In Passing

I'd like to come up with a more profound post today/tonight. But unfortunately, I'm at a loss. Something is happening to me, a change is occurring. And I'm busy keeping up with it. With this change comes lesser TV time, nighttime Internet surfing, early morning rising and bathing, and commuting. Yes, I now have work.

I can't get into details yet, as I've mentioned, I'm still trying to keep up with it. So let's leave things at that for now. But I can share some stuff, tiny details that I can at least mention.

1. Sunsets.

At the end of every day, for the past week, I have seen the best sunsets ever. I like them, I love them and I am looking forward to more of them.

2. Time.

Is always of the essence, for someone like me who spends a total of four hours traveling to and from work. But now, I get lots of the essential time. Thank you.

3. Future.

There now is something to look forward to. Something valuable. Something promising. Another thank you.

I promise to try and create a more sensible entry in the coming days. For now, let this do.

Who's on top?

Manny Pacquiao just saw the inside of the White House. He had dined with the US President. And together with his wife, they took home M&M's with the WH seal. It is crazy.

Look, I know the guy probably deserves that. One, because nobody else has had eight titles on his name. Two, because he's really and literally gotten himself beat up for him to get where he is now. Three, let's admit this: he can be charming in his own you-know-laden-English way.

But, seriously, an Obama meet-up? That's just wicked (think Ron Weasley). He got into what could be the most prestigious and heavily guarded place on Superpower-world. I guess I can only ogle at the news too much and exhale loudly. And wish that I can throw punches as good as the ones that landed Pacman in the doorstep of President Obama.

I wish I can be as on top of my game as he is.

Which reminds me. I had lunch today, alone, at a fastfood at the mall near my then-college. Since it was a non-lunch-hour lunch, the place was not as crowded and the tables were nicely free. That is why, I seated myself in front of a long table. I know, it's supposedly for the use of large groups of people. And using even a corner seat of that table can be considered selfish. But like I said, it was a non-lunch-hour lunch.

(And besides, I can be as selfish as I want to be. This is a free country.)

Hence, when a group of college students (I have an almost accurate feeling of which university, I was so like them before) came in, I wasn't bothered. Well, I don't know them and I'm having lunch, so why would I?

Until a kid slammed his bag onto the table. Onto my long table. Apparently, he's with the large group of people that table is designed for and they wanted the seats. They wanted my long table. The least he could do was ask me--nicely. But no, he didn't. He got all bitch-y and loudly told his friends that my table would have been perfect for them. And I knew what he was doing.

If you have used sarcasm and mockery for even once in your life, you know what he was doing.

I got so irritated that I stared at him to show him that I knew what he was doing. I stared at his friends who were oh-so-guiltily staring back at me. I stared long and hard and nastily. It took a spoonful of my pasta to erase from my mind the thought of actually confronting them.

As they walked away, no doubt feeling as irritated by me as I was by them, I wondered how they seemed to feel that they were on top of their game. I'm hazarding a guess they're seniors, enrolled in a science program. I am no way discriminating, it's just that I know stereotypes. And I wish to all the heavens that they get kicked by reality--hard. I hope they realize, soon, that they are not on top. And they'll never be, with that kind of attitude.

(They ruined my lunch mood, I deserve to wish that.)

While they were settling at what apparently was a less comfortable table, I finished my meal and smilingly gave the long space to a more pleasant group of checkered-skirted girls.

Revenge is sweet. Life also is, if you are.

And today

Okay, first things first. I apologize for the rude words in the previous post. But I wouldn't take them back; I am entitled to cussing and cursing here, please understand.

Today, I went to another BIR RDO to apply for a TIN. It's one of the requirements I need to meet for the company I'm to work with soon. So I woke up real early because government offices are known for nasty long lines so at least I wanna save myself some waiting time.

But here's the catch: I still wasn't given my TIN. The bespectacled, eyebrow-raising, cold-voiced lady said I needed to attach a copy of either my company ID or certificate of employment. Which can't be, because in order for me to get those, I would need a TIN. Like, hello, neither party would budge so now what?

I explained patiently, and if you know me you'd know it takes a huge effort for me to be patient, that I couldn't possibly get hold of the documents without the TIN. But she wouldn't hear me out. Now, I am not sure I'm 100% on the right side here, maybe I'm missing out on something. It's just annoying that I've been wasting time going to and from offices for a set of numbers.

