Six Degrees of Crazy

I always thought that the road from then to now is the most interesting of all trips. Every so often, something crazy gets in the way. It's crazy!

Then again, maybe this is how we grow up.


1st degree of crazy: If you don't get what you want, throw tantrums.

This is what brats are made of. And it starts with the innocent demand for milk during the phase in our lives when can hardly talk. Some grow out of it. Unfortunately, some don't. I'd like to believe I have--at least for the past 4 years, I have. Hihi. Crazy.


2nd degree of crazy: I must be adopted.

Too much TV made me this crazy. ...crazy enough to consider the "adopted theory" when everyone, including me, can see that I look exactly like my mom--that is, mommy less 23 years.


3rd degree of crazy: I feel different; I must be crazy.

This happens when hypochondria haunts one's psychology. Adolescence is that tough, I really thought I was crazy.


4th degree of crazy: Life is just sooo friggin' sad.

The perfect cure? Allow me to go a bit spiritual... COUNT YOUR BLESSINGS! And my present mantra on this goes: "Life is soo friggin' sad to someone who wants to stay soo friggin sad. For all it's worth, I'd rather be happy."


5th degree of crazy: I miss the people who matter to me...so much it's driving me crazy!

At some point you just go wild and find yourself in front the building of your college in the middle of the night yelling with all your might how much you wish you were home whereas the reason why you were far from home was because you initially wanted to run away from home. Crazy. Really.


6th degree of crazy: At the brink of happiness, you find a loophole. And so, cloud nine crumbles. But instead of running for your life, you stay.

This is perhaps the craziest crazy yet. The crazy I have yet to overcome. Crazy, isn't it?

CBC

Dad: Bakit ka nagpa-CBC?
Me: Kasi anemic daw ako sabi ng doktor. Tapos nung Wednesday, bigla akong nag-nosebleed. (praning lang...)
Dad: Bakit?

(Biglang sumingit si Soy)

Soy: Nag-English lang sya!

(By "sya", my brother meant me. At dahil nag-Ingles ako ulit...alamnyona!)

* Gayunpaman OK lang ako sabi ng Doktor.

real bit

Haunted by her inability to write, she opened a book given by a friend who stood by her back in the University where she first attempted to explore the power of her pen, back in the time when she faced the same state of constipation.

Inside the book was note which says, " For Tyrene: Constipated people don't give a shit...."

And so, she smiled.

Mag-Ingat sa Taxi: Nakamamatay

Hamaharurot ang taxing nasakyan namin. Para bang may taxing naghihintay sa taxing ito. In a hurry si kuya driver, I don't know why.

At sa background, maririnig ang pagpreach ng mga tao sa radyo tungkol sa bible or something--hindi ako nagpe-pay attention. Automatic na nagsha-shut-off ang utak ko sa mga ganoong bagay.

Maya-maya pa, muntik kaming mag-slam sa isang truck ng Coca-cola. Tamang-tama. Ang kasabay ko sa taxi ay sort of queen ng Coke--don't ask why.

Nabuhay naman kami. Pero si kuya, ewan ko kung anong ginagawa sa taxi niya at para kaming nasusubsob kada attempt niyang mag-break. Natutunan ko sa Physics class ko noong high school na it has something to do with that thing called "inertia." But what the heck!

Di na ako nakatiis sa ginagawang shake-the-pasahero syndrome ni kuya, "Ano ba ang nangyayari sa inyo, kuya?"

"Wala yata tayong preno," sagot niya.

"Ha?!" Sabay yata kaming naloka ng kasama ko.

"Wag niyo na lang bilisan ang pagmamaneho," advise ng kasama ko. Effort niya ito para pahabain ang buhay namin. Dagdag pa niya, "Hindi naman kami nagmamadali."

Nag-I-second-the-motion ako. "Oo nga kuya. Matutulog lang naman kami pag-uwi sa mga bahay namin."

Matigas ang ulo ni kuya. Naramdaman na naman niya ang need for speed. Tapos nag-break na palpak naman sabay sabi, "hindi talaga kumakagat ang preno."

"Ay sus, sana sinarili nyo na lang, kuya. Ninernerbyos na tuloy ako." Suddenly narealize ko na ignorance is bliss.

"Bagalan niyo na lang ang paandar, kuya. Moderate speed lang. Moderate." Paalala ng kasama ko.

"Hindi kakayanin ng nanay ko kapag may nangyari sa akin...nauubos na ang mga anak niya!" Hirit ko for more drama lang.

Dagdag naman ng kasama ko habang aktong nagtetext, "Nay, nakasakay po ako sa taxi na may plate number TXT 326... [Kung anuman ang mangyari, alam nyo na...]"

Eto namang si kuya natawa pa! Balik harurot. Drag racer yata siya noong past life niya.

"Kuya, sa rightmost part lang kayo ng kalye. May pink fences kasi sa kaliwa." Nag-warn na naman ang aking kasama. Pareho kasi kaming muntik nang mabangga sa fences na iyon sa magkaibang insidente.

"Accident prone area yan, kuya. Nalusotan lang namin noon dahil may preno yung magkaibang taxi na sinasakyan namin," paliwanag ko while doing the Rey Pumaloy "Aminin" gesture.

Ayun na nga.

Unang bumaba ang kasama ko. Inendorse pa niya ako kay kuya para naman makauwi ako nang matiwasay given na ilang metro na lang e nasa bahay na ako.

Nai-deliver naman ako ni kuya right at my doorstep nang safe and sound. At dahil doon, nagawa ko pa siyang sabihan, bago ako bumaba sa taxi, na mag-iingat siya.

