i was so tired, all i could do was cry...

my fats don't make me super woman, you know?

that's how the extra weight can be deceiving. it masks the frailty of someone like me. even if i weigh extra heavier than i should be, that doesn't mean i have the endurance of huge animals like elephants or pigs or dinausaurs.

last saturday, i must have pushed myself to the limit, working from 9:30 AM, friday to around 2:30 PM saturday. i had roughly 30 minutes of lousy sleep in between. by 3 pm, my head was throbbing so hard, a vein would have snapped off if i were prone to aneurism. thank god i'm not.

on my way home, i could barely open my eyes inside the taxi. the driver was a blessing, though. he brought me home without taking advantage of my half-unconscious state. i was more than glad to give him a bigger than usual tip.

once i stepped inside our house, i claimed the sofa to park my half-dead body. and in the sanctuary that is home, in the comfort of the sofa and a few of our pillows, i started to cry. my mom asked why and i said i was just soo tired.

i managed to share some of my day's high even if my eyes were closed. and then i dozed off. i was up at around 10 pm and took my second meal for the day. the first meal was an ensaymada and mango juice from my (very caring) officemate, jamie (to whom i owe a lot). the headache was still there so i took whatever pain reliever i found. even if am not much into taking meds.

im not feeling too good until now. but the thing is, i wish i weren't this weak. because for all it's worth, i wanted to be super woman for this job. i really do.

Let me Tell you about my Latest Hypochondria Attack

It is difficult to know for certain if there is something wrong with my system or if it’s all psychosomatic—the symptoms that seem to manifest whenever I am faced with one major fear: getting sick.

Lately, I feel my limbs are especially weak; my joints, “mahapdi,” and my heart, like someone is squeezing it from the inside. I get occasional headaches and either of my eyes sometime involuntarily twitches.

I worry that my blood pressure will plummet because prior to keeping this lifestyle, my BP has been a bit low. I also fear that my blood count gets messed up—but that’s thinking in extremes.

I rarely get any decent sleep these days and I blame that for the so-called anomalies in my body. It’s either I can’t sleep, I have to stay awake, or I am trying to keep up with the rest of the waking world, thus sacrificing sleep.

A friend told me to take Vitamin B complex supplements. Her mom is a nurse so I believe her. Plus last year, when my knees felt the same way they are feeling now, the doctor prescribed me the same vitamin.

I Googled “Vitamin B Complex” and landed on Wikepedia. I found out a few alarming symptoms for people lacking any of the eight variety of Vitamin B: weakness and pain in the limbs, irregular heartbeat, cracks in lips, high sensitivity to sunlight, insomnia (?), weakness, mental confusion, anemia, water retention (weight loss is also a symptom but apparently I am not any lighter), hypertension (which I believe has the same symptom as low blood), to name a few.

See, I get paranoid this way.

I guess, I would just have to relax and hope that the “ailments” go away.

As much as it is tempting to sign off at times, I believe I still have a mission down here. I would hate it if I get sick.

My Little Phony

I don’t feel like fighting today. So I am allowing myself to be weak. And sad.

Yesterday, I’ve come to a conclusion that I really am more of a lover than a fighter. I’d care more than I’d compete.

I am thinking I’d be better off if I were a cut-throat bitch who sails through life’s challenges very swiftly. It seems easier for them bitches to survive. They do their thing and care less whom they trip along the way. They move forward. They reach their goals.

I grew a heart. As consequence, I have to tend to it whenever it feels pain. And it eats up time. I could suppress my drama but what for? To pretend I am a cold, cut-throat bitch?

I have a long way to travel but at the moment, I’m admitting that I’m tired. While I’m at it, allow me to confess that my spirit is beaten up. It ain’t easy proving oneself to hostile parties all the time. It makes me feel like a phony, like I am not who I claim to be. Which is pretty much an impossible thing to do by an overly self-aware entity.

So think of this as a quick break.

I’d pack up and get on my feet again later. I just need this breather.

Why Battik?

battik's etymology - came from tye d., the blogger's shortened name. keeping the rhyme, d can stand for "die".

put together, “tye die” is an obvious anagram for “tie dye”. and how else does one add an indigenous flavor to the art of randomly decorating an otherwise bland canvas? Battik! (Note the extra T.)

i am battik. i am an array of random colors and shapes and patterns. i can be as interesting as they come. my canvas is my life. and each day, I discover something new, something to add to my colors, my shapes and my patterns.

in my workshop i attempt to simplify life's complications by taking it one day at a time. and there I see the beauty of my canvas.

battik.

April’s Fool

It seems self-indulgent to devote a whole lot of space in answering the proverbial question I dare not answer prior to this day. But life’s recent twists and turns prompted me to dive in and take the risk.

