 8 unbelievably complicated steps (in which my sister has proven to be smarter and cooler under pressure than I could ever hope to be, with her keen eye for all the shortest lines and the ability to successfully retrieve all my documents while I was going out of my mind trying to find them) to obtain certification that I, in fact, had no prior criminal record as far as NBI is concerned. On steps 3 and 8, I had to have my finger prints taken, and we were asked to pay 2 pesos, presumably for the wet tissue provided to wipe the ink off our fingers.

The Rank and File staff who manned the lines looked sleepy and were cranky despite the air conditioning. They didn’t smile back when I tried to give a warm greeting. I probably shouldn’t be too hard on them, but what the heck, I came all the way from Taft Avenue after having my lungs freakishly and scarily checked and getting a blood test (I had those needles in me twice, one botched, thanks to an inexperienced intern). It was insanely warm and my clothes were soiled. I’ve had enough of the Manila crowd to last me a lifetime. I mean, life is as hard for the rest of humankind. Duh. Welcome to the real world.

My mug shot, which is now safely stored in the NBI database, was a disaster. Anyone from their office could take a look at my file photo and be convinced that I’m guilty of some heinous crime. Still, I can’t blame them for it being less-than-acceptable. I’m just really not photogenic.

On the other hand, it took only 20 minutes for me to obtain my NBI clearance, which is a relief. I wanted to get out of the place as soon as possible.

My ordeal was not over, though. Once out of the place, we had to once again, fight our way through the crowd of shoppers and vendors. I held on to my bag for dear life, afraid of the fabled (and confirmed) snatchers roving about the area. When we got through the tiangge, we found ourselves in the middle of Quiapo church. I was wondering why my sister was in such a hurry. I didn’t realize until it was too late that she was trying to overtake another surge of crowd as the 5PM mass ended. We squeezed through the maze, past a line of tarot card readers and amulet vendors, until we finally reached an underpass to get us to the road going to Quezon Ave. Right smack in the middle of the busy walkway were four or five men and women, deep in slumber. With pillows. Appalling. The underground was a another melee of stalls selling Purefoods hot dogs on stick, fake Ray Ban shades, etc. I was thinking, this must have been what Harry Potter felt like when he first visited Diagon Alley.

We finally got through the other side, where the crowd was as thick as ever. No cabs available! We had to take the ever-dependable colorum (?) FX. We rode all the way to Ortigas where we thankfully got into a taxi queue.

My sister and I reached Trinoma in time for dinner, though we must have carried an evil nimbus of sweat, dirt and candle scent. It was my sister’s first time to see the mall, but the scenery hardly registered. Our feet were sore and we were too hungry to care. We decided to save malling for another day. We wolfed down our food (sisig and nilagang baka at Gilligan’s), went home, raced to the bathroom to take a bath, and promptly fell into bed.

I’ve been complaining endlessly about how going all the way from Quezon City to Makati sucks, but this trip definitely made me count my blessings. I find myself missing my late lolo when I recall last Friday’s misadventure. I just realized how uncomplicated and uncomplaining I used to be when I was young and in grade school, and didn’t worry much about stolen cellphones, cabs (who would’ve thought I’d be able to afford them someday?!??!??) and NBI clearances. It was a reminder of how I’ve changed (into a ranting brat), and how I can take a lot of comforts for granted.

Long Overdue Entry (from March 5, 2007)

2006 has been such a changing point in my life, particularly at work. It was a time of decision-making, which consequently, meant ending some friendships and making new ones, giving up some benefits for priorities. It has occurred to me several times how hard it is to actually make people understand the motives for your actions. I learned in the end that it's all a matter of being firm with it, and sticking to it for better or worse.

In 2006, I learned that love sometimes sneaks up on you, unannounced.

I lost my grandfather in 2006. From the moment he passed away, I have had my share of responsibilities, particularly on making our household as functional as possible (with my wily sister and extremely OC grandma in tow). I learned a bit about being responsible, not just for myself, but for other people who depend a great deal on my "good" sense.

I spent 2006 without my mom, who finally decided to work abroad after almost 30 years of serving the government. This experience gave me new-found respect for my mother (although I'm still mustering enough guts to speak that out loud), who lives for her children. My mom is the strongest person I know, and this year, she has proved to be my hero.

I can't even begin to summarize how my life has turned out. So many things have happened. I've made some mistakes and rectified them. I've won the respect of people, and made peace with myself despite my shortcomings. I used to feel as if Life was steering me into its depths without my control, but 2006 changed that. Now I know that at a certain point, I man the helm.

I don't even know what I'm saying these things now. Call it a long-delayed synthesis of the past year. Better late than never! I just realized I had to when I woke up one morning and began to wonder what sort of trajectory has brought me from one situation to another - exactly where I am now. And when I glanced at it in this perspective, it took on a truer form, one with more finality.

Hehe. Should I be afraid? I am. Should I be proud of myself? I am! I don't really know what the next few months - or the new year - has in store for me. I doubt that I will ever be ready for any of them. Like all other 'adults' out there, I'm just clumsily stumbling along. ;)

Getting What You Wished For (from March 5, '07)

We always feel that we deserve more than what we have now. So we work. Real hard. Or at least, some of us do. And those that work hard and dream hard sometimes get there. Whatever; by strokes of good luck or good credit. When we dream about getting there, we dream about the good things that come along with it. But most of the time, when we do get there, what follows is a wake-up call.

Getting there means having more responsibilities. It means more accountability. It means not having anyone to pass the buck to when things go wrong. It means getting full credit for all the good things that happen, and taking blame for all the bad things. It means having to work harder, and having to take care of treasuring all the trust and expectations that have been laid down on you. It means having to be stronger than others; being in charge, when everyone else thinks it’s all hopeless.

It’s hard, now that I’m in on it – that kind of responsibility. It can be tiring, working at things especially on those you are not completely familiar with. It can sometimes lead you to ask what you really are capable of doing. It leads you to doubt yourself sometimes. Were they right to trust you to accomplish this? Did you really think you could really do the job? The questions get frightening sometimes.

Being in that place has made me realize that growing up doesn’t end with having a grown-up job. It doesn’t end when you stop belong to a school-type environment at work, when you can make mistakes and be sure to get another chance. It doesn’t stop when you’ve proven yourself once. In fact, growing up stops when you start depending on those things happening forever. And here I am, owning up to my mistakes, and taking credit for the good things that I did. And I know, in my heart, that whatever happens, and whatever happened in the past – or because of it, even, that I can do it. I can make it. And I may feel bad, or scared, of some mistakes that I may do today or sometime in the future, but that will not change who and what I have become. I sure won’t let those things change the best I could make out of myself.