Sa gitna ng mga kaguluhan, nagawa pa ni kuyang i-challenge ang relihiyon ko at i-require akong makining sa pag-tuligsa ng mama sa radyo sa supposed na paniniwala ko. Iyon ang pangalawang dahilan kung bakit ako naman ang humarurot sa pagbaba ng taxi.

Tinext ko ang kasama ko na nakauwi naman ako ng maluwalhati...ewan ko na lang kung anong mangyayari kay kuya.

Maya-maya, yung kasama ko naman ang nagtext sa akin na safe na rin siya sa bahay nila.

Ang sabi ko sa kanya, pasasaan ba't si kuya naman ang magtetext sa amin na safe na rin siya.

Eto na nga siguro ang nagawa ng near-death experience namin sa gabing ito.

Fame! Yes! 2 sq mm of it...

Flip magazine.



Read a feature.



Say my silent ohh's and ahh's as I relate to some lines, being that I am sort of an insider to the topic.



A couple of flips more and there I see. My 2 square millimeter of fame!



***Malupet na hirit ni Mina: May mas maliit pa sa 2 sq. mm of fame ko. palagay ko 1sq mm na ito, but somehow she spotted me.



...sa maniwala man kayo o sa hindi, ako yung tinuturo ng yellow arrow.

bow.

weE-Bit Heroes

Ang natutunan ko siguro ngayong linggo na, hopefully, ay matututunan ko nang i-combat sa mga darating na araw ay ang fact na hindi kasing dali bumuo ng bagay-bagay na napapanood sa TV kagaya ng inaakala natin, kahit na 10-15 mins lang ito tatakbo.

Andaming elements na kelangang pagsama-samahin. Nakakaloka! Mabuti me mga taong handang tumulong sa abot ng kanilang makakaya. (By the way, sila ang aking heroes!)

Nung isang gabi napatira ako ng 2 shawarma at 1 cup ng ice cream sa isang sitting dahil na-sorta depressed na ako sa aking journey towards making my work...work.

But yesterday, marami ang napaluha. Kinilig naman ako. Ibig sabihn may saysay ang pinaggugugulan ko ng oras. Dahil may na-touch. At hopefully may buhay nabago, may taong natuto.

Sulit na ang dalawang oras na tulog kung ganon.

* * *

Sa sidelines. Less than a minute after the mass crying spree sa studio:

Melvin: Naiyak ka rin?

ako: hindi.

Melvin: (puzzled. siguro)

ako: Nauna na kasi ako...

* * *

Ganito magwork ang adrenaline. Sa panahon ng kagipitan, naturally nagsesecrete ang katawan natin ng hormones na may spinach-ni-Popeye effect. Bigla kang lalakas nang bonggang bongga. Solb ang anumang problema.

Adrenaline saved my sequence guide. Sa dulo ng week, natuyot na ang utak ko. Wala na akong masulat na maganda, let alone, may sense. Itinulog ko. Before I knew it, 2 hours before the show na. Ayun na. Adrenaline rushed--ika nga. I don't think "moment of clarity" ang tawag doon. Kasi with two hours of sleep, my thoughts was logically hazy. Pero ayun, nagawan ko ng paraan. Hay...

But let me just say, parang may tumulong luha mula sa akin sa isang linya na isinulat ng aking adrenaline. Kaya ko rin siguro nasabing "nauna na ako". If you get my drift.

* * *

Maikling kwento ng kabayanihan.



May dalawang magkapatid. Si Kuya, nawala ang paningin when he was just 16 years old, matapos operahan dahil sa kanyang brain tumor. Si utol naging guide niya, mata niya at driver niya. Araw araw inaangkas siya sa kakaragkarag na bike para ihatid siya sa school.

Hindi na nag-aaral si utol. Naging finish line na ang high school. Wala na kasing moolah ang pamilya. Si Kuya 4th year high school na. (Naunahan na siya ni Utol gumradweyt dahil natigil siya noong nagkasakit siya 4 years ago.) Chances are, titigil din siya mag-aral next school year.

Pero hindi nagdadrama ang magkapatid. Kahit na ded na si mama nila at kahit na naputol na ang right leg ni papa. Si kuya pa nga ayun at nagpapaaktib sa grupong ng mga may kapansanan. Minsan din niyang ininsist ang right to quality education ng mga batang tulad niya.

Good kids sila. Kaya sila ay pinagpala. Kahit saglit mang maituturing. Dahil alam naman nating hindi naman tumitigil ang buhos ng obstacles ng buhay.

Pero we need not worry about sa mag-utol na ito. Dahil mabuti silang bata. They will find their way, the way they always have.

Isang swabeng kurot sa puso ang kwento nila.

* * *

Wish ko i-share itong first thing I wrote which has been translated into Braille:



Ano ang ibig sabihin?

"Sa mahabang daan na aming tinatahak, lumang bisikleta ang aming hawak. Ngunit ngayon ay napapanahon upang ang luma'y maging bago. Bagong bisikleta para sa bagong paglalakbay!"

* * *

Para sa tunay na kwentong EB Heroes pumunta lang sa http://www.eatbulaga.tv/ebheroes/index.htm

The titanic experience, hulog sa hagdan atbp.

Naisip ko nung isang araw na naglalakad ako sa ilalim ng maalinsangang weather (bale umaambot pero super init) na pinapatay tayo ng nalolokang panahon. Kasi di ba, ang init tapos uulan na parang delubyo level. O kaya naman umuulan pero at the same time ang init ng panahon. Ganon. Kaya yata lagi na lang akong me ubo, sipon, lagnat and what-have-you!

