cubicle wisdom

1. Do you love your work?

2. Does your work love you?

3. Do you love yourself?


Thanks Jaja. :)

The end

I finally got to read the last and in my opinion best of the seven Harry Potter books. I couldn’t put it down. I couldn’t eat dinner because Harry was facing the battle at Hogwarts and I just had to know what happened.

I came out of it in a melancholy state, which, two days later, I still can’t shrug off. I don’t know. It seems sad that the series has ended. The finality has left a gaping hole that I did not realize or believe I would actually feel. I mean, so it’s a book. And it’s not as if the world didn’t know that the seventh would be the last. I guess in the end that a good thing. It makes it more believable to put a period to it (unlike the book series of my pre-teen years a.k.a Sweet Valley Twins/High/University, where school never seemed to end and only the characters’ appearances evolved depending on which artist drew the covers).

Still, you can get so attached to Harry after reading about him for so long, it’s hard to accept that the end has finally come. It’s probably the same with the other book series that I love, Anne of Green Gables (then Anne of Avonlea, and so forth), but I read those books when I was really young, when I didn’t know about attachment and goodbyes and letting go.

Haha drama.

But I’m happy too, because Harry finally got his happy ending (okay don’t you dare say I ruined the surprise because I’m probably the last person to have read this book). Yeah sure, I can detect the silliness in that statement. How can you be happy for a fictional character? But that’s the beauty of story-telling, eh? Granted, Rowling probably ripped some ideas off of other coming-of-age, follow-your-dream, good-versus-evil books, but you have to admit that this one definitely sticks, and not just because of the merchandise and marketing. Harry Potter is as real as any other kid with huge problems is. I daresay Harry is in everyone. And so is Hermione, Ron, Draco (maybe a little bit) and the new astig kid on the block, Neville. We felt the pain, longing, struggle, and now happiness.

And don’t we all dream of happiness? Of contentment? Hmm. See, this is why I think Rowling’s target market is actually my age group. People in their 20s to early 30s, torn between careers and principles and desires and responsibilities, wondering what to do and where to go. Harry was born in 1980, after all. How perfect, how relatable.

My only beef is that it tries (too) much to be contemporary. Ron says “effing” quite a lot (parents, you really shouldn’t have bought this for your kids). That made me laugh. Was it really necessary? How can you become classic and ageless if you use words popularized during the effing friendster era? Hay. Sabagay, the Elizabethan language is out of this world din naman. Wait, so if Harry was born in 1980, then the setting of the story would have been 1997. Did people say effing way back in 1997?

Anyway, so that’s it. The saga is over. No matter what critics (I was one of them) say about Harry, it has to be admitted that the book has made an indelible mark on the literature world and people in general.

Harry moved us, and that was enough to reinforce those timeless beliefs that make this world turn.

Boitday

I turned 25 last Friday. Yey! I barely noticed it because my entire being was occupied by my thesis defense, which happened to be on the same day. More on this in another entry.

25. Nice number. Not as scary as I imagined it to be, actually. Mark says it's a good thing I had my quarterlife crisis when I was 23. This "pre-quarterlife" crisis culminated in an anxiety attack on the roofdeck of a building on Ayala Ave. It was lunchtime and I was crying and shaking and laughing, not knowing the reason why. Other people probably thought Mark and I were breaking up, or that I was a lunatic. Hee. Intermittently I would succumb to "episodes", which meant shopping for outrageous stuff that have (thankfully) stayed in the shadows of my closet ever since. I've been to the the doctor because of severe headaches which I thought were migraines, only to be prescribed anti-anxiety pills.

I must confess, I was scared. In one of my grad school classes, we were asked to come up with a "life plan." I took it way seriously, of course. It was the hardest assignment I had to do. I had to put down on paper what had only been swimming in my head, provide targets and timelines, present an appropriate approach and process. Plan my life? I could hardly make my bed in the morning. How do you plan for the uncertainty of everyday, for the inconsistencies of human behavior, for the unpredictable nature of human life? Is it really unpredictable or is that just an excuse? What is our purpose anyway? Why do even endeavor to do what we do? What the hell is the point when we can die the very next minute?? Ah, such is the paradox of planning. Which makes you realize that the question of planning - urban, regional, development, all kinds - lies at the heart of those philosophical questions you dare not ask. It's a great big can of worms. I opened the can and I was horrified - and equally excited.

Anyway, by the time 2007 rolled by, I managed to put those questions behind me, and I was finally fine. :)

Speaking of 2007, it has been a pretty darn good year so far. Traveled to three continents, passed (nay, aced! Hahaha.) the Board, finished my MA (although it's not over until the dean affixes his precious signature on my book. yikes.), and began realizing my (and my friends') vision for the future of environmental planning in the Philippines (naks). I've been faced with and still face big and small problems that I shall happily solve. I continue to have the wonderful, supportive loved ones who all mean the world to me.

They say it's not wise to make lists of things you have or still have to accomplish, so I'll stop here. I'm happy. I guess that sums it up. There is so much more to do, but there really is nothing I could ask for from the Universe, except to continue giving me strength to push on. I know my faith will move me.

Happy birthday to me!

ebb and flow

24 September
I’ve never felt as professionally inadequate as I do now. And it’s not even my fault. I think.

Today we had the first of several de-briefings. I won't go into details so let's just say we totally fucked up. The CEO of the power company was there, the head of the environment and social division, and all the other bigwigs. By the middle of the presentation, you could actually taste the awkwardness. I sat there, tapping the laptop keyboard stoically, going back and forth the slides in a daze. Our team's presentor had apparenty switched the slides in his copy (which he was reading from his laptop) and did not inform us of the changes he made. And that was the least of our problems.

