Happy at 22

I attended the GRP-MILF symposium on present issues last Friday. I said (and wrote in my previous post) that I will relive the days of meaningful journalism. But only minutes after I took a seat to listen to the speaker, I could not anymore contain my impatience. I'm a poor listener and I easily get sleepy. The inevitable happened - I left and slept at the Faculty Lounge. I decided that I would not blog again until I have this one good relevant post regarding social issues.

But here I am, without a post on social issues (specifically on the events here in Mindanao) because I have no understanding of the issue. I am not making good a promise. But this is for a very special reason - I'm in Youngblood today! In the August 26, 2008 issue.

I would like to say that I'm floating. But that is not really what I feel. I am happy, just simply happy.

It had been my dream when I was in high school to write for Youngblood. It remained a dream because I never really submitted anything. I had a lot of stories but I did not have the courage and the confidence. I thought that Youngblood is only for the good creative writers. And I was no creative writer (and I don't consider myself a creative writer even now). Yes, I wrote for my publications in my elementary, secondary and tertiary years - but only news articles and sometimes, editorial, but always from a third person point of view.

Youngblood way of writing just isn't my way.

I stopped patronizing Youngblood during college. Maybe it was my defense mechanism because I knew that I would never realize my dream.

So why am I in Youngblood?

Because I learned that Youngblood contributors are not gods. Just like me and everyone else, they are people here on earth. We share the same space and breathe the same air. They have life experiences - happy and sad; and they, too, are not perfect. I now believe that there is only one qualification in order to be part of Youngblood - you must have a story to tell. And we have a lot of stories to share! Therefore, we can all write for Youngblood.

Youngblood is not as high as I thought it was.

I have always been insecure as a writer. This insecurity is manifested even in this Blog. I knew that I have limitations. I had more posts months ago than recently. When I realized that fellow writers read and have read my posts, I became conscious, thus, I stopped writing. This YB experience somehow gave me assurance that my writing is not so bad.

I don't want to make a big deal out of this. But come on, this is a dream come true! So for me, this is somehow big. Hehe.

And many will not escape my thanks!

• Jude - the guy who gave me the idea that Youngblood is within reach. Thanks for encouraging me, although you may not be aware of it :-)
• Ate and Eric - Guys, nauna ako sa inyo!!! Kayo rin ha. I had my first experience of YB through them. They were and still are avid fans of it. They cut articles from Inquirer that's why the articles were always available for my consumption.
• Mama - for believing in whatever I do, whether I'm good at them or not. Imagine, she actually believes that I'm a good singer and dancer! But then, she's a mother. She would believe in anything.
• Papa - well, he's not really a fan of a "me-myself-and-I" way of writing. He would probably not consider my article a journalistic piece. But thanks for the genes anyway, hehe.
• Bro Willy and the people who inspired me to live a Marist life and commit myself to service.
• Fans and supporters - especially Menardo, Ma'am Tess, Sir Jet, VOICE (2003-2006), VOX and SSG pipol, former classmates, dearest friends, etc.
• Journalism mentors - Mama, Ma'am Badet, Sir Gilbert, etc.
• And yeah, my two most favored stuffed toys - Emmy and Rolly, for the companionship and loyalty.

Oh, I almost forgot. I celebrated my 22nd birthday three (3) days ago and this is the best gift I have received. In a lunch with friends, I was asked what my birthday wish was. And I said this: I want to have an article of mine published in Youngblood. Of everything I could have wished and asked for at the moment, this had been my answer. And yes, it was given. Thanks :-)

Note: I'm not sure if I'm really on Youngblood. I was informed through text by both Jude and Bro Willy, but the August 26 issue of the newspaper is not available at the Library and the latest YB article on Inquirer.net is dated August 23. There is still the possibility that I reacted too early. Hehe. Hopefully, this is not a joke.

Changes in my Blog

I have done some self-assessment lately and I realized how self-centered I had been. This trait is even reflected in my blogs. This site had become an exclusive "Me-Myself-and-I" account. I won't stop writing about my reflections and personal stories but they will be posted in http://zeareflect.blogspot.com/. This blog, which is my primary account, will be for the more meaningful and relevant articles on social issues.

Our country is in the midst of financial, political, economic, spiritual and all other forms of disorder. And what have I written or said about all these? None. I had been passive and non-committal. I'm not really expected to directly contribute in making things better but I know that I should at least react or anything.