Tapos naalala ko bigla na tao rin ang may kasalanan kung bakit nagkakaganito ang panahon. Alam na naman natin yun. Yung mga polusyon na pinaggagagawa natin ay nagbaback fire na! So nabuo ko ito:

"We started the slaughter. Now it's nature's turn to do the killing."

Ayy! Katakot. It doesn't help that I saw the Nicolas Cage movie called "Knowing." End of the world na may alien intervention ang theme. Di ko siya type. Naweirduhan ako to tell the truth. Saka I'm not much into movies na about the end of the world. Parang mas disturbing siya sa akin than watching "Drag me To Hell" or the likes. Although wala akong balak manood ng "Drag Me to Hell."

Speaking of movies, parang may Titanic moment ako last week when, in the middle of a hot, sunny day, ay bumagyo like crazy sa office. E tamang-tama na nasa canteen kaming apat na magkaka-opisina. Ayun, maya-maya lang e gumagapang na ang baha sa canteen floor. Deadma kami at first kasi gutom kami but in a matter of minutes tumaas na ng 3-4 inches yung baha. So mega sampa kami sa mga chairs. Para kaming nasa Titanic na unti-unting lumulubog but instead na sa Atlantic Ocean, sa baha kami nagsisink! Kaloka! Kinalingan pa kaming isakay sa trolley para maitawid from the canteen to the office proper. Siyempre, adventure na naman. E nung Saturday before that I had my first motorcycle ride. Tapos nademote ako sa trolley. Hehe. Kawawang trolley!

* * *

Siyempre papatulan ko ang Michael Jackson story. Nalungkot ako nung nalaman ko na na-dead na ang King of Pop. Parang lumaki na ako sa tugtog niya. Meron pa nga kaming cassette tape ng "Thriller" noon (na napatungan ng mga boses namin ni Ate. Mahilig kasi kaming magrecord ng boses! hehe). Tapos lagi namin nirereenact yung Thriller MTV ni MJ na natatakot ako every time na napapanood ko. E bukod yata sa Beatles at The Corrs na songs, mga kanta ni Michael Jackson yung marami akong alam na titles.

So Friday ng umaga sabi ng Daddy ko, patay na raw si Michael Jackson. Binuksan ko agad yung radyo ng celphone ko. And ayun na nga confirmed na wala na siya. Mega tribute ang mga radio stations sa kanya. Tumaas yata ang sales ng songs niya. Maski sa music stores, MJ songs ang pineplay at biglang nilabas ang mga MJ albums.

Trivia pala, yung utol ko "Michael" ang pangalan dahil na nga kay Michael Jackson. And then ngayon nadiscover namin na mas magkapangalan pa sila ni MJ than we intended. Michael Joseph si MJ. Joseph Michael ang kapatid ko. Hehe. Bonus Trivia: "Joseph" ang name ng Dad ni MJ.

* * *

Napapansin ko pala na naka-clumsy na ako lately. I'm slowly turning into my Mom. Mommy ko kasi parang may quota na at least 3 times madapa/matalisod/matapilok in a day. Parang napapadalas ang mga"aksidente" ko. Latest mishap ko e last Saturday nung mahulog ako ng ilang steps sa isang hagdan sa Megamall. Mabuti na lang ibang level na ang magpapa-pahiya sa akin kaya deadma lang ako. But then again, sumakit ang kawawang tuhod ko because of my fall. Salamat na lang at nakabangon naman ako.

* * *

Going back to movies, ayun na nga, nagrevenge na ang "Fallen" sa "Transformers 2: Revenge of the Fallen." Medyo me special thing sa puso ko ang "Transformers". Naalala ko kasi 2 years ago, siguro mga around this time din nung lumabas yung "Transformers". Niyaya ko pa si Nichi manood noon kahit na weak na siya. Sabi ko, uupo lang naman siya sa sinehan. Gusto ko rin kasi na maentertain siya. Kaso siya na mismo ang umayaw which is so unlike him kaya sign talaga yon na di na siya OK. Matagal nagstay sa sinehan ang "Transformers". By the time na my brothers and I got to see it, kulang na kami. In spirit na lang namin kasama si Nichi. I guess, parang ganon noong nanood kami nung second installment last Saturday.

I was wearing my "Project: Brave Kids" dog tag. Para well-represented si Nichi. Tapos habang nakaupo ako sa isang bench sa harap ng Bench, may dumaang little boy na naka-Project Brave Kids shirt. Syempre feeling ko sign yon na andon nga si Kulas. :-)

* * *

Di ko na feel magbigay ng review sa Transformers 2. I second the motion na lang yung article na lumabas sa Inquirer last Sunday about the film. Pansin ko lang na talagang packaged as a guy film yung movie dahil sa cars/trucks, action at sa consistent use of Megan Fox as a sex object of sorts. Maganda naman na siya. She is hard to miss given that face of hers. Ewan ko ba kung bakit kelangan ang first appearnce niya sa film e shot niya from her behind. Nag-amok tuloy ang repressed feminista in me.

Hmp! Ayun na.

Mucus Troopers Beware

As I write this piece, I am sort of detained in the lobby of a big food company’s building, thanks to the “glory” that is the A(H1N1) scare. For a community and nation and planet paranoid with this mutated kind of flu, I am a threat. A walking, sneezing and coughing threat.

Thus, I have to contend with a hostile lobby and forgo the meeting which I was initially scheduled to attend. I was banished in the lobby because no brilliant drug company has come up with the magical vaccine that would obliterate the A(H1N1) flu, the same way some geniuses erased small pox and polio on the “now” pages of health journals and medical digests.

Humans are neurotic that way. They fear what they can’t control.

I would hate to admit it but for a few days now, I’ve become the mucus trooper I have grown to detest. Mucus trooper. People who, consciously or unconsciously, are carriers of viruses which they can so easily spread. People who get on with their day, sneezing and coughing, as if nothing were wrong with them.