Our team is composed of people whose combined experience exceeds my grandmother's age. How could things go so wrong?

I don't know. Frankly, it doesn't even matter. The bottomline is that it was completely my fault. Because I am responsible for everything. Everything. Even the things that have nothing to do with me, but concern other people's personal flaws, personalities and idiosyncracies. Little whims like having their hair done in the middle of a busy day of report-writing (correct me if I'm wrong, but this is a totally alien concept for me; I'm a crammer, sure, but I don't prioritize pagtitina over a critical deadline.) Are they held accountable for their actions? Nooooooo. Of course not. Because I am.

Ay naku. Like my teammate said, tatanda ako rito.

25 September
Nakai Plateau, the soon-to-be reservoir of the dam, rests on the northeast side of Laos, near the border of Vietnam. It served as a convenient hideaway for Vietnamese soldiers in their war with the US in the 70s. Because of this, Laos, which had nothing to do with the war, is the most bombed country in history, host to more bombs that all the bombs used in World War II. This little known fact played in my mind as I walked around the resettlement area. Prior to construction of the new houses, the power company did an extensive ground survey for unexploded ordnance. Outside makeshift village offices hangs a poster showing a variety of bombs. The system goes: if a villager sees a suspicious-looking object on the ground, he/she checks the poster, fills out a form, deposits the form in a letterbox. A roving team checks the letterbox, and proceeds to retrieve the object.

I shuddered at the thought.

I had been touching the soil since I got here. It was powdery white – sand. Scattered around were stones that looked like those you find on beaches. Strange at first to find such soil so high above the ground – on a plateau, that is, until you realize that this spot has a past life: it was once part of the sea. The ebb and flow of tide over millions of years created this landscape, and now that the water has receded indefinitely, its remnants sit silently with rice fields and vegetable gardens. How wonderful this Earth is, that I get to stand on something that is the child of both land and water.

Then I remembered the bombs, and I quickly stood up.

Humans always seem to destroy the wonder of life.

28 September
Things are a bit better now. Crazy, but better. I feel like my purpose has been reinforced.

There are good things being done in this world. There are noble pursuits of goodness.

Yes, even those involving the World Bank.

notes from a country that is NOT Cambodia

20 Sept
Two days ago I breezed through Bangkok and Nakhon Phanom, Thailand, before crossing the Mekong River to Lao People's Democratic Republic (Lao PDR), specifically the riverside town of Thakek, and inward to Gnommalat where I currently am.

Nakhon Phanom looks uncannily like Jaro, Iloilo on a lazy Sunday afternoon, or Lucena in Quezon, with far fewer cars. The streets are narrow but navigable and clean. The houses lining the streets are typically of town center flavor: on the ground floor stands a small neighborhood grocery or some local service – locksmith, seamstress and what-have-you, and a second storey presumably used for residence. Balconies are scattered here and there, in a type of architecture that appears to be authentic Thai. The corner shop is almost always a local drugstore. Nearby on the riverbank is a ten-floor hotel for visitors like me and others waiting for the ferry to Laos. In front of the hotel is a tiangge, where you can find used rubber shoes (ukay!), children’s toys and an assortment of street food such as dried squid, boiled eggs on a stick and chopped roasted chicken. A local Baclaran, if you may. To get to the tiangge you have to risk your life in a way, what with the speeding motorcycles criss-crossing the road. Not for the faint of heart.

Nakhon Phanom is rural – certainly not Bangkok – but you can’t mistake it for being backward. It moves in a pace that seems to satisfy its people, and does not compromise their quality of life. It seems to be a happy, bustling place that has nonetheless decided to remain laidback and easy.

21 Sept
Meanwhile, Thakek on the other side of the Mekong is…a forgotten place. On the riverbank is a small office where non-Asian foreigners, their long-sleeved dress shirts wet with sweat and suede shoes half covered in red mud, queue in front of a tiny office to get their visas on arrival.

The town isn’t rundown by any means, unlike the abused blighted sections of Manila. But the empty, dust-filled buildings tell a story, one of seeming disregard and possibly - dare I say it - helplessness.

Now though, Thakeklooks to be rebuilding itself. Or at least trying to. This rebuilding is brought about by the same thing that brought me here: the Nam Theun 2 Hydroelectric Project.

21 Sept
pm
Being a project manager, or pretending to be one, is pretty tough. Especially if you’re doing for the first time and you haven’t had any training whatsoever.

I’m not supposed to be here, not really. By some twist of fate, our original project manager for this project was pirated by our client’s contractor; I now deal with her from the other side of the negotiating table so to speak. And again, through sheer luck – or misfortune – the replacement manager gave birth just as we were about to embark on our first mission. So here I am, plucked from my desk job and thrown to this strange land. Not that I’m complaining. This is the kind of work environment I want to be in for the most part of my life. But the manner through which I got here is somewhat confusing. And greatly embarrassing at various points, given that I’m working with extremely experienced consultants (whose work I’ve actually used as reference in my graduate thesis and other papers), an international contractor and the Government of Lao, on a World Bank-funded, billion-dollar, high-profile project that has caught the ire of and been endlessly criticized by national governments and organizations the likes of International Rivers Network and no less than the UN Commission on Human Rights. I’m an inexperienced neophyte, so yeah, this is freaking me out a teensy bit.

23 Sept
I am dying of hunger here. The Laotian diet and I definitely do not mix. I’ve never seen so much fish and vegetables in my life! And the dishes are full of MSG, too. Dear lord I do not want to get cancer. Even the junkfood is a downer. For some reason the Pringles here are different from those back home. They’re thicker, smaller and rather tasteless.

