I was at the McDonald's branch near DLSU last night. I was waiting with my dad, since my sister was watching something that lasted well into her comfortable-enough-to-commute zone. It wasn't exactly a full restaurant like the many other times I've been there, but there were many people. There were many unfamiliar people.
It's not an alarming thing, really. People come and go - it's a given. The frosh, well, they always end up going at McDonald's, being the most familiar eating place for some people like me call initially naïve. Like us before, they move on to where it works better for them - the school canteens, the smaller restaurants in the vicinity, or perhaps the newly-raided stalls at Agno. And, like us before, we get replaced with the people who will eventually know better, and we get delegated to returning when we have to, not because we only know so much.
Nevertheless, it's still a weird feeling. Walking among strangers is a given - perhaps something I'm used to, now that I'm employed and working for myself, somehow - but if you've been in the same place for three years, you'll somehow half-squirm at the unfamiliarity you suddenly face. Four months ago we were in one of those tables, maybe discussing our thesis, or hiding the Sir Doy shirts. Now, in one side of the building, there's a group of freshmen playing around until one literally falls down.
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7/31/2008
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7/30/2008
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"Sir, ten minutes po. Okay lang?"
It's too late for me to think of something else to buy anyway, so I just nod my head.
The girl on the counter then shouts out the order. Server jargon, some number, and then, "willing to wait!"
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It's too late for me to think of something else to buy anyway, so I just nod my head.
The girl on the counter then shouts out the order. Server jargon, some number, and then, "willing to wait!"
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7/28/2008
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I remembered something when I walked home from the neighborhood store. The night has fallen, and the lack of functional street lights meant I relied more on the lights coming from the rows of houses leading to our own. And then, my childhood comes back to haunt me.
I don't know if it's really valid, but when I was young, I had a fear of the night. No, it's not because of the supposed existence of monsters until my bed or inside my wardrobe, but it's more because of the moments I spend between falling asleep and being asleep. When the lights are out, and everything is quiet, my mind would race through outer space, and I'd start pondering about our own existence. Little do I know, I'd be afraid of closing my eyes and actually drifting to sleep.
I hate being unaware of things. While asleep, our mind enters a reality all its own, very much oblivious to whatever's happening outside. While you see someone nagging you, someone would have been shot outside your house.
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I don't know if it's really valid, but when I was young, I had a fear of the night. No, it's not because of the supposed existence of monsters until my bed or inside my wardrobe, but it's more because of the moments I spend between falling asleep and being asleep. When the lights are out, and everything is quiet, my mind would race through outer space, and I'd start pondering about our own existence. Little do I know, I'd be afraid of closing my eyes and actually drifting to sleep.
I hate being unaware of things. While asleep, our mind enters a reality all its own, very much oblivious to whatever's happening outside. While you see someone nagging you, someone would have been shot outside your house.
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7/27/2008
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This entry is adapted from something that Carmel posted last night. Uncanny timing is all I can think of right now.
Day two. Perhaps after some deliberation, you decide to peek into that door again. Actually, you don't want to, but hey, you did it, and there she is, ceremoniously-tied-but-still-long hair and all. And then, you wonder about her identity. Her name, her status - yes, that comes up first. You're lucky if you know someone that knows her, although it will be very awkward if you come out of the blue and say something like, "kilala mo si Jenny, di ba?" With the knowledge that you have a common friend, you resort to the next best, but still very awkward, thing: online research.
Day five. You haven't got a choice, since she comes out of the door you're going to come into anyway. Then, she doesn't come out of the door, and you actually wonder about it.
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Day two. Perhaps after some deliberation, you decide to peek into that door again. Actually, you don't want to, but hey, you did it, and there she is, ceremoniously-tied-but-still-long hair and all. And then, you wonder about her identity. Her name, her status - yes, that comes up first. You're lucky if you know someone that knows her, although it will be very awkward if you come out of the blue and say something like, "kilala mo si Jenny, di ba?" With the knowledge that you have a common friend, you resort to the next best, but still very awkward, thing: online research.