If I had a choice, I would be at home right now, taking drugs that will eventually “heal” me. Never mind the drowsiness they may cause. I would gladly sleep and be up and well in a day or so. If I had a choice.

But my socio-economic status is, in some absurd way, denying me the right to get sick because one, I can’t afford to seek medical treatment—doctors and drugs included; and two, I can’t afford to take another of those unpaid leaves. I do have bills to pay which I could not possibly do if I don’t work.

I wish to clarify that I am not whining. There are people with far worse socio-economic drama than me. I am lucky to have my bit.

So I am a mucus trooper. But I try to rise above my kind. I cover my mouth whenever I sneeze and cough. I sanitize my hands after I blow my nose. I’m being responsible albeit repressing my body’s call for a break. Even if I have been branded as a threat.

I am a mucus trooper and I am aware of it.

I maybe sick yet I know that the people around me don’t have to be.

And that’s all I have to say about that.

Pers Taym

So they say, there's always a first time for everything. Today I had my latest "first". An exhilarating first. Never saw such "first" coming but life surprises us in unique ways that don't take no for an answer. Next thing I knew, I had to do it.

To ride a motorbike.

How and why this happened?

I was in a hurry. In a real hurry. In a matter-of-life-and-death hurry.

The thing is, not only my life was at stake but also the lives of a whole lot of people who may seem to many as a lucky bunch given the "privilege" of working close to the stars. But behind such luck is a full load of stress that isn't glamorous at all. In such world, lives can sometimes be reduced to a video tape. The one I was in hurry to deliver. The one on which our lives depended on.

Around 11:59 a.m. I was running towards the exit of a train station and there it was. The ride that took 29 years to happen. The motorbike that will save so many asses, including mine.

I think there was a fraction of a second that I hesitated to hop on the thing I always considered as a killer ride but as I've said, I was in no position to say "no."

The screaming and the shrieking were inevitable as far as I'm concerned. My apologies to Kuya Ramil and his damaged ear drums. It is impossible to shut me up if I were THAT afraid. It could have been worse if I kept my eyes open. It could have been worse.

Now I am a firm believer that everyday IS an adventure!

A Sweet End to November

My brother treated us for a meal at Burgoo. He was supposed to introduce us to a special salad elsewhere but we were trapped at Podium due to the late night drizzle, so Burgoo had to do.

It wasn’t at all bad. Burgoo, that is. Their servings are humongous and they give you free food when you use your HSBC card. A bit pricey for someone on a tight budget but if you’re after quantity and quality, Burgoo is all worth it! Plus Burgoo allows you to doodle on their table (lined with a wide sheet of paper) while waiting for your food. Migs found it interesting.

We never got to see High School Musical 3—that is for my high school brother’s sake. But an even better movie opportunity was Twilight. As I’ve said before, I highly recommend it, especially if you’re up to something sweet but not too much. I guess, my brothers liked it, too. I’m not too sure about Igan, though, who was sitting two rows behind us.

After finishing the last full show, we headed home but segued to a footbridge nearby. Our streets are decorated with Christmas lights, they might as well serve as backdrop for a romantic Christmas movie.

We got home past midnight. Dad was watching Titanic. I could not help but watch with him. It still bothers me that the ship sank and a lot of people died. So I decided not to stay for its ending.

My November is good as it is. I wish to remember it ending sweet.

Thanksgiving Dinner

I had the night off thanks to the good old American holiday called “Thanksgiving.” (Despite living miles away from Uncle Sam’s people, they have power over me now, and as a requisite, I abide by their holidays.)

I don’t know much about Thanksgiving other than it is spent during the last Thursday of November and that a lot of Turkey turns into every dinner table’s superstar during its celebration. I had to Google “Thanksgiving” in order to be reminded of what the essence of that day is for Americans, and apparently, for Canadians as well. I think I Google it every year but the facts never stick to me. Perhaps I really am no American!

But then, my brain’s refusal to absorb Thanksgiving facts is no reason for me not to indulge on my own thanksgiving dinner, especially since apart from the night off, I have one more thing to be grateful about: I got my first real paycheck after 6 months of financial lull. I found it best to treat my family with my latest hard-earned cash.

Tiendesitas seemed convenient. It had the perfect ambiance, it was relatively close, and I can afford the food and the trip. The last time I brought my family there was two years ago, after I got my 13th month pay. We had dinner and then rode the kalesa. Twice.

I hate to compare but Tiendesitas then was better. Perhaps because more of us were present then and none of were dead. This time, Nichi’s gone, my mom’s away, and my brother was late. I think I am being objective when I say that our table, with the bilao meal as center piece, was the most somber table that night. I notice those things and I feel pangs of sadness.

But I still am thankful for what remains of my family. They never cease to be special to me, after all.

* * *

I think it is interesting to note that on our way home, I felt compelled to mumble (or hum), “It’s beginning to feel a lot like Christmas.”



If you live around here, you will sing that song, too.

Michael Johns Will Have To Do For Now

Michael Johns wasn't bad at all. To tell the truth, he was not my favorite during the 7th Season of American Idol. (Did I get the season right?) However I found the way he was voted out a bit premature. He could have shown more if he stayed longer, I guess.

I was vying for David Cook who did win. At the same time, I was cheering for Jason Castro who was soo cute. (Imagine me say this in a high school kind-of-way.) I learned that David is coming here this January. I would have made time to see him if I were in Singapore, but I am home now and I ain't going nowhere so I don't have any problem.