As a result, I’ve been eating bread and feta cheese. Plus lots and lots of salad. And the occasional beef at the overpriced French restaurant near the staff houses. The other day we bought suha, lanzones (imported from Thailand) and melon, so that was good. But overall, I miss the gluttonous diet of Pinoys. Hay.

in between posts

Have lots of other things to write about that I haven't had the time to post, but this, this can't wait because I feel my head is going to explode.

You know when you know that you've got your life together, that you couldn't ask for anything more, and that everything around you is positive and bright? You feel like you've got your pulse on the secret of the universe, and you float by knowing that things are going to be alright. And really, really it is some form of communion. One that indeed should be treated delicately because it is a relationship so precious and fragile.

And yet...it feels empty somehow.

The Unbearable Lightness of Being.

Lightness can be exhilirating, yes. But it can be excruciating, too. You have to experience it before you can admit it. Being weightless and formless sometimes makes us lose the touchstones and footholds in our lives, forming an existence that is far-removed and distant from the rest of the heavy world, which, in our highest of highs we can so wrongfully scorn. A life that is without consequence can become dangerously a life without responsibility, a guiltless existence centered on the "I".

I can't remember who said it, about choosing between a happy life and a meaningful life. To be happy means to live in the present. It is an extremely beautiful and enjoyable experience; it makes you feel that you can do everything you could ever dream of, and nothing, NOTHING can stand in your way. You just are. And you're happy.

A life that is meaningful, on the other hand, is when you worry about the past and the future, about impacts and consequences, about other people. There's a certain heaviness about it that can't be shaken off.

So which life would you choose?

I value lightness, that feeling of being present, of being one with every particle of the universe. I have shared and preached about how wonderful and liberating it can be.

But I have also come to value the chains that bind me to this wretched world. Strangely, those chains also give me a distinct, sometimes even sharper sense of freedom.

Now it can be told Part 2

Okay, loooooong overdue continuation. Lots of stuff happening right now, my typing can't seem to keep up, so...ganito na lang.

Second day sucked bigtime. I didn't kill Mark, but I swore if I didn't pass I'd pin him down. Hehe.

Third day was alright. I finished before lunch I think, and waited for Edison to get out of the room (he did, about an hour later? Kamusta naman ang pag-maximize ng oras.). We took post-exam photos while waiting. I went back to work right after. How dull is that?

Friday, one day after the exam. To my chagrin, I realized I didn't feel relief at all at having finished the exam, but the sudden terror of waiting. If we were to believe PRC, the results would come out no later than two days after the exam. So would it be coming out today? Or tomorrow? Does the PRC issue results on weekends? Or would it come out on Monday? In that case, I'd be experiencing several more days of agony. Shet.

That evening Mark and I decided to watch a movie. For the life of me I can no longer remember what was playing, but I remember that near the end, I got a text from Chris saying "Congratz!"

I found myself shaking. I asked him, "totoo ba 'to?!" He replied, "Assuming...psychic ako a few seconds ago..."

Well thanks Chris, your reply left me completely befuddled!

At this point my head was spinning, and expanding so fast, all the air inside wanting to come up and out of the my scalp. It was ready to burst. Then came texts from Lorenzo and Agnes, and I wanted to get out of the cinema right then. But we finished the movie anyway.

After the movie I called up all concerned people to confirm or deny. Everyone seemed so sure, everyone except Len, Edison and me aka the exam takers. Vir was MIA.

But hey, they said so...right? So I hugged a gloating Mark ("Sabi ko naman papasa ka di ba. Tsk, pano ba yan, tama na naman ako...") and off we went to the church in Greenbelt, to say a little prayer of thanks.

Saturday, I woke up. With a nagging feeling.

Did I really pass? I had no proof. No proof!! Just words from other people who reportedly saw the list. Trustworthy though they may be, what if they made the honest mistake of misreading someone else's name for mine?? (Although in hindsight this would be nearly impossible, no one else has my name. No one.) Gaaaark. I shot out of bed and texted Mark and Edison. Mark scolded me. Edison, who possesses almost the same level of paranoia as I, succeeded in easily feeding the fear. I persuaded him to pester the source of information - his professor, Dr Bravo. After much hemming and hawing, he asked the dreaded question. To which he finally got an answer, straight from the horse's mouth. Dr Bravo got the list from PRC itself.

The list from PRC can't be wrong, and a distinguished professor couldn't be rattling off names if they weren't actually there, so I guess it was time to truly celebrate. We rounded up the gang and met up at Glorietta for lunch and then some - which included wacky puzzle-solving (yes, for nerdoids like us this is fun), free coffee at Seattle's and a spontaneous trip to Manila Zoo! Good times. :)

Sunday, early morning I woke up to the sound of my ringing phone. It took several rings to realize that someone was actually calling me. Agnes. "Hello?" (uy bedroom voice).

"Cooongrraaaaaats!" she was squealing. "I'm proud of youuuuuu!" Huh?

"Huh?"

"Congrats! Top 2 ka!"

"Whaaaaat?"

"Top 2 kaaaaa!!!"

I leapt off the bed for the second time in three days and rushed out to buy a copy of Manila Bulletin (the only time this newspaper is actually worth its price), flipping through the pages until I found an almost inconspicuous article about a little known group of people dreaming to change the world (Huwaaaw pare hebigat).

The rest, of course, is history.

And no, I didn't deliver any speech. The #1 did, naturally, and he seemed nervous! To think he's been speaking in front of audiences for ages (he's one of our professors). It was adoringly cute. As for me, I said the opening prayer. I sped through it like the world was coming to an end and I had to get out fast. 30 seconds of fame/shame, basically.