Day five. You haven't got a choice, since she comes out of the door you're going to come into anyway. Then, she doesn't come out of the door, and you actually wonder about it.
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7/25/2008
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Around twenty minutes ago, Kris stepped off her computer, and walking past me and Glenn, she's wave goodbye like she usually does.
We both wave back, with his eyes peeled to the monitor, and mine at my hand, obviously not waving the way it should wave.
On one side of the office, there's a aluminum tray half-full with turon; I was offered, but I don't really know if I should. And besides, I'm not hungry, even if I only had so much for lunch, in a poor attempt to starve myself to hunger.
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We both wave back, with his eyes peeled to the monitor, and mine at my hand, obviously not waving the way it should wave.
On one side of the office, there's a aluminum tray half-full with turon; I was offered, but I don't really know if I should. And besides, I'm not hungry, even if I only had so much for lunch, in a poor attempt to starve myself to hunger.
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7/24/2008
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They always tell you, stay inside the lines.
I wasn't really fond of coloring books. I found the process tedious, especially when I somehow manage to botch the entire drawing. Either I place the wrong color on the wrong spot, or worse, I go beyond the line.
Nobody can help it, though. As children, coloring is a very haphazard process. Someone lays the somewhat blank canvas on your desk, you grab your crayons, and look at the image for around five seconds before you grab a crayon and start making fat strokes. It's going to look crazy, and the way it goes, you will end up going outside the lines.
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I wasn't really fond of coloring books. I found the process tedious, especially when I somehow manage to botch the entire drawing. Either I place the wrong color on the wrong spot, or worse, I go beyond the line.
Nobody can help it, though. As children, coloring is a very haphazard process. Someone lays the somewhat blank canvas on your desk, you grab your crayons, and look at the image for around five seconds before you grab a crayon and start making fat strokes. It's going to look crazy, and the way it goes, you will end up going outside the lines.
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7/23/2008
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"Wow," Ariane said. "Pero hindi ka na kasing sad noon. Ayos!"
I've been typing away for eighteen out of the past twenty-eight days, and although I'm not exactly proud of the lack of, err, adventures at the workplace, at least I've somewhat reached a state of balance - or a state of compromise. I don't know what exactly contributes to it: perhaps my very frequent breaks, or the fact that I have been trying to say goodbye to both Kris and Neobie whenever they leave.
Well, that state of zen's partly because both Kata and Glenn haven't shown up for the past five days. Suddenly going home is a cold feeling, with me just standing up and going home, without having to say goodbye to Glenn, who is apparently down with the fever, as the white board near the conference room says. As for Kata, well, I don't know where she is - and suddenly I don't know who between her and Neobie is the more soft-spoken.
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I've been typing away for eighteen out of the past twenty-eight days, and although I'm not exactly proud of the lack of, err, adventures at the workplace, at least I've somewhat reached a state of balance - or a state of compromise. I don't know what exactly contributes to it: perhaps my very frequent breaks, or the fact that I have been trying to say goodbye to both Kris and Neobie whenever they leave.
Well, that state of zen's partly because both Kata and Glenn haven't shown up for the past five days. Suddenly going home is a cold feeling, with me just standing up and going home, without having to say goodbye to Glenn, who is apparently down with the fever, as the white board near the conference room says. As for Kata, well, I don't know where she is - and suddenly I don't know who between her and Neobie is the more soft-spoken.
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7/21/2008
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"Huwag mo na siya bati, ha."
It's perhaps a stalwart of grade school conversations, much more if you're new in it. One fights with the other, in what is then a very general definition of a fight, and then both would start recruiting other people. "Huwag mo na siya bati, ha." "Huwag mo na siya bati, ha." "Huwag mo na siya bati, ha." The cycle goes on and on, although in the end nothing really happens, because soon whatever altercation existed is forgotten, and it's as if nothing changed. Well, that happens most of the time.