Jason Castro, on the other hand, is a different story. No word yet if he will fly here, but if he did, I will see him no matter what. And I'll make sure I will not be limited to staying at the sidelines. Hah! May gameplan na kami ni JO, ang fellow Jason Castro fan ko!

In the mean time, Michael Johns will have to do.

So I thought I had to see him tonight. And that I did. Actually, it was what kept me up while I was trapped in my hell hole sooo early this morning. Yes, I had to sacrifice some precious sleeping time but what the heck? I'd be sleepy just the same.

So here, indulge in some of the photos I managed to snap.

Michael Johns at Glorietta


The Clean Rockstar


Yeah!


Meeting a Pinoy fan


Kinilig ang sangkatauhan


Astig, may bouncer pa!


My paparazzi shot when he left the Glorietta Activity Center

Getting more from a Bazaar

So I was sort of forced to help my mom out in her grand idea of a bazaar in the place that used to be my playground (cue Madonna’s I’ll Remember). I haven’t been doing anything productive lately so I did not dare to protest and acceded instead. I’m not new to bazaars or to selling. We used to do it a lot, especially at the time of the year when things go commercial and people are in the mood to spend. Besides, I love giving customers their change. I don’t know why, but I enjoy that.

This time around, however, we’re doing our bazaar in very familiar grounds where some people have either seen me in my diapers waiting in line to have my immunity shots with the company doctor, or in my swimsuit trying not to drown as I learn how to swim, or in my school uniform lying down on the sofa in my dad’s office while he waits for his break time before he brings home his ailing daughter. Having said these, it was pretty much nostalgic hanging around the place which, in a special way, had witnessed me growing up.

Then there’s the part where my frustrations in writing have leaked to these same people, especially those pieces and letters concerning Nichi which moved them, by the way, to help us get through the hospital finances we struggled with. You see, bayanihan is alive at this side of the world. Thank God for sending us His angels! Anyway, these people would then ask, “ikaw yung writer?” Although I can hardly justify myself as a writer because of the fact that I don’t write for a living, I feel flattered to answer yes to their question.

Our sales weren’t all too great to tell the truth. But I hardly fell asleep even during the so-called “dead hours.” Our fellow bazaaristas kept me up. I probably fed on their energies. It helped that the organizers put up a white screen where they projected movies like Ratatouille, the Sarah Geronimo and John Loyd Cruz movie, For the First Time, and The Dark Knight. It made the bazaar area more alive. I didn’t have to see the movies myself. The way the people reacted to these movies were enough to entertain me.

With this bazaar, I was also able to reunite with my high school (and grade school) classmates. Betsy who now manages her own bakeshop while baking and maintaining a column in a certain magazine, Stef who works with the Interactive department of the other leading TV network in the country, and Ida who’s now a wife, a mom (!) and a Manager in my Dad’s former office.

Of course it was also priceless, having the chance to spend more time with my mom and see her do what she loves to do: Talk. But sitting with her in our “stall” brought back good memories of the past where things seemed tough for us yet less complicated than today. For the record, I loved the simplicity of our moments together. It was refreshing.

You see, I didn’t have to buy anything in the bazaar I was telling you about. Yet I was lucky to have gotten more out of it than I anticipated.

The Return of the Comeback

As the story now goes, my return to my former office has been encouraged by a Christmas sale I could not refuse, mostly for entrepreneurial reasons. It was an opportunity practically screaming just to present itself. Who was I to refuse?

In the hopes of being the early bird that’ll catch the worm, I headed as early as I possibly could to my former office where I last set foot on five months ago. I cannot stifle the smile on my face on my way there. I guess, whether I admit it or not, I am psyched to see the people I’ve worked with for the past three years and ten months of my life. It was, after all, an undeniably nostalgic moment.

The way in which I arrived was a classic FDC late moment. The tricycle ride, which was one of the reasons why I used to hate to go to work, deprived me of a grand entrance. But I’ll leave ostentatious entrances to Batman.

My former manager was at the office entrance when I alighted the unglamorous tricycle. It was past 9 a.m. The scene was all too familiar.

“Ms. Malu, half day na po ako!” I greeted her who was, I think, surprised to see me—in the Philippines. (It was a company policy that if you time in after 9 a.m., you’ll be reduced to serving a half day at work. You will not be paid for your presence from 9:01-1:15.) She told me to start hunting inside the AVR, turned Hallmark warehouse exhibit, upon learning that I was there for the sale.

Interesting enough, this is my first time to become part of the Hallmark sale as an outsider. I never knew about the Hallmark sale and the treasures that lurked there prior to my being their employee. As a shopper, I came in early; competition have not yet began.

I haven’t been going around long when our brand officer, the future Mrs. (to be filled in with her fiancé’s family name which I missed—advance “best wishes,” again!) spotted me. She, too, was surprised I was home. (And here I thought everyone knew I was back.) She required me to go up (the department) after doing my shopping. I said, “Yes, of course, I will!”

I originally planned to say “hi” to everyone first but since I didn’t see the dashing Adonis when I arrived, I hesitated and postponed the trip upstairs for later. (Adonis is the name of our “studly” guard. No kidding.) I was afraid the new guard would ban me upstairs. You know me. Praning as always! Then again, my eyes were on the Hallmark stuff I was about to rummage given the head start I have against my fellow scavengers.

I didn’t notice that a big guy was standing next to me, watching me decide which gift bag passes my standards and which doesn’t. The big guy was no other than Kuya Bing, a giant one can easily mistake for a bully when he’s just occasionally crazy and funny. He saved my fingers from probable bloody cuts by teaching me the proper way of holding metal rulers and cutters during my early days at Filstar. Priceless! He was also my balloon sculpture master (actually he’s a balloon guru to a lot of people) and was generous enough to share his knowledge and lend his balloon tools for last year’s Project: Brave Kids party. For reasons I cannot explain, Kuya Bing is one of the few people who can make fun of my non-existent love life without pissing me off (or hurting my feelings). We both end up entertained by laughing at the nonsense we come up with regarding my MIA boyfriend.