I am so trying one last option and if that doesn't work still, the president forbid, but I might actually break that law against fixers. Which I'm doing my best to not do.

And while we're on this, let me just say something. You need to know how you could get a government stuff, like TIN. In this new age of technology, you are given an easy option: Google-ing the procedure. And since you trust Mr. Google more than some bespectacled, eyebrow-raising, cold-voiced lady for information, you access the government agency's site. And poof, there's the step-by-step procedure that you need.

But then, upon arriving to the government office to enact all those steps, you realize that the procedure on the website is not exactly the same as what you need to do as told by them harried employees.

Which makes me think, if these employees keep on irritating the public, how on earth are they gonna persuade the people to not go for fixers?

I am not saying going to fixers is right, just that at some point it's actually understandable. So, a mighty "Hey!" to those in authorities. Customer relations is actually a good field to explore.

In the end, I still am doing my best to remain law-abiding. Which means, Ms. Bespectacled, Eyebrow-raising, Cold-voiced Lady, help me get my TIN.

Thank you.

I have a lot of reasons to be mad today

1. Because my planned itinerary just didn't happen. Screw BIR Revenue District Office Jurisdictions. Screw job applications.

2. Because I waited for an hour and a half for a piece of paper and a set of numbers. And all the while, a large tarp-type procedure guidelines was screaming that the waiting should only be for a mere 20 minutes. Reality vs. expectations.

3. Because that wretched company made my morning very uncool and stupidly maddening. I hated them before, I loathe them now. Especially you, you sorry, foolish excuse for an employee. And you were supposedly nice and warm. Well, screw you.

4. Because I am so effin' tired of being nagged. And I do not care what you think of me, if you know me, and whether or not I am entitled to such a statement. Gahd, I wish I can just scream "SHUT THE HELL UP". Just for once.

5. Because I am so tired. Plain and blunt.

I'm sorry for the "bad words", I just cannot contain all these thoughts within me. I want to scream but I cannot. F*** respect.

You don't just cut a complex knot

People are generally scared of endings, of saying goodbye. That's why they have a strong tendency to be scared of beginnings.

I don't know that for sure. I don't have data to support that. I don't even attempt to find anything that would tell me I am right. But that is something I've said from experience.

Because I'm like that.

My friends always ask why I don't want to get married. Or why I run away from anyone who wears commitment where their skins should be. Or why I refuse to believe the fact that there are relationships--friendships, kinships--that can last for a good, long while. I give them a lot of responses: my parents, the kind of family I grew up into, people I've lost, people I left and let leave. But even if all those reasons are put together, they only make up less than half of the true rationale.

The truth is, I hate endings. No, scratch that. I am scared of endings. I am scared of having to say goodbye, of letting go, of waking up one day to find out that one of the people I give utmost importance to has ceased being a part of my life.

I used to be not scared of those things. But you know what they say, one of the reasons people change is because they were hurt so much that they have to.

Since I was young, I've never known how to say bye-bye to my parents when I leave the house or when I watch them leave. My father used to drive me to school (he operates a school service) and I ride together with the other students at the backseat until I have to get off. And always, when the ride ends, I could only throw him a look.

I have made a few adjustments now. I holler "I'm leaving!" while on my way to the door, I nod and flick the outside lights off when my parents say they're going. I kiss the cheeks of some of my friends or when they don't like it, I wave and sometimes I smile. I deal with goodbyes, at the surface level of course, better. And maybe I can get a little credit if I'd like to say I've gotten in slightly good terms with Mr. Letting Go.

But that, I guess, is a ten percent progress. A mere progress. A small progress, especially when you consider all those goodbyes piled up in my to-do drawer. And even with that hollering and kissing-cheeks thing, I still am the same scared girl who cried in the staircase of her high school building five years ago. I still am the same scared girl who couldn't smile and honestly not give a damn about her best friend's wedding. I still am the girl who's scared for all the wrong reasons.

