A Trip to Pati’s Point

I’ve noticed that there are plenty of schools around Singapore and students are everywhere! Aside from being mall rats, these students leave another lasting impression on me: they dress sloppy.

Last week, an article on how slack Singaporeans dress up came out in a local newspaper. It lambasted their penchant in dressing down—sporting T-shirts, shorts and flip flops everywhere including theaters and art museums. The article also pointed out that Singaporeans seem to have forgotten how to dress appropriately such that some locals even appear at job interviews wearing sandals or go to work wearing midriff tops.

Locals use the hot weather as an excuse for their manner of dressing. But the way I see, the heat is no excuse to break dress codes, even the unspoken ones. I mean, don’t wear a coat to work if it will cause you heatstroke but at least wear something decent!

I suddenly remembered how, four years ago, an HR manager my mom forced me to see scolded me for not wearing a blazer when she interviewed me for a “job.” If she weren’t friends with my mom, I could have told her right then, “Are you kidding me? It’s blazing hot outside. This long-sleeved-and-collared blouse is killing me as it is! How do you propose I zap myself from home to here without melting in that weather?”

I wonder what that HR manager will say to the less than formal Singaporeans. But don’t ever think I’d wear my “wais” T-shirt for a formal gig in sizzling Pinas. I am one who honors dress codes. But then there are impractical fashion rules which I try to get away from just by dressing smart and tidy. (Unfortunately for me, the HR manager didn’t appreciate my strategy.)

Looking at the kids here and how they carry their uniforms, I guess the issue on dressing up—or down—in this country has a long way to go before it finds a resolution because apparently, its people begin dressing sloppy at an early age.

At this point, I am seeing Miss Patiño in a new light.

Miss Patiño, is our high school’s version of a fashion police. If she catches you wearing colored hair clips, bracelets or bangles, a dangling pair of earrings or an extra, colored thing pinned on your tie, then you're toast! Get ready for an impending C in deportment. And when you are wearing a skirt longer than two inches below the knees (long skirts were a fad then unlike in my mom’s time when girls loved to wear obscenely short skirts), it will be wise to steer clear of Miss Patiño. I literally had to lock myself inside a washroom cubicle once just to avoid her.

Looking back, having an authority like Miss Patiño around while growing up instilled discipline in me. Yes, I think it did. Despite the hide and seek incident, I managed to realize my responsibility to dress accordingly which somehow I generally did back then. And so did most of my schoolmates. Our blouses were white and well-ironed, our socks weren’t so low they were sinking inside our heels, and our shoes were black leather which wentwell with our uniforms unlike a pair of rubber shoes which obviously is a mismatch. If you line us all up, it’ll be pretty much difficult to point out who’s smart and whose grades are on the rocks.

But the kids around here—with messy hair, crumpled tops, varied lengths of skirts, confused tucking of shirt (do they go in or out?), too short socks, and rubbershoes? I just have to wonder how the smart ones look like.

And if Miss Patiño were here, she’d have a hell of a lot of visitors in her L-shaped table we otherwise refer to as Pati’s Point!

***

NOTE: For all its worth, Miss Patiño is nice lady. I even found her sweet for remembering that I was once her minion when I bumped into her last year during my short stint in my former school. And Miss Patiño love to make chikka. Just make sure you greet her once you see her, even if you are no longer inside you uniform and even if you are nine years older than when she last saw you.

Roderick Paulate and Rick Astley...Never Gonna Give You Up!

I'm thinking that this is one of the hottest videos on Youtube these days: Roderick Paulate rocking at Rick Astley's recent concert in the Philippines.




Roderick must be one who leapt for joy once the news that Rick Astley will be gracing the Philippine shores hit the public. He obviously is a fan.

Who doesn't associate Roderick with the 80's English singer? Roderick had been singing Together Forever, Never Gonna Give You Up, Whenever You Need Somebody and other Rick Astley songs since Tonight With Dick And Carmie. For every number, Roderick does his infamous Astley moves.

Astley should, at the very least, thank Roderick for making him extra famous in the Philippines.

I am happy for Roderick. It must have been awesome performing with his idol.

And you know what, he did great. I never thought he is that good. I mean, hey, I'm used to seeing him do lip synchs all the time. Who would have thought Roderick can pull off a live Astley impersonation/performance in front of the (Astley) man himself?

I am genuinely entertained. The cloud hovering over my head suddenly dissipated.

The Bitchin’ Ensues

August 13 will mark the second month since I left my job. That means, it’ll be two months since I haven’t received my back pay. People in poverty such as myself, could afford not earning anything for a limited time only, and right now, when the payment for my eyeglasses are due, I could use that forsaken sum of money to settle my bill. For all I know it’ll be no greater than Php * * but heck, I have to wait forever, for a miracle that may take forever.

Now the bank through which my “salary/backpay” should be wired for some annoying reason, deactivated my phone banking privileges. I could manage my finances by myself if only the phone banking works. To hell if I have to use my phonecard which I am better off using to call my family! Without any warning the bank—the bank I hate the most which I may name as soon as I hear their explanation—joined the conspiracy in pissing me off.

Given no other choice, I was reduced to asking favors to which I received an awful bitching. Grrr! It’s frustrating!

But wait there’s more! One of my credit cards, the one I am keen on keeping, screwed up its online abilities. I enrolled it long before—you know for convenience, when I’m away I could just log in elsewhere to manage it. But what do I discover? The online banking ceased working! I had to email certain managers and later use my precious call card to contact their customer service who’d hopefully attend to my concern.