Later, Ms. Isay, Ms Jean & Ms Donna came. It was really nice seeing them. I began to feel like I was no outsider. A shriek also helped in welcoming me back. When I turned around, it was Kuya Lody who, even without his eyeglasses on, was able to recognize me. I was hoping to approach him first and surprise him with a, “Miss, miss, magkano ito?” I guess my “skit” had just been preempted. Our resident home-y also said his groovy “hello!”

Then Shom came. Shom and I have worked together for only nine months. Amidst a few early adjustments, we hit it off and eventually became good friends. It helped that she fed me waffles every morning. Hehe. Seriously, she won me over by her painfully truthful ways, spiced up by her wife and mom insights on things. She was, as always, gracious to help me around the sale, “selling” me the goods she believed I should consider buying.

As soon as shopping was over, I went upstairs and did my rounds. First clique that greeted me were the mommies who, in their intrinsic mommy ways, were concerned about what’s been going on in my life for the past days. Next, I headed to the bosses, whom I filled in with what I’ve been doing since I got back, and to whom I showed the video of my lovely niece. Third stop was at the hobbits’ corner which was alarmingly silent (no snickering or boisterous laughter). I learned that their PSP units have been keeping them mum and in tears…adik! (Before I get them into trouble, allow me to clarify that it was break time when I caught them seriously absorbed with their games.) I went to my former lunch mates next. I seriously felt a needed get-together with those guys. I went one-on-one with my sort of two-time officemate and relayed to him what’s been up with our other office. Then I sat with the other office duo where our stories bordered on Cheche’s kids to the next American Idol to visit the Philippines. (Michael Johns, here we come!) Of course, I had to say my hello to the artists who played as my office Kuyas. A separate hi to Kuya Pat (special mention?) who showed me their latest drinking water model/ victim. Finally, I had a quick chat with my constant cheerer (the missus to the giant) who never came short in supporting me in whatever next crazy idea I had for “work.” (I am looking forward to a longer talk in December!)

My stops were spent with more than mere exchanges of pleasantries. It was mainly a quick update on life and those that came along with it. I hardly felt the five months I wasn’t around. For all its worth, I did miss being in those people’s company!

So I am about to start my second real job soon. I am not raising my hopes up too much in terms of the people I am bound to mingle with. I was lucky to have had my first set of officemates; it will be a lottery jackpot if I get people like them again. But who knows?

For this moment, I am just glad to have been back.

Last Sunday I Broke My Lucky Charm

The last time I was with my friends (which was a month ago), we set out to buy each other charm bracelets to hopefully turn our fortunes around—to shoo away bad luck for one of us, to bring good health to another, and attract a career for me.

But since we were not that lucky, we were not able to find a store that’ll sell us our target merchandise. See? We really need those lucky charms.

Last Saturday, in the midst of my OC attack, I found the Chinese glass phone trinket given to me by my college professor (or was he an instructor?) who was obsessed with Chinese culture. He was my “dad” at our class Kris Kringle. (I was Agent Sydney Bristow. My baby was Digna. Hehe.) He said the trinket will bring me luck.

Having that in mind, I placed the trinket at my right pocket and decided to attach it to my phone when I go downstairs. (My phone seldom goes with me when I’m at home. It is usually stationed beside Nichi’s photo downstairs, if not inside the study table in my room.)

I forgot about the trinket. The way I was reminded about it was, at the risk of sounding redundant, unlucky.

While relieving myself in the bathroom that afternoon, the trinket dropped on the tile floor just as I was pulling up my pants. There was a hole in my pocket and the trinket slipped.

The Chinese figure broke its neck; the string holder got detached. My lucky charm got maimed in seconds.

There goes my luck. I thought.

Then this day happened.

Hah!

***

Post Script:

I composed the draft for this piece using MS Word. I was about to hit the “save” button after entering the filename when my mom accidentally pulled the PC’s plug. MS word wasn’t able to recover the file upon re-starting because it was, well “corrupted.”

I had to retype the whole thing the way I remembered writing them.

Banks: How They Sneak Charges Behind Your Back

I learned something new today. Unfortunately it is costing me Php500.09 which I have yet to earn. You can only imagine how painful it is to pay for that amount, knowing that I did not get anything out of it other than this article and a few wrinkles.

So let’s get down to business.

Credit card companies often tell us that they charge 3.5% monthly interest rate whenever we fail to make full payments of our month’s bill. Little do we know that banks do their magic when computing for the 3.5% they claim to charge—the figure, I believe, they come up with for press release.

I failed to pay in full my last set of purchases with a bank which if we were in Aristotle’s time will be called Polis-bank. But being the good payer I was, I paid my minimum amount due, even a few pesos over it, just to show I haven’t forgotten my responsibility even if I am a little short on cash these days. I was ready to take the consequence for not paying the full amount, the consequence I understand thanks to the sneaky press release.

But then here I am flabbergasted by the legal hanky panky going on in the credit card world.

The truth is, I didn’t have to posses my depleted mathematical prowess to compute 3.5% of last month’s total amount due. Php500.09 clearly is too much.

Unfortunately for my bank, I have all the time in the world to ask them my loads of questions. It didn’t help that I am in a state of semi-poverty, that every cent in my pocket and my bank, I make sure I account for. So I called them and requested that they walk me through how they arrived with Php500.09.