This afternoon, I will attend a talk on understanding the GRP-MILF going-ons. See, I don't even know what the "going-ons" actually mean. I don't think I will understand everything in a two-hour symposium, but it's a start.

I will try to relive the good days of meaningful journalism.

Losing and (Hopefully) Finding Myself

Am I lost? Not literally. But I feel so lost.

I couldn't write. I don't want to read. I have sleeping problems. I again start to question things. I'm so bored. Yes, I still like what I'm doing. I don't think quitting is an option. It's just that I want more but I don't know what the "more" means.

Maybe I ask a lot from myself. Maybe I think a lot. Maybe I'm ok. Maybe I'm not.

And many more maybes.

Or maybe I like the idea of being like this. Because I'm bored. Whatever. Anyway, I won't blog for a while. I'm drained. And I want to try doing other things. Jeez, I'm so inconsistent.

Be happy everyone! Or try to be. Whatever.

Ciao. For now

Free Merienda

Gosh, this is so nakakahiya. I got both free internet use and merienda today.

I've been in front of this computer for almost two hours (or more than two hours) already when Ma'am Bibing (that's what she was called by another teacher) invited me to join them in their merienda here at the Internet Lab.

I tried to refuse but she was very insistent. She even called my Zhy (with the "H" sound). I kinda like the way she said that.

I have so many nicknames here at NDMU. Dean Mendoza calls me Riza. Other co-teachers call me Raiz, Zey/Zei, Zai or Riz. My original nickname is Barbie. Okay, I have totally departed from the subject of this blog.

We had bread and bihon (just got back in front of this computer after a 20-minute break), which was bought by Miss Bingbing. I'll get her name from other sources later.

It's payday today so everyone is in a generous mood. I hope I finally get Erwin's promised durian(which is long overdue already).

Ciao. Time to log out (self-imposed).

Perfect Scores

I want my students to get perfect scores. A week before the examinations, I gave them individual and group review quizzes, hoping that this strategy will increase their chances of mastering the topics. Aside from review quizzes, I also scheduled consultations.

I give this assurance: my exam items were easy and had been discussed thoroughly in class. Yes, there were a few tricky questions; but if they would really analyze, they’d easily get them right.

I teach business subjects and all of them, in one way or another, are related to management. The first function of management is planning, which starts with setting goals and objectives. I constantly inspire my students to practice this and in the process, I, too, have set my goals.

And for this midterm exams, I was hoping (still am hoping) that many would get perfect scores. But now, it seems that such is too much to ask.

Six of my seven classes have already taken their exams. I have checked more than a hundred out of almost 300 papers on hand.

No perfect score yet. The highest score so far is 69 over 70. What's alarming is that some students got less than half of the total. I don't want to be disappointed or frustrated. I do not want negative feelings to rule over me.

Maybe perfect scores aren't so important. I don't think they mind not getting perfect. Many are actually satisfied with passing marks. So I better stop assuming that they feel the same way I do. Perfect scores (in minor subjects) ruled over my life when I was in college. I could never forgive myself then if I had mistakes.

Again, they are not me.

Still, I'm hoping that they be motivated to be serious in their studies - listen to discussions, read books/materials, set goals and achieve them, etc. And if they can, I hope that they get perfect in exams; if not this midterms, then in the finals.

I'm Not Unhappy!

My bbf (best bud forever) Kris, at my urging, finally bought a sun cellular sim. We haven’t talked for a month so there was a major catching up. The call lasted 20 minutes.

The two topics of our talk were their review and my life here at Marbel.

He gave me the latest news on their end – preboard scores, dorm feuds, sacrifices, sufferings and the hesitations on taking the October CPA Licensure Exams.

May of them, including him, are considering prolonging their agony (review) to ensure that they pass the board on their first take. The results of their 2nd preboard weren’t so good. So I gave my unsolicited advice: take the board on October!

There is no difference between taking the board this October and fail; and taking it in May. Because if they fail in October, then they take the exams again on May. At least they would already know what awaits them.

There is not much to lose but there is so much to gain. Of course, there is the possibility of passing. If not totally passing, they may become "conditional", meaning, they will only have to retake two subjects on May. With the latter, at least they can start working on November; or can concentrate reviewing the subjects to be taken again.

Great. The one who is not sweating and having sleepless nights, the classmate who will not take the exams and who does not know whether she will be able to actually take it (that's me), spoke as if she knew a lot.

I somehow feel guilty (just "somehow"). While the whole class is there in the battlefield - others are on the verge of crying and others are actually crying, here I am, living a relaxed life at Marbel.

