And Everything Else – Page 2

22/09/16

Today I woke up feeling apprehensive. I’m a year shy of hitting the big three-O and I feel like the forces are mocking me today; reminding me of those long-forgotten things I jotted in my to-do-list way back yesteryears.

Bold and ambitious, I used to dream about globe-trotting, having a job that won’t be confined to a desk but nonetheless earn enough to afford me a beat-up truck that would enable me and my one-eyed St. Bernard trips to countrysides. I could not wait to skydive, win at a casino, make love with a dashing young man on a hot air balloon, do all things outlandish–live the life.

With youth comes the gifts of vitality, idealism and ambition. But as the reality of life starts biting you past mid-life, one tends to gradually lose these. Work, bills, slowing metabolism, and adding up to the years submit one into an unremarkable routine of waking up to finish a day that would more or less repeat itself the next one. The best things have become catching up on sleep, a new release on Netflix, clocking out after a shift, finding a pair of old jeans with buttons that don’t unexpectedly pop and those rare alarm-less mornings.

And as I am one of the unfortunate species with a brain that reminds me of all the bad decisions I made in my life before I get any chance to fall into oblivion during the end of the day, I often get to think about the current life I am leading and question every single thing. I finally succumb to troubled sleeps with a resolve that I would do something extraordinary the next day but then wake up feeling uninspired. I guess I’m growing old. Or not.

Everyone around me seems to be having babies and growing toddlers while here I am wanting to get another puppy. That does not make me forget that ten or so years ago, I said to myself that if I turn 28 and I’m still single, I would Angelina Jolie a baby of my own. Today though, all I could think of is adopting a rescue dog or cat at the local shelter. Interesting how the years can change you.

I catch Pokemon and give them weird names. I share the bed with my husband and occasionally with our handful Kaidu when he decides the sheets are not as tasty as bacon. I have not started to eat more responsibly; our cupboards hold a full section of food that have the same nutritional value as that of a cardboard which we indulge in ever so often. I’ve reached the age when jammies feel sexier than cropped fitted tees, and my idea of a fun night is watching medieval war movies with a tub of Ben & Jerry’s. I guess I’m growing old. Or not.

Then there’s that guilty excitement of buying new cutlery. A house ware section beckons me more than a clothing department does. I like buying plates at the plate store. I like our salt shaker. I like the sound of our pepper grinder. My Amazon account boasts not of shoe purchases but dog tags and leashes. So adult.

But although I’ve been independent since I left the University, I still have that urge to look for Mama when stuff becomes unpleasant. I guess I’m growing old. Or not.

Now I’m thinking of that way overdue bungee-jump (times ten) and that spontaneous trip to Machu Picchu. If I wake up one of these days feeling less conventional, spontaneous and impulsive, things might start happening, again. And with newfound determination, I end this day. *snuffs candle out*

Pinay Diaries: Going Dorothy (There’s No Place Like Home)

It’s been a month. After making that fateful decision of starting a new life away from what I’ve grown accustomed to for more than two years (albeit not comfortably as I would have wanted to), I now find myself smelling like a dog, gaining more than a few unnecessary pounds, being a freeloader under Mama’s roof, and basking in the pressure-less lifestyle of the unemployed.

The ultimate resolution to come home was a choice that was spurred both by circumstances which I don’t have control over on and the personal resolve that I mulled over for countless sleepless nights. But I am not writing this to justify whether I made the better decision or not. I write this for the sole reason to emphasize that nothing will ever come close to the bliss and contentment of being home with your loved ones.

For the past weeks, I’ve occupied myself with spending time with the family. I’ve devoted myself to the idea of making the most of home as I realized how much I have missed the simple yet irreplaceable joys of family and being home.

Each day is met with luxuriating under the covers while the hairs of my ears prickle with the morning chill. Nothing says good morning better than the sound of roosters crowing and the familiar smell of Arabica coffee. The rest of the day is spent juggling hours among trekking, biking, walking the dogs, some house chores, making myself a bit useful in my sister’s shop (though I could only do so much), and struggling to steal internet connection that has drastically been evasive since I came back.

Life back in my hometown has never seemed so busy and exciting. Knowing how easily I tire from routine, I anticipate my butt to start itching probably when I reach the second month mark. But for some reason or reasons, I don’t fear the uncertainty. That of which has always plagued me to my wits’ end before. The uncertainty I’m expecting nowadays has never felt safer. Strange, but yes. I’m welcoming the ambiguity with open arms. This decision has obviously paved me a blank slate so I could start with anything—either it be the most expected next step or a completely unforeseen one. Whatever the next stride would be, I’m sure it’s going to be awesome.