First explanation of the agent at the end of the line was the 3.5% they were referring to as the monthly interest rate is actually 3.5% of the total amount due for the month you were not able to pay in full. The partial amount you paid even if it is above the minimum amount due they set is included in the computation of the darn 3.5%.

Therefore, there is no point in doing partial payments when it is not subtracted from the total amount due before the account owner is penalized. If my total amount due was Php100.00 and the bank sets Php30.00 as my minimum amount due (there is no clear formula for setting the minimum amount due either. They say there is but I tried computing. Their press release formula in inconsistent with their actual figures), then if I pay Php50.00 and let the other Php50.00 pass, you’d expect I’d be charged with P1.75 (3.5% of the unpaid amount). But no! According to the first point raised by the agent I talked to, they compute it as 3.5% of Php100.00 (my total amount due for the banking cycle I supposedly screwed up). The finance charge will now be doubled and become Php3.50 instead of the expected Php1.75.

Given that principle, I computed 3.5% of my total amount due, regardless of the amount I was able to pay for the banking cycle I allegedly screwed up. Again, I didn’t have to be a math genius to realize that the Php500.09 they were charging me was still way beyond my 3.5%.

So I say, “huh, but the Php500.09 is NOT 3.5% of the amount previously billed on my name?”

The agent then says that actually their way of computing is more complicated than I think. She told me I can check out the back of my bank statement for the formula I was squeezing her for. I looked but it wasn’t there. I think you cannot blame me for smelling something fishy. She goes a bit defensive and insists I am lucky the bank did not add any late charge on my bill. Therefore if a client was devoid of luck, s/he will have to face the mysterious finance charge AND a late charge (the computation of which can be more mysterious, for all we know).

Objectively speaking, I am one of the calmest callers in the world even if irritated. I think I even had more patience than the agent I was talking to. In the most humble way, I requested her to breakdown to me the computation for the Php500.09 because I was about to pay for it, and it really didn’t feel right to pay for something I don’t understand.

She says she can fax it to me. I told her I didn’t have access to a fax machine. I asked her to email me instead. She said she can’t email me even if I get emails from them every month for promos my lifestyle cannot avail me. She says she can send it to me via snail mail. Great! My Php500.09 would be long gone by then being that last day of paying for this banking cycle is a good five days from now, and I have no plans of leaving any of the pesos I owed them pass. But I acceded. At least there is hope in shedding light to the finance charge mystery even if it'll come late.

Still, I can’t help but feel that banks do have a way of sneaking up on you, especially when you are too passive (or rich) to notice. I have yet to check my other banks for their policies. Consider it as my personal investigation.

And if by any chance I am in the wrong here, if assuming that the 3.5% monthly interest rate banks broadcast has a whole lot to do with computing for the finance charge is completely erratic, then I am less informed than I thought. To think I have been a credit card holder for almost four years now. And I read fine prints even if I suffer from myopia and I have to decipher paragraphs with a font size of 4. Actually fine prints are fishy.

A friendly advice, if you want to spare yourself from the same predicament I am in, make sure you pay every cent due you per month. That way banks can’t OVER charge you with something you did not spend.

An advice for the wise: Always check your bills. You’ll never know what unnecessary charges banks will bill you with. It happened to me once. The bank apologized and blamed their system for generating an amount from nowhere. They reversed the amount. I didn’t have to pay for it. But I might have paid for it if I way to carefree to check.

You see how unjust things are? If you screw up, you literally have to pay for it via the stinky charges. If the bank "slips," they say sorry and their absolution don't cost them a cent.

Hmm…Sneaky! Sneaky.

Bonggang Bongga si Obama!

Looks like the United States of America will be welcoming its first black president. This says a lot about the status of racial acceptance in the US--a good sign of maturity on the nation the world constantly looks up to.

I was personally vying for Obama, not that my opinion counts. For one, he looks sexier than McCain. (Don't you agree?) Hah! And of course I am all for the color. I believe it'll stir things up in the land which is supposed to be flowing with milk and honey (never mind the recession). I saw Obama delivering his speech in one of his last campaigns. A lot of conviction there. I imagine emotional American voters in tears while cheering for him. His campaign sortee pimps can easily relax.

Barack is all for America. He promises to improve on the US health care system, the flawed system we have seen in John Q. Now, Americans can get sick whenever they like. (Kidding.)

But then, the latest buzz says that Obama is against America's outsourcing of services from other countries like ours. Well, he, of course, thinks that his people should be prioritized in the US job market, the opposite of what outsourcing is all about. Until he does something about it, Pinoys in the Call Center industry can only cross their fingers. (My plea: Mr. Obama, please be kind. Don't take it (irate callers?) away from us. We have to feed our families, too.)

Former Pinoy Senator, Ernesto Maceda, however, assures the public that it'll be virtually impossible for US companies to do away with services outsourced in the Philippines. Afterall, we provide them with quality labor at a very low price. Well, I hope Maceda is right.

Besides, Barack ought to have a heart for people like us. I know Superman has.

I can't imagine how the soon-to-be-most powerful man in the United States and, maybe even, in the world is celebrating right now. His is sure to go down in history as one of the best wins in a presidential race.

Obama has less than two months to get his act together and be the president he promised to be.

Until then, we''ll just have to wait how he performs after he takes his oath of office as the president of the United States of America come January 20. 2009.

The One with the Dozen Krispy Kremes

People, barter trade is alive!

Last Sunday, I received a dozen Original Glazed Krispy Kreme doughnuts for rendering my services and whatever artistic touch I could pull within me. And although monetary compensation would have helped the “starving” me, the doughnuts were sweeter! Especially when minutes before the loops arrived, I was craving for at least a couple of their kind.