For how long I would be like this, I don't know. If I would ever be not like this, I can't tell. Maybe it would all just go away when I meet someone who would show me holding on is actually not a very good thing. Maybe, like the dust in my windowsill, it would just be wiped clean by someone who cares enough. Maybe it would be like a complex knot in the hands of a very patient Cub Scout, it wouldn't be simply cut but rather it would be analyzed and painstakingly untangled. Or maybe I could start acknowledging those people when I meet them instead of running away from them and shutting the door in their faces.

It's gonna be a long, hard, twisted, wretched way up, because I've been down here for so long now and admittedly, I haven't been good enough to not dig and bury myself deeper. But I'm not a lost cause. At least, I'd like to think I'm not.

Sit back, relax, jump

There are two things I can say I'm good at: showing a poker face and disregarding sequences.

Today is my uncle's birthday. He's my father's oldest brother and he lives in a house that's directly across ours. He has a wife. And he has a son. Now, those two, they don't belong in the same family. My uncle's son is by his first girlfriend.

And they're both coming tonight for a birthday dinner. By "they" I mean the son and the first girlfriend. Which must mean that the dinner is going to be one hell of an awkward affair. Now my family isn't the type that discourages such truths as out-of-marriage children, nor do we deny it. We're very open with each other.

But that also doesn't mean we have to keep opening up and encouraging such truths. Because they're awkward, above anything else.

Thankfully, I am good at doing poker faces.

I am currently watching the fourth season of Grey's Anatomy (by now, you must know I'm getting addicted to it). But I'm not yet done watching the latter half of Season 2 and I haven't even seen an episode of Season 3.

When I was younger, like fifth grade younger, I became a fan of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, the third book in the series. That was two years before I got to read Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, which happens to be the first book.

Doing my college thesis, I started with an instrument first. That's the survey I needed to make my research happen. I had located and tested one already before I got my introductory and background chapters together. Ideally, that was not the way it was supposed to be.

Right now, I am a housewife without a husband and a child. Well, I'm not a housewife, I'm a house-person. I cook, clean, and be a house-person. I'm doing that before I've even become a career woman.

And most days, I am a mother (sort of) before I become my parents' daughter.

I hate sequences, you can say that. I hate the fact that there is an accepted and agreed upon order of how things should be done. I hate the fact that you have to eat your meal first before you drink lots of water. And I hate that you have to wait for one thing to happen first before you get on with your life.

I'm not sure what happens when you mix up these two abilities of mine. I mean, when you let making a poker face and hating sequences go together.

All I know is that they both get me through every day. Like I can hold in my emotions and watch as one step fades into another.

Or I can hold in my emotions and jump from one step to another whatever the world thinks.

A stray thought: It's not good enough

He said, "You were like coming up for fresh air. It's like I was drowning and you saved me. It's all I know."
She said, "It's not good enough."

Sometimes I wonder what's good enough for other people. Or what they mean when they say that. Is it simply to say that they believe there is something better underneath what they see? Or do they think they are worth more than what they're being given?

I have used that line more than once before. It's not good enough. But until now, when I look back to those times I've said that, I can't say for certain what I meant. I have heard them used for me, too, and the meaning was never clear. Maybe there really is something more, something worthier, something that makes believing so much easier. Whatever that is, though, I can only wonder if it's reachable.

I visited my friend last Saturday, after so much haggling and delaying. And it was nice, seeing what I expected to see and feeling what I expected to feel. Or maybe I expected more, but what I saw was enough to stop me from worrying. It wasn't good enough, but it was enough for now.

If you are thinking of forgiveness, which reasons are good enough?

Consider a man whose wife cheated on him. And yet only after a few months, he had apparently forgiven her because they're still together. She's there at their house, acting the part of wife, almost without a trace of what happened before. Every time you see them together, you wonder how he got to forgive her so easily. Or if he really had, like a hundred percent. Maybe so. Maybe not. What were his reasons? Were those reasons good enough?

Or in that case at the opening paragraphs. What reason is good enough for loving a person? What would be the best answer when someone asks you why you love them? Isn't that supposed to be subjective, if not at all inexistent?

Frankly, I have no idea where I'm going on with this. It just makes me wonder--with no cause and no destination, apparently. But if there is even one small chance that I could find meaning if and when I start searching, I guess I will.

So that the next time I hear and use those words, I would know. That where reasons are concerned, they're good enough.