***

So...thanks to all who were and continue to be with me in this amazing journey. Thanks to everyone who took those baby steps with me, and are poised to take gradually larger steps, leaps and bounds even, to where our collectve dream lies. To Mark, my baby, my infinite thanks are not enough. To Len, Edison and Vir, it's crazy to think how we've managed to hurdle this! Agnes (last year's topnotcher, by the way), you probably would never get to read this, but thanks for your openness and big heart, and for being a friend, after all. ;)

To Chris, Lorenzo, Bonets, and all the other SURPees out there, take the exam, when you can, despite your fears and with all the faith you can muster. Make the commitment. Live your passion.

Now it can be told

Endless bloopers, food- and beer-laced (woohoo!) review sessions and a shouting match with Professional Regulation Commission (PRC) employees, and here we are. Full-fledged, licensed Environmental Planners. This year’s passers included, there are less than 620 EnPs in the entire Philippine archipelago. I am one of them. And yes, I understand if you don’t know what an Environmental Planner is. The answer is P.D. 1308.

I’m not sure if I should be proud of the fact that I’m one of the first few (waaw, pioneers) or sad that there are so few of us, especially when I believe our role is crucial – and I have to say all too often neglected in the face of ever-present selfish political and private interests and misguided policy and implementation – to national development.

I’ve never been a licensed anything before so that in itself is exciting for me. I’m not an architect or engineer. I don’t fall into any of the de-kahon categories of eligible EnP Board exam takers i.e Public Administration, Political Science, Economics, and the aforementioned professions. I had to spend half an hour explaining to the PRC evaluator that my undergraduate course (BA Social Science major in Area Studies) actually qualifies me to take the exam, and that I had completed all of my requirements for my MA in Urban and Regional Planning save for my thesis which is due for defense soon. He of course acted unconvinced. What is Area Studies and why does UP come up with such strange courses? he asked. Well how should I know?? I had to endure the PRC guy’s subtle put-down, and his offer of a bribe! Imagine that. He said since my application was “alanganin”, he would put in a good word for me with the Board of Environmental Planning as long as I provide him with copies of my reviewers – which he would undoubtedly sell to clueless students. I was taken aback and had to ask “manong, okay lang po ba yon?” to which he replied, “oo, ako bahala sa ‘yo.” The nerve! I felt deeply disappointed at the entire PRC, for putting my application and my chances of becoming a professional planner at the mercy of a single employee looking for an easy buck. I was enraged, but had to keep my cool and remained pe-tweetums until the very end.

Edison wasn't as placid. In typical Edison fashion, he engaged in an actual fight with a terribly uncourteous, unethical PRC employee who had the gall to shout at us in front of an auditorium full of applicants, walk out and then mutter "putangina mo" under his breath as we passed by - like the complete coward that he was, hiding behind his position.

No offense, but the PRC has got to be one of the most rotten government agencies I’ve ever dealt with. It’s not just the bribery, but the sheer disrespect for the applicants and people in general. The application process is completely demoralizing. You’d be down and out long before you even take your exam. I think they make it a point to dehumanize you. Wala lang, power tripping. They probably think they’ll feel better about their own crappy situation by haranguing and taking advantage of the applicants.

I digress. So I got through that application with more than a few upsets. But that was only the beginning. The greater burden, of course, was actually passing the exam. Indeed, the pressure was on.

I come from a family that doesn't take failure lightly. Thus was the rationale for my keeping the fact of the exam a secret. But really, how could you keep it a secret when your friends and fellow exam-takers spend weekends holed up in your house reading about Myrdal and pedo-ecological zones, and eating indescribable amounts of food? Ah yes, food. From Len's pretzels and leftover cake, Mark's E-Aji, UP's life-saving squidballs, down to Lisa's cooking, Mama's salt crackers and Vir's fantabulous meat-and-vegetable concoction, there was no shortage of things to put in our mouths when we could no longer remember the things we had read about 10 seconds past. If you ask me, it was the food that got us through. That and ice cold San Mig Lite.

And of course there were Mark's famous index cards full of environmental laws, which we tried so desperately to memorize. PD 1151. 1586. Art XII Sec 1. 7279. You wouldn't believe how many laws and regulations we have on planning and the environment. I swear nag-diarrhea ang utak ko. And guess what? Out of the hundreds of laws and statutes I flipped through, only two appeared on the exam. One section of the Constitution and the Hazardous Wastes Act (RA 6969. How can you not remember that?) Ay, I wanted to kill Mark.

But not as much as I wanted to kill him on the 2nd day of the exam. Which was when my ultimate blooper happened.

Wednesday, May 30, I woke up to a badass crazy churning stomach. Bad omen ye think? I popped two tablets of Kremil-S, drank two cups of hot tea and wobbled my way out of the house to the exam center at 630 am. I prayed so hard for the pain to go away, knowing that exam #2 was the toughest, and comprised the largest percentage of the total score. Hey, 45% is no joke.

I was feeling a little better as the exam started. I took out the calculator I borrowed from Mark (because my most favorite calculator, the one I'd used since high school, had gone missing) and turned it on.

On. ON. ON, I say!!

It just stared back at me. Dead.

I. Didn't. Have. A. Calculator. Me, who shuns anything Math-related as if it was a leper. Lara, who naturally flunked her Math17, the grade of which sits hauntingly at the very top of her Transcript of Records. This silly silly girl, who failed to check if the damned thing was working before she stashed it in her plastic envelope. Thoughts of population projections, teacher-student ratio, NPV, IRR and whatnot then filled my head.