I refused to charge who might have been my first paying client. After all she is a family friend. But with her, as well as of the baby’s parents’, satisfied remarks on the “job” I delivered plus the unexpected Krispy Kremes, I am quite convinced that I just might have a future in the invitation-making business.

I may take designing invitations seriously from hereon forward. A good friend advised me to start charging especially since it’s no secret that I need cash, lots of them.

Feel free to commission me for invitation projects. I may specialize on children’s parties: baptisms and birthdays. Weddings and debuts? Well, let’s just see if I’ll develop the aptitude for them.

For now, here is a showcase of my latest venture:

Cover of the two-sheet invite


Second page printed on parchment paper



Cover design for the CD souvenir

Malamang Mabatukan ako ng mga naging Math Teachers ko

I just lost what I haven’t been using. And taking a test that will measure my skills is the most inopportune time to find out about it.

At malamang sa oo, mabatukan ako ng mga naging Math teachers ko for being sooo slow at handling simple arithmetic. I had around 20 equations to solve in 10 minutes. The moment I saw the numbers, I swear, naramdaman kong bumaluktot, if not nag-shrink, ang mathematical side of my brain. Hindi ko pa yata nakalahati yung dapat sagutan. Nakakahiya talaga ako!

If the seventh grader me were to answer that exam, I would have breezed through it with extra time to brush my hair. Pero na-spoil ako ng calculators na very conveniently kong na-aaccess. Deprived na sa exercise ang math part ng brain ko. Hindi na siya as alive, alert, awake, enthusiastic (!) as before.

I wasn’t bad in Math, you see. At least not generally. In my last year in high school, I could solve complicated equations—those things called polynomials which seemed to have bordered on calculus—in 5 seconds while in front of the whole class. Ms. Maranan, my 4th year high school Algebra teacher, had a thing for board works and she’d literally count to five and expect you to arrive with the correct answer at the stroke of her “-ve” (for “five”). And there would only be two of you in front so it wasn’t difficult for her to see your every move.

If Mrs. Canzana, my grade 6 math teacher, knew I am screwing up my multiplication table again, she’d be throwing her volleyball at me along with her simple yet nerve-wracking “6x7?’s.”

If Sir Melo and Ms. Zuela, my Geometry and my Trigonometry teachers, respectively, knew I’d end up like this, they wouldn’t have placed me in Math A class come senior year.

If Sir Marwin, my Math 11 instructor, sees my score for the arithmetic part of the test I took today, he’d surely take back my 1.0.

If my dad discovers my day’s mishap, he would certainly ban me from going out and playing until I’ve mastered my multiplication table. Again.

On with the Chase

Friday marked the beginning of my chase. Because I figured that if I can’t have money, I could at least have my dreams—those that I can afford.

It sure wasn’t easy chasing after my supposed dream. If last Saturday night I tried squeezing myself inside the forlorn MRT, I would certainly burst into tears out of exhaustion and frustration.

It all started when I attended a meeting that seemed to be a grand exodus which I have met halfway where everyone knew everyone and everything, and I? I was at a loss. But I can certainly use a challenge so catching up I must do.

I was hoping to steal a few hours of sleep after the meeting for my scheduled all-nighter which I didn’t mind at all. To tell the truth, I was looking forward to it the whole week. To see how the Job Market pull-out is made and become part of its being. Even if my mom seemed to object. And my brother, skeptical.

But we all know how traffic is in our country so, I didn’t have time to sleep, and I ended up running late for my night gig. Which was embarrassing because who gets late at night? You can’t tell your boss, “tinaghali po ako ng gising!” (or can you?) Plus, I was afraid I’d get fired even before I was formally hired. You see, I think in extremes.

And so, even if I hate riding the MRT which deprives me of my precious space—I consider my personal bubble sacred—I braved it. I descended the stairs as quickly as I could and in my rush, I stepped on the skirt of the nun walking in front of me. Good thing I didn’t blurt out cuss words. Instead I said sorry. Even better, her skirt did not rip off or fall down to the floor. If that were the case, lighting would probably strike me.

So I did my job. I was lucky the work was not toxic that night. My baptism of fire wasn’t all a shock.

Then it was time to sleep. Sleep where? I was expecting I’d be losing consciousness seated while my arms work as my head’s cushion. (If I assumed that position, my fingers would be dead in the morning due to an obstruction in my blood circulation.) But behold! There was a white leather couch waiting for me upstairs, in the anteroom that leads to a clinic. It was not long enough to accommodate my height but I’d take what I can get.

A few tossing and turning later, everything faded to black—or white, depending on my dream.

The moment I regained consciousness, the sun was up and there were already people inside the clinic. It was embarrassing! I tiptoed out of the anteroom, walked downstairs and got ready for another eight hours of work. By “got ready” I mean, comb my hair, brush my teeth, eat my instant “healthy” cereal breakfast, wipe my eyeglasses.

Eight hours crawled by and I was close to “wasted.” The Bicol Express and rice I bought at the turu-turo nearby (with fingers crossed—sana OK pa ang hepa shots ko, stomach be strong!) for lunch—the sole decent meal I had for the day—had worn out. I hadn’t taken a bath for 26 hours but I don’t believe I stink. Thanks to the air-conditioning, I didn’t! Being that I took a bus instead of the MRT, I was 2 hours away from home—traffic is that horrible! I lacked quality sleep. And a tiny voice was telling me that devoting around 26 hours of my life for this cause and be paid for merely 14 hours is not encouraging at all. For a moment I thought I’d start looking for a printer who’d stamp on my shirt, “starving dreamer.”

But it is too early to complain. Things can’t go worse. How bad can running for one’s life's goal be?

My “bigger picture” will be my inspiration.

And the chase continues.