Speaking of my life, it has become an issue, too. Apparently, when Kris dropped by at our place in GenSan to give the first draft for the yearbook, my mother took the opportunity to share what she believes is my unhappy life.

My parents visited me two weeks ago and my mother claims that her precious beloved (and spoiled) child is not happy because of the ff. reasons:
1. I have a witch landlady. (Why did I tell her what I feel for that woman?!)
2. I don't know anyone in the dorm. So my dormmates aren't my friends. According to mom, what if something happens to me, who would help?
3. My room is ugly, smelly and gloomy. Come on, as if our house in GenSan is a palace.
4. I have no one to talk to. Rebuttal: I talk to my stuffed toys. They listen and actually answer back. Hehe.
5. The water smells foul. No problem really because aside from my being deaf and half-blind, I also have a very poor sense of smell.

Had she openly asked me if I am happy or unhappy, she will surely be assured that there is nothing to worry.

Why did I have to hear her sentiments from a third party? She tried to tell me last weekend. I did not let her go on because I never really thought that she was serious. Now, Kris believes that I am unhappy and would probably tell the rest of our friends, too. I won't explain. I have nothing to explain!

I don't understand how they equate happiness with clean water or a nice landlady. Funny.

I am not unhappy. I'm not very happy, too. I'm fine; and I am fine with just being fine. I hope that makes sense.

My Taxi File

Last night, I read a youngblood article entitled The Taxi Files. And I remembered a not-so-happy incident concerning a taxi ride in Manila a year ago.

I'm a courteous person. I have respect for the elders and I am extra-sensitive to the poor. But I am extremely opinionated and principled. And I will never keep my mouth shut if I feel that I am, or any person, is abused. I will always defend my friends regardless of situation.

We took a taxi ride from Mall of Asia to Market-Market in Taguig. Taxis are required to use the meter system where passengers must pay what's on the meter. But taxi drivers in Manila have this illegal system of imposing a mark up. If you won't agree, they would not accommodate you.

There were six of us in the group. We would not fit in one taxi so we divided the group into two. Daryl and James were with me while Inday and Rom were with Sir Mark. The other group left first, with an agreement with the driver that they pay P30 mark up (additional to the bill). It took us longer to find a taxi who's willing to take us to Taguig. Grrr, they were so papresyo. Finally, one taxi was willing. The driver was talking to the other drivers there while we put our luggage in the taxi. We did not really listen to them. What's important was that we could finally leave.

When we reached Market-Market, with the others already there, I paid what's on the meter and an additional P30. But the driver insisted that during the negotiation with the other drivers at MOA, it was decided that we pay a P50 mark-up. Great, so other drivers negotiated on our behalf.

I was almost willing to pay without complaints. I was tired and I wanted the driver to just get lost. But James was arguing with the driver. He was talking about fairness and all. If I gave in to the driver's demands without a fight, James would have felt betrayed. The three from the other taxi were also butting in. Daryl didn't care because he didn't have money anyway. And he knew I'd pay the bill.

James set out the status quo, meaning, how much mark-up the other group paid. I knew that the debate would go on and on if I did not put a closure. For the sake of argumentation, I told the driver (shouted is probably more reflective): Wala kayong values. Walang love of work! In the first place, we are only required to pay what's on your meter. There, go take P50. Sana masaya na kayo. Mukhang pera.

Yeah, I said a lot. The driver did not give his rebuttals. He took the money and left.

What did my act accomplish?
James did not feel defeated.
We felt that we applied our principles and we held on to Sir Mark's famous motto (popular to us): It's not about the money, it's the act.
We felt that we were more value-oriented people than the driver/s in Manila.

Did it prove that I was a better person than that driver? No. I actually stooped down to his lowly level.

I don't really know how it could have been handled more appropriately. Anyway, I'm not looking back wishing I didn't say what I said. And if anything could be changed, I would have conveyed my message in a nicer way.

But can there really be a nicer way in telling a greedy person that he has no values?

Slash

I've been wanting to have my hair cut for many months now. I wanted to have a new look last Christmas, for graduation, before my first day at work and many times in between. But I never had the courage and energy to enter a salon and just get on with it.

Mother wanted me to keep my hair long and has many times told me that cutting it would break her heart. I don't know how having a haircut could affect her so much. I heeded because I constantly reminded myself that it was I who made all the decisions in everything else in my life. My hairstyle is such a small thing.