Complete, utter, terror-filled panic.

Fuck it. I had to make a choice. So I straightened my shoulders and tapped Aldrin, asking if he had an extra calculator. None. I slipped out of the room and called my mother who had just driven away. None. I knocked on the other room and called Len and Edison, begging for an extra calculator. None. By then the proctor was asking me to turn off my celphone. Couldn't she see the desperation in my eyes? I explained my predicament, which she in turn announced to ALL the examinees, in the hopes that at least one extra calculator would turn up. None. At all? Not even the musical, blinking kind that kindergarten kids use? None??

She asked me what kind of batteries were in my calculator. I had to unscrew the back of the calculator (don't ask me where I got the screwdriver) to find out. AAs. Then she said the most miraculous thing: Okay, we'll buy the batteries.

There is compassion out there, after all.

30 minutes later the new batteries arrived and I sat there, pushing them in as I cursed my boyfriend (Nah, kidding. But I did want to wring his neck.). And...voila! It still. Wasn't. Working!!! Gaaaaaaaaarrrk!!!

To make the long story short, I ended up solving the equation manually. Take note, equation. Singular. Yes people. True to form, the exam had only one question that needed a calculator. All my wasted energy, half my spirit drained away in the first five minutes of that exam, violating one of Agnes's exam rules (wag gumawa ng eksena sa exam)...all of it - for one question. I didn't know whether to cry or laugh hysterically.

It didn't matter. In the end, the exam played its part to the hilt: it scared me to death.

---

Ang haba na nito. To be continued.

daydream believer

Oh, I could hide 'neath the wings
Of the bluebird as she sings.
The six o'clock alarm would never ring.

But it rings and I rise,
Wipe the sleep out of my eyes.
My shavin' razor's cold and it stings.

Cheer up, Sleepy Jean.
Oh, what can it mean.
To a daydream believer
And a homecoming queen.

You once thought of me
As a white knight on a steed.
Now you know how happy I can be.

Oh, and our good times start and end
Without dollar one to spend.
But how much, baby, do we really need.

Cheer up, Sleepy Jean.
Oh, what can it mean.
To a daydream believer
And a homecoming queen.

through the fire

I thought I'd elaborate on my previous post.

I am probably at one of the lowest points in my life. Sagad na sagad.

Unscientific and unsystematic. Those were his words. Sinong hindi manlulumo? One and a half years of work. One and a half years of sweat and tears, of uncertainty and hope, of desperation and a firm belief that "everything will be okay," of stressing and thinking and working my ass off. And what have these amounted to? Nothing, basically.

No encouragement from my adviser or support from friends can fill the void created by utter humiliation and a feeling of inadequacy, which has now returned in full, overwhelming force after a period of uncanny hiatus. As if it was just biding its time until I regained a little of my strength, so it could pull the rug from under me again.

I knew it was too good to be true, that confidence, that assurance I felt. Ah, self-doubt. Cunning little devil.

Now I can't even pick up the many million pieces of me strewn on the ground. I walked around listlessly yesterday, from the College of Architecture to Quezon Hall to god-knows-where, holding a lifeless umbrella with my lifeless hand, while tears flowed from my glazed eyes. Tiny parts of my soul fell with every step, as I realized that all my many million fears had finally come true.

Don't I deserve this degree? I think about it now, and it's easy to say yes, of course I do. I didn't feel the sheer joy of work for nothing. If I didn't deserve it, I wouldn't have gotten the nod of my professors at every turn I made, or the respect of other people for what I do or want to do. Right? This is my passion, my home, and if a degree is a small affirmation then I am going to get it, I deserve it.

But I don't know. Maybe I am a fraud, and I've fooled myself into believing I can be what I've wanted to be for three years running. Maybe everyone and everything around me are all part of this giant, magnificent farce set up to make me want something I cannot actually have. Mark says these thoughts are poison, termites that only need the tiniest crack in the wood to spread to unthinkable boundaries, and that I should stop feeding them.

But I am not as confident as he is, we both know that.

At the back of my mind I know things will turn out well in the end. Everything does. This is a challange, not a deadend. We are not given anything we can't handle and, as Shiva pointed out so long ago, God does not give us what we don't need. I also know that it's okay to inch along, as long as you're moving. Pero putangina, it's just so hard.

When I muster all the faith I've got in me, scraping the bottom of the barrel for hope and positivity, will that be enough? Or will I succumb to the same desolation I felt more than a year ago when I thought I was heading nowhere? How did I find my way back, anyway? I don't really remember, all I know is that I'm here now. I'm here, and all the little triumphs that punctuated my journey since then have now been run over by the same obstacle of a different face.

I honor my dragons, yes, but do I have the strength to face them, and walk away calmly after they've unleashed hell on me?

I have less than a month, barely four weeks to find out.

looking for the silver lining

"We must honor our dragons, encourage them to be worthy destroyers, expect they'll strive to cut us down. It is their duty to ridicule us, it is their job to demean us, to force us if they can to stop being different! And when we walk our way no matter their fire and their fury, our dragons shrug when we're out of sight, return to their card-games philosophical: 'Ah well, we can't toast 'em all..." – Running from Safety, Richard Bach

I'm so tired. Yun lang. God help me please. Pretty please.

London Part 2

Blooper #1: I step off our car at the Ninoy Aquino International Airport and say goodbye to everyone. On the way in, the guard asks me what flight I'm on. Papa says the Emirates flight. I scream, "no! Lufthansa!" and start walking to the Lufthansa signboard. Then I stop dead, look at my ticket, turn back and smile. "Ay, oo, Emirates nga."