Usually we don't really have a logical explanation behind our pleas. All we say is, "huwag mo na siya bati, ha" - and, when asked for an explanation, you merely shrug, "basta huwag mo na siya bati!" and, perhaps, leave exasperated and try to convince somebody else.
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It's perhaps a stalwart of grade school conversations, much more if you're new in it. One fights with the other, in what is then a very general definition of a fight, and then both would start recruiting other people. "Huwag mo na siya bati, ha." "Huwag mo na siya bati, ha." "Huwag mo na siya bati, ha." The cycle goes on and on, although in the end nothing really happens, because soon whatever altercation existed is forgotten, and it's as if nothing changed. Well, that happens most of the time.
Usually we don't really have a logical explanation behind our pleas. All we say is, "huwag mo na siya bati, ha" - and, when asked for an explanation, you merely shrug, "basta huwag mo na siya bati!" and, perhaps, leave exasperated and try to convince somebody else.
Read more »
7/20/2008
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Perhaps it's just me and my terrible circumstances, but I feel underrepresented.
I'm nineteen years old. Normally, people my age should be in their third year in college, but instead I'm now working for, well, either an American website or an outsourcing company. I went straight to kindergarten during my pre-school years, and to make things hastier, I studied in a school where three-year courses is the norm. My contemporaries aren't surprised, thankfully, but you can say they've gotten used to it.
The same goes with the family. It's a given that I'm the only nineteen-year-old on my mother's side, since I'm my maternal grandparents' first grandchild. Their second is my sister, since my mother's the eldest. On my father's side, though, I'm the only nineteen-year-old, surrounded with cousins who seem to always relate to each other despite the age; my eighteen-year-old sister shares complicated stories with two other cousins who are of the same age. Family reunions always leave me bewildered.
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I'm nineteen years old. Normally, people my age should be in their third year in college, but instead I'm now working for, well, either an American website or an outsourcing company. I went straight to kindergarten during my pre-school years, and to make things hastier, I studied in a school where three-year courses is the norm. My contemporaries aren't surprised, thankfully, but you can say they've gotten used to it.
The same goes with the family. It's a given that I'm the only nineteen-year-old on my mother's side, since I'm my maternal grandparents' first grandchild. Their second is my sister, since my mother's the eldest. On my father's side, though, I'm the only nineteen-year-old, surrounded with cousins who seem to always relate to each other despite the age; my eighteen-year-old sister shares complicated stories with two other cousins who are of the same age. Family reunions always leave me bewildered.
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7/19/2008
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"Actually it's just a simple gesture," Asia said. "But you know, simple gestures are the things people remember best."
On the other hand, I call it an accident. In between profiles and news articles, I was browsing through everybody's ramblings when I chanced upon hers. She claimed yesterday was her worst day ever, and I since I don't have the space to give my two cents like I always do, I decided to do it privately. (Well, it's no longer private now, but let's just say it was.)
I just asked her, out of wide-eyed curiosity. So, what is your best day ever?
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On the other hand, I call it an accident. In between profiles and news articles, I was browsing through everybody's ramblings when I chanced upon hers. She claimed yesterday was her worst day ever, and I since I don't have the space to give my two cents like I always do, I decided to do it privately. (Well, it's no longer private now, but let's just say it was.)
I just asked her, out of wide-eyed curiosity. So, what is your best day ever?
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7/16/2008
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Despite an apology that happen surprisingly quick, you can say that Denise and I had a very terrible fallout. It just doesn't seem right, considering the circumstances; a girl hiding her identity, a boy hiding his stress, and a world that doesn't reward people it just doesn't like. Such a contrast, perhaps, to this.
I finished three hours early, and stumbled upon one of my old entries, remembering the days when you can just walk in and actually feel welcome. Well, not everything's been severed, really, but considering everything that's been said, it might as well be. I was amazed at how different things were - innocent, perhaps, or untainted, but still different.