A lot of things happen to us each day, and no matter how mundane our 24 hours can get, we are molded every minute to develop into the person we continue to become. But through all those changes, two remain constant: who we initially are and who we once strive to be. It almost seems a good idea to have a concrete draft of ourselves, if only to make sure that through life’s adventures, we will not lose our I’s.

So who am I?

At this point, my mind unconsciously assumes the tabula rasa state but I shall dig in, starting with the exterior.

I have such an ordinary face, you’ve almost always have seen me everywhere. I’ve heard a number of people say that they are afraid of me, perhaps because of my occasional blatant truth-telling ways or maybe because of my bitchiness to some extent. It’s not something I’m proud of, having people cringing when I’m around, especially if one of those people is my cousin.

Ironically, I’m a cry baby. My family would testify to that. I weep when I’m sad, sick, mad, touched, happy—you name the emotions and my eyes would well up. (Parang si Jude Law sa “The Holiday”) However, I don’t cry over movies, except once and it was a comedy.

At some aspect, I am a people pleaser. I am somehow sensitive with the people around me and how my presence affects them. I am an advocate of the don’t-unto-others-what-you-don’t-want-others-to-do-unto-you rule. And with that, I may have set some silent expectations from my “others” to a fault. I also have a penchant for making people feel special because people really need that in their lives to affirm that they are indeed extraordinary. I concoct surprises because I love moments when I see a twinkle in the eyes of the person I surprised. There’s something gratifying in it. Needless to say, I don’t mind going out of my way to make someone smile.

But I am flawed and, if there’s one thing I’m brave enough to do, it’s to admit how imperfect I am. First, I have my mood swings. When I get irritated, it seems impossible for me to hide my irritation. Same goes when I’m angry. Sometimes I say what I feel but being that I have a flair for sarcasm, what I say often wounds people. Second, I tend to be overly possessive of those special to me, it’s awfully hard for me to let them go even when time calls for it. I am the embodiment of jealousy and it sucks plenty of times. Third, I am hard-headed. I do what I strongly think I should do even if I know that no one will exactly cheer for me. And then there’s my selfishness that if I act plainly on instincts, the sun will lose its purpose because the world will have to start revolving around me. I can go on nearly forever for my list of shortcomings. And so I shall digress.

Recently I discovered my incapacity for not caring. I don’t buy the idea that it is possible for me to be part of a circle where I have no voice. I think my inability to shut up about issues I inevitably am a part of sprang from me being raised by my parents and molded by the institutions I’ve attended to become an individual devoid of apathy. Plus I have this notion that if I have something good to say or something good to do, I cannot simply zip it or freeze; otherwise I will be risking hating myself forever. On some matters, I really can’t stay on the sidelines, which sometimes works against me.

Despite my seemingly frigid exterior, especially to those who know so little of me, I really am an emotional freak, thus explaining my abundant supply of tears. My emotions prompt me to write. However, my being emotional, most of the time, works to my disadvantage. I get hurt easily and sometimes end up damaged.

Of course describing me will not be complete if there is no mention of my temper. I get mad easily especially to inanimate objects, to the point of cursing at them. Notice the “inanimate objects”. I have worked on my lack of patience towards people, or so I think, thereby limiting my scarcity with such virtue to objects with no feelings or thoughts of their own. Just as equally a part of me as my temper is my sense of humor. It may sometimes be perverse to others. But what the heck! Anything to make me laugh, right? Anyway I make it a point not to hurt anyone while laughing.

I’m pushing to more than two pages, I have to take a halt. This space about me is more than enough. (And the things I’ve written will do where anchoring myself to the grand scheme of things is concerned.) I’d be a real fool if I go on.

Perhaps the rest of me, I, as well as the people I deal with, will have to figure out.

Ciao!

The Relief From Constipation

It’s been a while since I’ve posted anything on my blog. And the last one was a quite disturbing tale. I have my excuses for being unfaithful to “my sacred corner of the world,” as an officemate would put it. One would be: I’ve been busy whipping up the cutest and close to perfect invitation for my niece’s baptism. I hardly found time to do my personal laundry, let alone blog. The other one would be: on my silent moments, I’ve been feeling shitty, not against anyone but mostly towards myself.

I figured long ago, it’s always best to shut up when anger clouds your thoughts, prompting you to say or write profanities or anything resembling profanities. It’s best to shut up so that no irrevocable damages could be done just because your emotions are too strong you just had to drop destructive words.

Anger clearly is not the best relief to constipation.

As to my previous post, I turned my depression into a tale. I said that I’ve been feeling shitty lately. I’ve been on a roller coaster of emotions; I honestly am considering seeing a doctor about it. Everyone feels sad from time to time but not everyone can get as depressed as I am. It worries me. (You should understand how hard it is for me to admit that there is a chance that I may be crazy. Seriously crazy.) And since I really can’t commit to suicide or any form of self mutilation to relieve me of all my shits, I created a character who can jump off a cliff without hestations, unlike me.

You see, not all writers have to be 100% sane, right?