Blooper #2: I'm on the plane. I want to watch a dvd, or at least get my in-flight entertainment system to work. Trouble is, I can't find the lcd touch screen. It's usually nestled in the back of each seat (for the benefit of the one seated behind), but since I was in a row right beside the emergency exit, there was no passenger seat in front of me. So where could my screen be?? I look around, nonchalantly of course, until the person beside me pops his screen out from beside his seat. Oh, so there it is. Hmm, now how I do that? I start pulling at the thing, and pull and pull until it occurs to me that I might actually be damaging plane property. I stop, dejected. After which my seatmate gently leans over, pushes a button on my armrest, and out pops my screen.

Blooper#3: I walk out of my hotel in London to go to our office, which is less than five minutes away. I am damned sure I can do this, because I was just there last night. I had even walked around the block, trying to memorize the streets. So anyway, I'm outside the hotel, pondering on whether to turn right or left (people, this is the quickest indication of a person about to get into a mess). I turn right, and less than 10 steps on I immediately notice the fact the I can't recognize my surroundings. Yet I keep walking. Towards the other corner. Towards the main highway. I reach the corner and realize that I'm heading to the other side of town. But instead of turning straight back, I turn right again. I am, in effect, going around the entire block that covers not just my hotel, but another office building. I honestly can't understand why I continue walking even though I already know I'm going the wrong way. It's a lost-in-space moment, I guess. Five minutes turn into 20, and I arrive at the office with messy hair and numb feet.

Blooper# 4: I forget The List in my hotel room. The all-important list contains the names of market sector managers, technical directors and all the other people I need to talk to, the very reason I went to our London offiice. I only remember a couple of names, and they're not so important, so boohoo.

Blooper #5: Everyone knows this already. I get off the tour bus at Green Park after a morning of walking and touring. I'm quite confident that I know the area because I walked through it the previous night already (lesson: don't ever trust nighttime vision). I look for my landmark, the Ritz Hotel, because I know it's just off Piccadilly and quite near Oxford St, where I'm planning to go for some pasalubong shopping. Sure, I do find the Ritz. Unfortunately, it's the other side of the Ritz. I now wish I were playing Sims or using some 3-d animation software where I could tilt the structures and find the proper orientiation, but I can't. I'm just a small person between big buildings trying to find where the front door of the Ritz is. Pero puchangina, everthing looks THE SAME! So I walk. To wherever. And just walk. Like I said, it's alright to get lost. But why now when I've got four hours left to shop before I run to the airport? Buti na lang I walk by a flea market in front of a church (how Pinoy) and manage to buy amber trinkets that my mom wanted me to get. Then I remember I have another landmark I could use. Pret A Manger, that sandwich place I saw last night. So I walk walk walk. There it is! But then it doesn't look so familiar..Then it dawns on me. Well, more of I suddenly remember what Duncan said a few days ago, that Pret A Manger is everywhere, literally. There's probably one in every corner of London! A fucken 7-11 for sandwiches! By this time I am so depressed I just want to sit on the pavement. But I can't really do that because now I've only got three hours before ETD for Heathrow Airport. So I do what I should've done an hour ago: Ask. I run up to a guy cleaning the sidewalk and ask where Oxford St is. He points to the other direction, straight ahead. FINALLY. I walk and heave when I see "Oxford St" on a signpost. And then, the ultimate question (drumroll)...left or right?

Blooper #6: I turn left. I get the same feeling I got when I turned right from my hotel before. Because alas, the shops are on the right side. So. Feet numb. Hair in disarray. Scarf undone and trailing behind. Jacket loosened and falling off. Bag heavy and, well, HEAVY. I walk into the first store I see, Marks & Spencer -- I find it odd, by the way, that I chance upon M&S just now because in London it's also like a 7-11 for clothes. I get in, look for the underwear section, and sit on the floor for a good 10 minutes. I grab all the cutesy undies I can find for my cousin, a couple of other items for the bf, and then trudge back to my hotel. I know perfectly where it is. I swear.


More to come.

London Part 1

So nabura yung folder full of pictures sa flashdisk ko. It got replaced by an empty folder with an unreadable name. I have no idea how it happened. Crap.

But just so you know, I did have fun in London. I was there during the mildest winter London has had in 90 years. Whoa! I don't know if I should feel lucky about not freezing to death, or dismayed at the effects of global warming. Flowers were blooming where frost should've been! Squirrels were out, the grass was greener than ever (people were buying lawn mowers. In the middle of winter!). On one hand it led to higher yields from orchards and farms, but the disastrous effects of climate change apparent in animal and plant life cannot be ignored, either. Newborns could not cope with the "early spring" for example, and animals in hibernation could no longer, well, hibernate.

It was such a weird episode in London this time of year, and everyone noticed.

Anyway. I wonder how I could begin to describe the city that I'd only seen in postcards and read about in The History of the World and my grandmother's fascinating books on old royalty.

Hmm. Top of my head I'd say it's very quick, full of life, funny and quirky in some instances, heavy, dark and brooding in others.

But what really surprised me was how people treat the city with such...good-natured irreverence, if ever there is such. What can I say, it's the British humor I so love.

The urban landscape says it all. On one side of the River Thames stands the Westminster Abbey and Big Ben: large, historic, undeniably majestic. You can sense the weight of its presence, and the onus is upon you to pay respect. Meanwhile across the river, a stone's throw away, is the London Eye: cutting edge structure, modern steel and glass, and quite imposing as only a glorified ferris wheel can be. It evokes youthfulness, excitement and a bit of humor - right now one viewing pod is painted bright red, a funny aberration among the all-clear, space-age viewing pods.