"I don't know if I should say thanks for your optimism. Or, no thanks for my indecisiveness."
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I finished three hours early, and stumbled upon one of my old entries, remembering the days when you can just walk in and actually feel welcome. Well, not everything's been severed, really, but considering everything that's been said, it might as well be. I was amazed at how different things were - innocent, perhaps, or untainted, but still different.
"I don't know if I should say thanks for your optimism. Or, no thanks for my indecisiveness."
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7/15/2008
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The problem with anticipation is disappointment.
Perhaps - no, definitely - there was a time when you really looked forward to something. Life-changing, maybe, or something extraordinary, or something new, but something you can definitely immerse in. Initially you're anxious, naturally because change is involved again, but after all has been said and done, you're excited about it, and you somehow won't admit it.
So, what do you do? It's no ordinary thing; of course you just can't stop thinking about it or, to say the least, it occupies your thought bubbles more frequently than it should be. You think of every scenario, imagine every outcome, assess every possible stereotype, and act out solutions even if the situation is outlandish, to say the least. Images flash in your head, as to what could possibly be, and what should be. You hear your thoughts in your head, and they are slowly refined as time passes by, becoming words you might actually say, and you rehearse them, as if you have to.
Read more »
Perhaps - no, definitely - there was a time when you really looked forward to something. Life-changing, maybe, or something extraordinary, or something new, but something you can definitely immerse in. Initially you're anxious, naturally because change is involved again, but after all has been said and done, you're excited about it, and you somehow won't admit it.
So, what do you do? It's no ordinary thing; of course you just can't stop thinking about it or, to say the least, it occupies your thought bubbles more frequently than it should be. You think of every scenario, imagine every outcome, assess every possible stereotype, and act out solutions even if the situation is outlandish, to say the least. Images flash in your head, as to what could possibly be, and what should be. You hear your thoughts in your head, and they are slowly refined as time passes by, becoming words you might actually say, and you rehearse them, as if you have to.
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7/11/2008
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A week and a half after the job interview, I received a phone call from who would ultimately become my immediate superior. It was an interview of some sort, really, which made me nervous, because it's really weird talking to a prospective employer while you're wearing basketball shorts. I was asked a considerably unusual set of questions - thoughts about the examination, about where I thought I fumbled and where I thought I shone, about my travel time, you know the drill. In the end, the guy on the other end asked the ultimate question.
"When can you start?" he said.
I scrambled for an answer. "Around July or August siguro," I said. "I still have to prepare for my graduation. It's on the 21st."
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"When can you start?" he said.
I scrambled for an answer. "Around July or August siguro," I said. "I still have to prepare for my graduation. It's on the 21st."
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7/10/2008
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At least I got wind of the news that Marielle's flying to Japan during graduation rehearsals. I actually just overheard it, but at least I knew it from her too. The next thing I know, while I was still nursing my post-commencement hangover, she's already there.
Her father teaches English as a second language. Come to think of it, he's the reason why all these Koreans are flying to the country, but that's beside the point. Anyway, it's not really her first time in Japan, having been there another time, which is why she isn't exactly going to lose her way around Tokyo. Suddenly I have a deluge of Multiply posts about Skype conversations and skimpy school uniforms, and then I really understood why she said she will miss me despite the fact that, well, we aren't really close. Let's admit that.
I was chatting with her one night, answering her status message, like I always do. And yes, for some reason I wasn't able to save the conversation. I would've loved it - that conversation where we found ourselves losing things to say because there isn't much to talk about. It's just me wondering about how she's coping, with the new surroundings and new culture adjustments. The former was refuted; the latter, well, she's starting Japanese lessons. It's her fourth language, actually; the third's Spanish.
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Her father teaches English as a second language. Come to think of it, he's the reason why all these Koreans are flying to the country, but that's beside the point. Anyway, it's not really her first time in Japan, having been there another time, which is why she isn't exactly going to lose her way around Tokyo. Suddenly I have a deluge of Multiply posts about Skype conversations and skimpy school uniforms, and then I really understood why she said she will miss me despite the fact that, well, we aren't really close. Let's admit that.