Then there’s this other credit card, which had to have a problem. The savings account which I am maintaining wouldn’t accept that other credit card. Meaning, I couldn’t well transfer payments from my savings account to that other credit card from here because the card and the savings account are not in good relations with each other. How about that?

And to begin with, I ran out of funds to transfer thanks to the impossible backpay.

I am caught in this web of financial misfortunes I could have used extra understanding. But I guess I have to kneel for asking favors and swallow the uncalled for bitching.

I hate bitches. Given a chance, I’d slap them. Just to wake them up and put them in their proper place.

It’s morning, I shouldn’t be this negative. But I have to let it out, especially after my false hope has just been popped after discovering that the phonecall from a headhunter I received a few minutes ago was for another Mary living in this house. Obviously the "Mary" the headhunter is looking for is not me.

The sadist who finds entertainment in this should die laughing right about now.

The Story of My Life

If I start telling the story of my life, my blog will face its death in a minute or less.

Yes, I write stories of me in here lots of times but that’s just the “me” I remember or the “me” I want to be remembered. The truth is, what you see in my blog is just a cross-section of me—the part of me that makes me “me” but it’s not really the whole “me.”

I am aware that I am, by this time, starting to lose sense.

Forgive me. I am just not in the best of moods. Twenty minutes ago, I lost the sunny disposition I’ve been trying my darn best to sport albeit my frustration in making a career here. It’s a struggle to stay positive. But my effort to keep that smile was wiped away after being slapped on the face by a cold email.

I am over reacting. The email wasn’t all that harsh but it will surely go down in history as one of the worst emails I have ever received in my entire web life.

God, I am the most naïve pessimistic in the world! What was I thinking in making myself believe that someone out there would do for me what I did for others? Now I need to scold myself for being so stupid.

If I have a set of the so-called “hang-ups” it’ll be comprised of my disappointments from finding out that the people whom I silently expect to go an extra mile to do not-necessarily-special things for me will just disappoint. In the most recent case, I asked for a favor. I am grateful that the favor had been granted but to hear negative comments which came free with it is sooo, frustrating I just want to cry!

The thing is, I am one who has a flair for making people feel special. I grant (possible) favors, and throw in my suggestions and a couple of initiative here and there to make the favor well-covered. I whine sometimes but I deliver, often times more than expected. My conscience wouldn’t let me sleep once I realize that I made someone feel awfully unimportant because I was too self-absorbed to do what was asked of me to the best of my abilities. I feel bad whenever I notice how I’ve made someone feel “unspecial."

But why the hell do some people afford to make me feel like a total pushover, a loser, a creature they could hurt just like that?

While I’m in this foul mood, I wish to say, if only to get it out of my system once and for all, that receiving an ostentatious-display-of-whatever through text messaging some month ago made me feel just as bad. I’ve become Kevin Federline. It’s not funny at all. I honestly felt insulted. I still get the urge to punch someone whenever I remember how I was brought down to that moron’s level.

I am generally a good person but crappy things happen to me.

I feel like being mocked in a cosmic conspiracy proportions.

I wonder why the cosmos goes through the trouble of making me feel bad when its ultimate message is “you are not our favorite.”

If this will make it stop, I’d say, “I get it. I get it! No need to rub it in any further.”

Only at 28

At 28, I’ve decided to grow up.

To handle more responsibilities. To be less selfish. To build dreams and work in order to achieve them. To be less lazy. To try new things I normally am afraid to try. To be more confident about myself and what I can do. To be less of a wuss.

At 28, I decided to leave Neverland.

And now it is up to circumstances, if it will allow me to fit in elsewhere.

At 28, I am praying that it does.


At 28, I shake my head for missing on some recklessness I could have done in my youth: drinking, partying, drugs (?), superficial relationships.

At 28, I realize, despite the things I missed, I have tons of reasons to live for, tons of reasons to stay awake.


A more sophisticated world is unfolding before me, and if the Fates work on my side, more fun are yet to come only at 28.

Keep Holy The Sabbath Day

It was probably through the third of the Ten Commandments that God invented “day-off.”

Some are lucky enough to get not only one day off a week, but two. Whether it falls on the Sabbath day or not, an off is an off. One can only be thankful for a quick vacation from a stressful, hardworking week.

Not having a job is like spending your day off which runs for 168 hours a week, 4 times a month.

Take it from me, it isn’t much fun, especially when you realize how unproductive you have been and how you’ve ran out of things to do.

Not Bad For the First

First thought for the day: By heavens, it’s August! (English talaga!)

I left the Philippines in June. July was a breeze and now it’s August!

That means, I haven’t been making money for that long. Haha.

* * *

To mark the first day of the month, destiny set this day for me to have my first job interview, thus explaining my previous post.

How did it turn out?

Good news: First, I didn’t get lost on my way to the correct building. Second, I understood the interviewer although it was pretty much challenging to decipher her English given the local accent she had.

Bad news: First, I am over-qualified for the first two job openings they had. Second, I am—I wouldn’t say under-qualified, I could learn what they wanted me to know if I take classes on it for at least three days—I guess, I am just not quite the perfect person for the third position they are keen on filling in.

Good news: The HR lady saw potentials in me and said I should find work in journalism. She also said she’d try to coordinate in one department of their company and see if they might be needing me.

Bad news: I still don’t have a job.

Good news: My ego is still intact!

Not bad at all!

* * *

Post Script

Before she ended my interview, the HR lady told me, "You're skin is fair for a Filipina."

I didn't know what to make out of her statement but two thoughts came to mind: 1) You should see my sister! and 2) Ano'ng akala mo sa aming mga Pinoy, puros maiitim?