Upon first glimpse you'd think, well this ain't right. How unbalanced, conflicting...disjointed. The Eye looks frivolous compared to the purposeful Abbey, and yet the Abbey looks a tad bit tired and boring amidst the flurry of activity on the other side of river. What kind of urbanity does this depict? Why, it's no better than the unplanned, incoherent cities of the Third World! I pointed this out to Duncan while walking along the river bank, and he made a remark that left me silent and thoughtful. He said, "well, that's the beauty of it you see." I strained. He continued. "What do you think would happen if we stopped building new structures? If we get stuck in the old and not move forward?" He almost questioned the rationale of leaving old things old and untouched. What I saw as a desecration of a glorious past, he saw as ever constant and positive movement.

I stopped and looked again at the London Eye and the Abbey. From an angle you can capture both in one frame of a photograph. Standing side by side, they were, indeed, beautiful - separately and together.

Cruising along River Thames you can see the same thing happening everywhere. Old buildings mixed with new, the former just as beautiful as the latter. The new Office of Mayor looks like it's been uprooted out of a Dubai location and transplanted onto the Thames riverbank. A few steps from that futuristic building is a replica of The Globe Theater (the original was destroyed), and the old pub where Shakespeare and friends used to drink themselves blind. It's open to this day.

In this city everything has a purpose. Duncan pointed out the pathway leading to Buckingham Palace. It's for the queen and dignitaries visiting the queen, "but it's also a road, it leads to places, so we use it." Nothing goes to waste, nothing is left unremembered, or taken for granted, or lost in vain. The old pathways work just as well as the new ones. Trains, built in the Victorian times, have been built to last and are still being used. They are very old, yes, but terribly on time (Proof? I missed my train by two seconds.). Even then, they are up for some refurbishment, so Transport for London is once again having them upgraded. Panels across the platforms are being stripped away, revealing old signage. They are again to be replaced to serve the present generation of commuters, like they have done so for more than a hundred years.

Everywhere something new is being built - as evidenced by the countless gantry cranes dotting the sky - and something old is being reused, refitted, reborn. Everyday. It never stops. The city is always in the making. And yet everywhere something old is being preserved or protected, from houses where poets once lived ("xxxx used to live here") to a memorial for the all the valuable things that England "nicked" from Egypt.

It's paradoxical, in a way. Tiny streets and big taxis, roadside parking and huge avenues. Extremely proper manners (no texting during meetings, no sir!) and loud, potbellied, thigh-slapping tour guides. But I think what Duncan was trying to say is that, whatever happens, London is ever alive in the present. And it is. It truly is a living, breathing history, one that has its pulse on the present and future.

By lunchtime on my last day, I finally got rid of all the preconceptions I had about London. Now all I had to do was find my way to shopping heaven. Or hell?

Tips from the land of fish and chips

Things you come to know only in retrospect, when you're lying exhausted in a hotel room in a foreign land, specifically that kingdom where your fictional husband William lives:

1. Do not overpack. Wherever you are in the world, even in cold countries, travel light! One coat is enough, really. Really. I brought three, plus two jackets, two sets of gloves, one pashmina shawl, two scarves, two sweaters (oh sorry, jumper), and a cardigan. Hello 'di 'ba. My arms are wilting from the weight of it all. And because my hands are tied down by my bags, I can't take one decent picture. I blame Duncan, my English officemate/friend who told me to bring lots of clothes to layer, and of course myself for being my overpacking self hahaha.

2. Wear comfortable shoes. London is a city made for walking. They have cobble-stoned paths, small, winding streets and traffic lights that work. If your stilettos are made for sitting down and being pretty, you won't be able to handle this city. Low-heeled boots and and rubber shoes are the way to go.

3. Walk as fast as you can. And then faster. This ain't lazy Manila, baby. Duncan picked me up at the airport and just practically zipped away - with my amazingly huge luggage. I couldn't keep up! And I'm a relatively fast walker. I had to tell him to wait for me. Meanwhile, everyone was saying "excuse me" and passing me by. They aren't being rude, it's just the way they are. They walk fast because it's cold and they generate more body heat when they move quickly. In Manila, you move slower because you want to stay cool and keep the sweat at bay. Whatever works, right?

4. Look to your left. Oh wait, no. RIGHT. Look to your right. See, I almost got hit by a taxi.

5. Speaking of taxis, you can ask the cabbie anything. They know everything! In London, taxi and shuttle drivers are trained in a 14-week course, basically about how to be a good ambassador to all those entering the city. After completing the course they take an exam and, depending on their grade, get to drive for two or four years each time (or something like that). Coolness.

6. Don't be afraid to get lost. Everyone has the capacity to be nice, remember that. You can always ask for directions. Just don't forget #2.

7. Do drink beer. Yummy. On my first night I had a drink at Queens Head, a pub in Hammersmith, near my hotel. I had Indian pale ale (tastes a bit like San Mig), Guinness (black and thick and bitter), and another one can't remember. UK has a very high drinking rate, which they say is a problem, but with the number of pubs they have (I've seen at least three on one block alone), I reckon they'd rather get wasted that solve the problem. Fine by me. :)

8. Have someone around. I thought I'd be all alone on this trip. I was actually okay with that, until I got to the street and was completely overwhelmed. Strangeness is comforting, but sometimes it can be frustrating. Anyway, turns out I have a couple of relatives here (who I'll be meeting tomorrow night). I'm also meeting a friend of a friend, which is cool because I know he'll allow me to be the tourist that I absolutely want to be but won't be able to do alone because I'd look too silly. Hehe. Then of course I have my London-based officemates. Lovely.