I was chatting with her one night, answering her status message, like I always do. And yes, for some reason I wasn't able to save the conversation. I would've loved it - that conversation where we found ourselves losing things to say because there isn't much to talk about. It's just me wondering about how she's coping, with the new surroundings and new culture adjustments. The former was refuted; the latter, well, she's starting Japanese lessons. It's her fourth language, actually; the third's Spanish.
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7/08/2008
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If I'm going to keep up with my half-imposed isolation at work, then I should be having lunch alone! Then again, I don't really have a choice - today, for one, I discreetly observed who among the team will eat lunch last. Two went down at ten in the morning to get lunch. Another actually has packed lunch, as always is the case. The last had a hotdog sandwich, which probably bordered between store-bought and home-brought.
But I couldn't care less. I've always left my desk for lunch anyway, sometimes bringing something back, especially when I can't afford to lose time. Lately, though, I've been finishing all my tasks with at least thirty minutes to spare - blame it on me being too punctual, as Raisa somehow reminded me - so I've had time to explore the restaurants around Pearl Drive. And about time, I think, else I die from eating either fastfood, or those quick-heat meals that don't really go well.
First thing I realized yesterday was, despite Ranice's assistance, I'll never find Munch Alley here. Perhaps it's been replaced by another restaurant, if you actually looked behind the nearby Starbucks. But there's quite a lot of restaurants here, thanks to an office crowd and two schools; it puts me in between two distinct stages of my life. Then again, every time I get lunch, I see myself surrounded with college students, and it feels like I've never really left. Whether that's a bad thing, we'll still have to see.
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But I couldn't care less. I've always left my desk for lunch anyway, sometimes bringing something back, especially when I can't afford to lose time. Lately, though, I've been finishing all my tasks with at least thirty minutes to spare - blame it on me being too punctual, as Raisa somehow reminded me - so I've had time to explore the restaurants around Pearl Drive. And about time, I think, else I die from eating either fastfood, or those quick-heat meals that don't really go well.
First thing I realized yesterday was, despite Ranice's assistance, I'll never find Munch Alley here. Perhaps it's been replaced by another restaurant, if you actually looked behind the nearby Starbucks. But there's quite a lot of restaurants here, thanks to an office crowd and two schools; it puts me in between two distinct stages of my life. Then again, every time I get lunch, I see myself surrounded with college students, and it feels like I've never really left. Whether that's a bad thing, we'll still have to see.
Read more »
7/06/2008
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I should've written about this a long time ago, but somehow I ended up writing this instead, and already everything that I've planned to say - from the I'm-going-back-to-school pun to the unlucky horoscope to the occasional SpongeBob SquarePants reference - has become totally irrelevant. How fast time flies, eh?
Today, though, I'll end up writing about something as obscure as, say, instincts.
A lesson I couldn't forget from anthropology class three years ago was that humans don't have instincts. Well, what our professor said was, we shouldn't be calling it instinct, because it's a totally different thing. Alas, I don't remember what that is. (I don't even remember the professor's name, either.) I don't really remember anything else, but whenever someone in the media talks about our apparent instinct to survive, this thought always comes up, even if it's just half of it.
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Today, though, I'll end up writing about something as obscure as, say, instincts.
A lesson I couldn't forget from anthropology class three years ago was that humans don't have instincts. Well, what our professor said was, we shouldn't be calling it instinct, because it's a totally different thing. Alas, I don't remember what that is. (I don't even remember the professor's name, either.) I don't really remember anything else, but whenever someone in the media talks about our apparent instinct to survive, this thought always comes up, even if it's just half of it.