But looking at the mirror everyday and seeing how ugly, brittle and consumed with split ends my hair was, the urge to have a haircut became greater. And yesterday, when I couldn't take it anymore and while my parents were out, I finally went to a salon.

I was lying on the couch watching tv, then got up supposedly to get something to eat. Then the thought once again occurred, I want a haircut. I knew that there is a salon on the next block. Without rationalizing, I got my comb and purse and headed for the salon. Some five minutes later, I found myself knocking on the gate of a house that had a signboard "Angel's Salon" (if I remember it right).

An old lady came out and I told her that I want a haircut. "May sakit si Angel, umiinom nga kami ng orange juice kasi wala s'yang panlasa," she answered. Then Angel came out saying that it's okay, she can manage. I hesitated a little but I could not turn away and say No, I don't trust this kid (she looks like a high school student) with my hair. I'm also very idle and I don't like the idea of going back home to get changed so that I will be presentable in going to a salon in the city. That would be too time and energy consuming. That salon and the kid were good enough.

When I got inside the house (salon), she asked what kind of cut I wanted and what length did I want it to be. There were no magazines to check out and I know only two styles, slash and straight. I didn't think I wanted it straight so I said I wanted a slash. She got a pair of scissors that looked like normal scissors, not the type used in normal salons. Oh my. And I thought that perhaps I was getting punished because I was betraying my mother and having my hair cut behind her back. But I did not complain and I decided to trust the sick girl. Good luck to my hair.

I tried not to look at how she was doing her thing. But I could make out that she did not do it the same way other stylists did. Huhu. Still, she heard nothing from me.

While she was cutting (and slashing?) my hair, my thoughts wandered. I remembered that it was years ago when I had my last haircut. And many times before, the decision was always easy to make. I did it when something major came to my life - I was very happy over something, I got an award or citation, my heart got broken, I was letting go of things/people, etc. And I asked myself, So what happy or heartbreaking thing happened to me? But I couldn't point out anything. For the first time, I had my hair cut because I wanted it cut. Period. It's not really very ugly. I have only given that as an excuse. I also did not do it because I wanted to defy my mother. It breaks my heart every time I defy her. Yet I always do. Hehe.

After thirty minutes, I was back in front of the television. Done is my hair. Did the sick young stylist make me beautiful? No, for I still have the same face and features. But I surely felt better because I finally did it. I hope that every morning when I look in the mirror, I wouldn't say bad things about my hair anymore. But then, if I do, my hair can still get shorter. Hehe.

Note: Mama did not even realize I had a haircut!!! How could she?! My hair is now three or more inches shorter. Something must be very wrong with her eyes. But it's a good thing. At least I did not have to explain. And what she doesn't know won't hurt her. Hehe

Sketches and Eyeglasses

I don’t know what specific event or thought made me remember the visits I had with my classmates to the museums in Manila some ten years ago. The point is, I remember those visits.

I majored in Visual Arts at Philippine High School for the Arts; and going to the museums and seeing the works of visual artists were a meaningful and relevant integration. We were groomed to become artists. We at least should know those who set the foundations and standards in Philippine visual arts.

We went to at least five museums; the more popular ones were the Meralco Theatre and the National Museum. Those two housed the known works of Juan Luna, Felix Resureccion Hidalgo, Fernando Amorsolo, etc. I claim to be a fan of Hidalgo because he isn’t as popular as Luna. I sort of have something against popular and commercial people.

I was amazed when I saw the Spolarium. It welcomed us as we entered the National Museum. I read and heard a lot about it but never thought it was very big until I saw it. I asked my fellow students how it was transported from Europe and how it entered the Museum. They didn't know and I don't think they cared. It sure would not fit in the entrance door. Did it enter through the ceiling? But it couldn’t even be carried in a helicopter. I got the answer some years later. Apparently, that very big painting was divided into smaller squares of canvas. But when I looked at it, I never noticed the divisions. I don’t know how they put the canvas together or how Juan Luna drew such a huge painting. It must have taken years! Still, it did not make me a fan of Juan Luna. I heard a story about him shooting his wife and in-law. I'm not really sure if the story is true or not.

Seeing the great artists' works was supposed to motivate us. I don't think it had such effect on me. At the time, I knew already that I wouldn't be able to paint anything near or comparable to the "Spolarium." But I agree that those artists are simply amazing. They put their minds, hearts, bodies and souls to their craft; and their efforts surely paid off.