Someone once asked me why I wanted to become a writer. I answered, “so that when I lose my voice, I’d have my written words to turn to.”

I lost my voice for a while. It’s a self-imposed constipation really. I didn’t have the time to relieve myself of my thoughts. I didn’t bother to find time to do it. Anyway, it was for the best. To save the world of my drama.

The earth doesn’t have to feel shitty simply because I do, right?

Achilles had his tent where he retreats to from time to time. I have my blog which will always accommodate my written voice no matter if it’s at 6 in the morning.

It’s unfair turning to a blog instead of a friend or family during tough times but what is fair really? Where I am right now, fair is nonexistent.

Believe me.

The last time we went out to refresh our groceries a promo girl handed me her free merchandise. I thanked her and I was actually psyched for receiving something without having to pay. When I looked at it, it was Dolculax, “the number 1 laxative in the Philippines.” It says it’ll give me relief from constipation. I’m staring at the flyer and the pill right now and I’m writing this. I guess I’m relieved.

But wait, I the labels says I have to swallow it for it to work.

Oh well…

The Glory of the Byline

Nothing beats seeing your name on printed, if not published sheets. And since I’m on a scanning streak I’m taking this space to share some print materials wherein I experienced the glory of the so-called byline.

The first time I got published was, believe it or not, in Cosmopolitan in their June 2002 issue. I sent them one of those feedback letters which ultimately rave about how their magazine is a gift from God. My ulterior motive in kissing their Cosmo ass was the Canon camera they were giving away to the letter of the month. I didn’t win the camera but I did get published and, boy, did it feel great!



I’m not sure if the next two publication of sort should count but I’m including them anyway. They are the playbill for the first and second staging of “The Juggler,” a play by Palanca Winner, Layeta Bucoy which the Comm. Arts Students staged in 2003 and 2004. I opt to preserve them here in case I lose my copies.





In 2003, we published a magazine as our final project in my Newspaper Workshop class . It’s my first shot at really writing a whole piece or two and seeing these “babies” in print.





Then there’s my first Youngblood piece which came out October 31, 2004 which was later followed by my second YB baby which came out December 15, 2007. Both articles that were printed at two different issues of the Philippine Daily Inquirer will forever be an honor, something at the top of my life’s bests list.






Then a week ago, I was there in the launching of the book containing the works of my students which I co-edited with other GIFT-Writing instructors. Needless to say, I am proud of this book!



It’s a bit difficult for me to understand why anyone will question my obsession with getting published. For the possibility that an entity would wonder what the deal is with the byline thing, here’s what I have to say: It has little to do with the obvious ego boosting reasons. Getting published affirms that I make sense, that I amount to something that’s why someone was bold enough to save a space in their precious sheets for me. Seeing me on printed materials proves that I existed, not just to the people who know me but to those who were reached by the materials in circulation. Somehow I get to live not just where I am standing but also to where I am heard (or read).

It really is close to Descartes’ idea on existentialism. And if I may speak along what he once said to punctuate my point about being published, I’d say, “I see my name, therefore I exist.”

About Me 3

I am already twenty five; I have to take this “About Me” seriously.

I’m opposites fused into one. My name, for example, is somewhat an oxymoron. “Ty” stands for “tyranny” which means “dominance through threat of punishment and violence.” Meanwhile, “-rene” (from “Irene”) in Greek means “peace.”

I’m a Gemini. I blame Castor and Pollux for my multiple personality. Talking to myself keeps me sane even if I do that activity aloud. And I laugh at my own jokes too—aloud. I once took a Yin-Yang test. Apparently, my Yin rates equal to my Yang, thereby suggesting androgyny.

I’m a fan of Jessica Zafra’s cynicism but I am a sucker for Robin William’s “inspirational” movies. I have never cried while watching a movie except probably for that single tear that rolled when I saw “Mrs. Doubtfire”—and it was supposed to be a comedy.

I love kids but I refuse to have any (at least as of the moment). I hate drawing attention to myself but I feel the need to shine. I don’t understand people in general but I like being AROUND them—although not necessarily being WITH them. I am not fond of men but I love Jude Law.

I am not simple, I am not nice. But I ultimately want to do the good thing for as long as I can. I look serious but I can be really hilarious. I love writing but am not necessarily a fan of reading.

I say that I am a private person and am not used to disclosing things about me but here I am saying these things to who-knows-who.

About Me 2

My horoscope says I’m sexually cool.



Enlighten me.

About Me 1

About me?

I’m…ugh…LOST! that’s it! a little lost right now. a bit restless and lost. A few steps away from being totally depressed. (Oh please, not again!) But fighting, I guess…

Can I mention that I dream of becoming a writer? OK. I DREAM OF BECOMING A WRITER.


Thanks!

Don’t ask me about coherence. When you’re as lost as I am, you wouldn’t be giving a damn about coherence. Trust me.