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7/05/2008
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I'll be honest. One of the best things about work is, well, a good broadband connection. Suddenly it doesn't matter whether I sit in front of the computer for (sometimes, more than) nine hours a day, typing the same old things, while I contend with a painful back and a painfully short attention span. With the help of a nifty pair of headphones - that, they also have - I can listen to any foreign radio station streaming online.
For the past three days, I was listening to Australian stuff. It somehow also helps to speed me up, since Sydney is two time zones away from Manila, and I hear the presenters say it's six in the evening when it's just four in the afternoon. Triple J streams at rates that my dial-up connection cannot take, so I can't help myself, for some reason. At that rate you'd probably see me just typing, slightly oblivious to the world, while Dools and Linda do their thing.
Now, apparently my co-workers sometimes talk among themselves, and perhaps something's already happened while I'm listening to some indie band's remix of some indie band's song. While I start typing two spaces in between paragraphs, I drift further into, well, isolation.
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For the past three days, I was listening to Australian stuff. It somehow also helps to speed me up, since Sydney is two time zones away from Manila, and I hear the presenters say it's six in the evening when it's just four in the afternoon. Triple J streams at rates that my dial-up connection cannot take, so I can't help myself, for some reason. At that rate you'd probably see me just typing, slightly oblivious to the world, while Dools and Linda do their thing.
Now, apparently my co-workers sometimes talk among themselves, and perhaps something's already happened while I'm listening to some indie band's remix of some indie band's song. While I start typing two spaces in between paragraphs, I drift further into, well, isolation.
Read more »
7/01/2008
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It's a holiday tomorrow in Pasig City, but the fact that I've done everything to post this thing despite having a dead phone line back home means that, yes, I'll be at work on that day. Such is life when you're at the mercy of the American economy; their holiday is your holiday, too. Then again, my job is closer to the media than I would've bargained for, and thankfully so. And, if you think about it, people in the media don't have holidays.
I'm still trying to make sense of my new biological clock. I'm okay with sleeping at ten in the evening, especially when my body badly wants to sleep, but for some reason it doesn't feel entirely right. I remain stuck in front of a computer for nine hours at the very least, writing celebrity profiles; your head does all the work, while your feet badly want to walk, and your thoughts badly want to get out. And that's the nature of my job. I was asking our office secretary Ate Sanve, and she couldn't have said it more succinctly: "sa sobrang busy, kailangan ng full concentration sa ginagawa."
I'm the newbie in a group of five. I'm one of only two guys. I'm the only one whose shift starts at nine in the morning and ends nine hours later. And, perhaps to make things a little worse, I do my communicating with my sort-of higher-up Kris - only because she's the expert in these things - via instant messaging, even if she's just three seats away. It's a little spiffy, considering that this could very well be the future of workplace communication - heck, reporters don't meet their editors eye-to-eye anymore! I chose another adjective, nevertheless: impersonal. Just chilly, I must say, when you're being reminded by the grown-ups to interact.
Read more »
I'm still trying to make sense of my new biological clock. I'm okay with sleeping at ten in the evening, especially when my body badly wants to sleep, but for some reason it doesn't feel entirely right. I remain stuck in front of a computer for nine hours at the very least, writing celebrity profiles; your head does all the work, while your feet badly want to walk, and your thoughts badly want to get out. And that's the nature of my job. I was asking our office secretary Ate Sanve, and she couldn't have said it more succinctly: "sa sobrang busy, kailangan ng full concentration sa ginagawa."
I'm the newbie in a group of five. I'm one of only two guys. I'm the only one whose shift starts at nine in the morning and ends nine hours later. And, perhaps to make things a little worse, I do my communicating with my sort-of higher-up Kris - only because she's the expert in these things - via instant messaging, even if she's just three seats away. It's a little spiffy, considering that this could very well be the future of workplace communication - heck, reporters don't meet their editors eye-to-eye anymore! I chose another adjective, nevertheless: impersonal. Just chilly, I must say, when you're being reminded by the grown-ups to interact.
Read more »
Niko Batallones writes The Upper Blog.
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