What amazed me most were not the popular works in the big museums but the less popular and the unrecognized ones in the smaller museums. Framed and hanging on the walls were the sketches made by recognized artists. Pencils were used in many of the works. Others were simply drafts and outlines. Yet they were framed. And they looked really good. It was obvious that true artists' hands drew those. And while the huge paintings did not motivate me, I was greatly inspired by the etchings. Perhaps I knew that I was capable only of those.

At the young age of 12, I imagined my sketches framed and hanging on museums. It kept me drawing for a year. I loved drawing with pencils and I was so bad with the paint brush. That I accepted.

Another meaningful event in my short-lived pursuit to become an artist was a visit to the house of Jose Rizal in Calamba, Laguna. The house is considered a museum and it was well-preserved. The rooms still had the things of our national hero and his family. At the back was the garden and a play house where the young Jose Rizal and his siblings played in.

As much as I appreciated the trip and seeing the house, these did not change what strong negative opinion I had (and still have) for the man. I didn’t like Rizal even then because he was heavily motivated by fame and honor. I read stories of him, when he was as young as 5 years old, where he predicted that he will one day become famous. When teased by his sisters, he told them that he may be small but will one day be a big name in the history of his country. Of course, this may not be entirely true and may only be a product of Zaide’s or some other author’s exaggeration. They thought that this is a plus factor to our national hero. But if we look deeper, it would show that Rizal already exhibited worldly motivations even at such an early age. Oh no, many Rizalians would probably get mad if they read this.

Many of Jose Rizal's things were placed on glass cases. Included there were two or three pairs of his old and worn out eyeglasses. I was already wearing glasses then. And they were worn out, too!! And I thought, "When I grow up, my glasses will be put on glass cases like this one inside a museum." I was no different from Rizal. At an age a little older than he was when he predicted his fame, I had the same worldly motivations - to become great and known, that even my eyeglasses would be showcased.

I wanted the same things which made me dislike our national hero. But the need to be famous did not last long. I don't really know which came first - knowing that such motivation is not too value-oriented or the realization that I did not have the talent to become great. Anyway, if my glasses will one day be worthy to be placed in a museum, I don't think the viewers would appreciate what they'd see. I got the worst glasses anyone could set eyes on. No, I don't think I'd be proud to showcase them. Viewers would probably say, "Geez, can eyeglasses get this bad? This great owner must be one very irresponsible person." It's a good thing then that I will not be the next Jose Rizal or Juan Luna.

Note: This post is sort of a joke... This is not a product of a thinking mind and this is very much unedited. I typed this during a short break... Might erase this later.

Kuya

I have always wanted an older brother – someone who would pamper and spoil me; a protector from bad elements; and a guy I could brag of to my lady friends.

I never got one, for of course, my mother could not bring back time just to give birth to my very much wanted Kuya. So when I met him, he was like sent from heaven, an answered prayer. He spoiled me and defended me. He is proud of me and he, too, is someone I could be proud of.

We could always talk about anything and everything. I could be in my worst and he would not mind. He could be in his worst and he’d allow me to scold him.

But things have suddenly changed. Now, when we see each other, we cannot anymore talk spontaneously. I do not know what to tell him and vice versa. It’s sad because I’d rather not see him than we are in each other’s company but are lost and uncomfortable. I’m not sure how this happened. We are not anymore living up to the kuya-sister act.

I'm No Blogging Addict

Bo Sanchez wrote:
All addictions, whether to drinks, food, shopping or sex, are an escape from feelings we don't want to face.

Very well said. And it supports my claim that I'm no blogging addict!! I'm spending an hour or so a day, I seldom miss (but I did for almost a week, straight), on blogging - writing and reading blogs. At some point, the thought occurred to me that perhaps I'm beginning to become addicted to this. Or I already am addicted.

I always justify that this is not an addiction, but a way to express myself - feelings, thoughts, ideas, interests, etc.

And after I've read Bo's article about negative emotions - how people sometimes run away from them through their addictions, I feel better. . . Because I certainly am not running from negative emotions through blogging.

Blogging has given me a way to acknowledge negativities and conquer them. Yehey! I'm no blogging addict.

Haha. I'm reading inspirational books. Ate Kamz said (or implied) that an excellent reader reads anything and everything. Why am I justifying myself? Really, Bo's articles are funny, amusing, sometimes self-centered but you can surely relate. And yes, they are quite inspiring, too.

PS: I am not blogging as much as I used to; not really because I have not much to say. . . I don't know. Maybe I'm over the "overwhelmed" stage. But I still intend to keep blogging.