Sorry

Did I fail? As a cousin, an ate, did I fail?

I wanted to be with her that day. To tell her things are going to be okay, no matter what. That she needn't be scared, need not care what the outcome is, even though it might matter the world to the rest of the family.

Because fear and pressure drive us further down, this I know well. I wanted her to understand that she can step out of that, even for just a few hours.

I never knew if she was indeed afraid. Or how she felt at all that day. Didn't see her eyes. Wasn't able to catch her. I had. to go. to work. And I'll regret it, that choice I made, for the rest of my life.

right, left, justified

I cried yesterday. As in hagulgol. I didn't expect to cry so hard. Buti na lang tulog na mga tao sa bahay.

I was watching the late night news and I couldn't control myself any longer. Then I texted my mom.

Me: Bakit keilangan basagin ang glass doors and windows at tutukan ng long arms ang mga anak ng dismissed Iloilo governor para lang mapaalis siya? It's becoming too insane. And heartbreaking.

Mama: I wanted to cry kaninang umaga nang mapanood ko. Nalulungkot ako. Gusto ko na lang magpayaman kung di pa huli ang lahat, kesa mag-practice. Di ko na mamukhaan ang itsura ng justice.

My mother is a lawyer. A good one with a compassionate heart and a good sense of justice (probably why she never became rich from lawyering). What she said made me sadder and mirrored my frustration. I wanted to ask, Martial Law na ba? But I already knew what her answer would be: No. Not yet, anyway.

Well it's pretty damn close.

Granted, Gov. Niel Tupas and others being suspended or dismissed did something wrong. At this point it's something difficult to ascertain, especially in light of the blatant political maneuvering that will climax on election day. But when you feign the attempt to correct these wrongs with an even greater wrong, whatever little credibility you claim you have goes kaput.

When we were in Iloilo last December my relatives asked my dad if he had any plans of running for office in Iloilo. They chided him, saying he better move quick because they've been seeing the FG and son Mikey Arroyo in the area lately, driving around, lingering. Rumors are the Arroyos are interested in asserting their Ilonggo-ness so they can take over that little corner of the archipelago, too. Regionalism can be so convenient.

And now this. Who wouldn't think it fishy for a public official to be convicted of and dismissed for a crime he wasn't even tried for? And with only a photocopy of the said order? Moro-moro na ito. It's not just in Iloilo. You'd be a moron not to see the same, exact thing happening all over the country. So far I think only Makati Mayor Jojo Binay has been spared because, hell, he's extremely powerful that way. Evicting him means crippling the business capital of the country. Binay knows that, so everyone else can go to hell.

***

Power. It's like vertigo, the way it was described in The Unbearable Lightness of Being. Looking down from high above, you know that falling will kill you, and you know better than to look down. Yet you are inexplicably attracted to the prospect of jumping. There's this strong force that sucks you in and threatens to throw you overboard. It's a moment of uncertainty and ambiguity, where lines are blurred and the abyss seems to closer to sky than you'd ever thnk.

Methinks practically all politicians suffer from that fatal attraction. On strange twilights I think even I feel it too, sometimes. Pretty scary, I tell you. Although I thnk I'd be a lousy politician; I'd be sobbing every 10 minutes and I won't last more than one term (if I finish one term at all) because I wouldn't know how to "protect" my position. I certainly wouldn't use force or harassment. Takot ko lang sa nanay ko, hahaha. Sometimes I wish all families had mothers like mine.

***

Minutes after the police assault at the Iloilo provincial capitol, a 60-day temporary restraining order on enforcement of the dismissal finally arrived. Public officials and employees present during the raid had been pleading with PNP to hold off and wait for the said TRO, but they did not listen. People had to suffer from physical attack and sheer terrorism from our national police before they were given what was due them. Funny how we risk life and limb, and maim and kill for our interests, for what we think is right.

What is right, anyway? In the plurality of today's world, it's hard to figure out. Who's to say if the DILG did the right thing in dismissing Gov Tupas and all other "offending public officials"? And in using M-16 armalites to do so? On the other hand, who's to say whether ot not the people who went on vigil for three nights and barricaded the capitol building with their bodies to protect their governor were right?

Perhaps it's easier to see what is honest. No matter what your personal truth is, if it is presented honestly, unveiled and sans deception - of others and of oneself, and even if you "lose", you will be justified.

what if

Life truly is about choices. It isn't just the choice itself, but the moment that contains the act of choosing - that entire time-space experience, whether instantaneous or protracted - that aptly and sometimes harshly defines your life.

Who am I? Why am I here? Such difficult questions that have hounded humans since the beginning of time. The long, painstaking journey to such end has been heralded by philosophers, writers, artists, even mathematicians, and has driven countless people mad. This, the greatest journey of all, can be answered in a split-second.

Every time you make a decision, your entire life flashes before you - your past, present, future. Every choice is a shoutout, an affirmation of your entire being, a confirmation, sometimes denial, resistance, resignation. Whatever it is, it is trasmitted as an active feedback to the situation presented before you.

Moreover, while this feedback is often considered as an end unto itself (don't we always treat decisions with a sense of finality?), it is also a beginning. It is the link that keeps the wheels of your life turning, whether you are aware of it or not, whether you like or not. It is dynamic. This feedback is part of, in the words of Friedmann, a transaction. A continuous experience that has quality, body and texture. It is unique in all the world because you are unique in all the world. No one sees the universe like you do.

Shit, could it be the gap Ivan has been looking for in his theory? Double shit, this is what I've been saying in my thesis all along. :o