The best thing about being back home is the feeling of security and safety. Being assured that your loved ones have your back, even physically this time, is just priceless. So yes, I’m not saying I’ve closed my doors to the possibilities of life outside my comfort zone. New is good. Change is good. Foreign is good. But not now. Till then, I’ll be very happy filling out my diary pages with how green the hills are, how crazy the dogs can get and how delicious ‘daing’ is especially when you eat it with your bare hands.

I Will Fix My Broken Pen

Confucius said, “Choose a job you love, and you will never have to work a day in your life.” I chose my current job for this main reason but unfortunately such is not the case. I feel deceived.

I realized that when I write just to write, I am happy. But when I write because I am required to, it feels oppressive.

This is seriously breaking my heart. Crumpled papers and broken pens (or make that blinking cursor on an empty page) have become familiar sights recently.

Writers have blocks. But this is not it. This is more like a flare reduced to an ember and then an ember that’s doused with water. Yet I refuse to believe that the passion’s gone. A true love can never be gone.

This is me convincing myself that it may just be the work environment. That the idea of being tied to a chair all day long while you squeeze your brains out for a decent write-up just does not cut it. (Not to mention other unfortunate factors and circumstances that made me break my pen. But that’s another story.)

So yes, I am not contending the great mind behind the adage. Unfortunate, bordering to tragic, circumstances have just blown my writing confidence and passion out of proportion. But like everything else, this too shall pass. This too shall pass.

A Probinsiyana’s UPCAT Story

Dear Ole 'Oble' (lifted from the UPFI page) — Dear Ole ‘Oble’ (lifted from the UPFI page)

This year, approximately 85,000 to 88,000 hopefuls took the University of the Philippines College Admission Test. Though an alumna, I still find the numbers overwhelming. That is to take into consideration that a couple and then some years ago, I took the same exam without the foggiest idea that thousands after thousands try to get into the country’s premier state university yearly. I did not know who Oble was much less the existence of the word oblation. I was that clueless ~~and ignorant~~.

Coming from a town where it was more or less a given that high school graduates either go to the nearest city or the province’s capital for college, I somehow expected the country’s Summer Capital to be my next home for the next four years or so. So three or four months before graduation, all these universities and colleges visited public and private high schools to bait new fish into their institutions. Those that required college admission tests even went as far as to bring the exams to a common testing center in the province, to save us from taking the six-hour bus ride to the city just for this.

I never really had clear plans for college. All I knew was that I’d probably enroll in a good university and take up Nursing because that was what my mother said. And I was cool with that.

I loved school. Strange as it may sound but I loved doing home works and reports and exams. But at the same time, I took every opportunity to get a break from school. If taking college exams meant a very valid excuse to be off school, I took all those exams. UPCAT included.

So yes, I took UPCAT for the sole reason that I wanted to have a day off school. That was how much of a numb skull I was with regards to making decisions for college. I was so clueless about the opportunities, growth, and edge an Isko will have with UP being the final step before starting in the real world. Some even enroll in review classes purposefully for the test, which I came to learn later on. Kumbaga sa Hunger Games, sila yung careers. And there I was who only saw the exam as a means to skip classes. But I guess all the ancient gods and demi-gods of my tribe smiled down on me that day. And yes, I probably paid attention in most of my subjects. That too.

That was basically how I underwent UPCAT. Armed with sheer confidence (or not), two packs of Nagaraya, and the bliss of skipping school that day, I leisurely took the exam and shaded those boxes without any pressure, and noticing every now and then that the proctor was cute. After the long hours, I was just so glad to get out from the testing rooms and was excited about my next meal. I remember it was raining that time and it was hard getting a pedicab ride to the eateries so my classmates and I crowded around this sari-sari store near the school instead. It was chi-chiria and soft drinks galore till we had to take the last jeep back home. It was a well-spent day away from school and I never really thought about the test after that.

The school year was about to end. Everyone had decided where to enroll to already. My mind was 70% made up that I will take veterinary medicine in another state university. Then it was summer. Someone said I made it. I was cynical as I never received any mails (we live in the mountains hence maybe the delay). Days passed and there was still no letter to confirm so I went to one of the few internet shops in town just to check, (again, we live in the mountains and the internet access back then was close to nil). I checked my name and there it was. I was happy. But my mother was happier.

So yes, from Nursing to DVM to being a bona fide Iska at University of the Philippines-Diliman’s College of Mass Communication, that’s how it went.

A couple and then some years later, I still proudly wear my University shirts, I follow UAAP updates, rejoice and cry with the

Maroons, I subscribe to every UP page on Facebook and hope to someday see my kids study in the same school. I would maybe encourage them to review and thoroughly prepare so they could get in as Oblation scholars (ambisyosa lang, haha) and not just pass the qualifying exam by a hair’s breadth like their mother.

To those who will soon be sharing their UPCAT stories, hoping the odds were in your favor during the test and that such will still be the case for the bigger test after–once you become an Isko or an Iska.