so you’ll understand the way i am
In the many nights that I cannot sleep, I just sit up on my bed and listen to the pouring rain. As I wait for the rain and the thunder and lightning to go away, I realize that most of my troubles begin with a yes.
Yes, I will do that for you.
Yes, I like you, here’s my heart and soul– ground it into hamburger–enjoy!
Yes, I think I can handle a course in Open U.
Let me do this:
P 46. 04—exchange rate of peso to $US 1 as of May 23
P 1.26 Trillion— ceiling of expenditure for 2008
P 1.26 Trillion — projected revenues for 2008
P 0 —- target deficit by 2008
P 33 million — amount spent weekly by Pichay for his TV ads
P 55 — price of sausage mc muffin breakfast at McDonald’s
P 70 — the amount I pay for my pedicure at the UP Shopping Center
500 — number of songs a two 2GB ipod nano can contain
10 — number of days it took before I got to watch Annabelle Rama’s interview on Showbiz Central
While I was slipping into nervous breakdown from analyzing the macroeconomic assumptions of the Development Budget Coordinating Council for 2008 (remember, I only have three brain cells), the rest of the 84 million Filipinos are buzzing with talks of the Ruffa-Ylmaz separation. The remaining one million pinoys are glued to either NBA, or the election tally, or are anticipating the announcement of Ogie Alcasid in June.
Two days after the elections….
On election day, votes are pegged from as low as P50 to as high as P1,500.
I was waiting for someone to approach me as I was on my way to my polling place last Monday. You know, like offer me unlimited access to all the services of Profiles salon in Katipunan for free. Or a new pair of Seven jeans. Or a cocktail ring from Firma. In exchange for my vote.
Read more at www.ghsambat.blogspot.com
please check out my new blogsite.
i am not abandoning this friendster blog though, just doing some upgrade.
“Sometimes reality has a way of sneaking up and biting us in the ass. And when the dam bursts, all you can do is swim. The world of pretend is a cage, not a cocoon. We can only lie to ourselves for so long. We are tired, we are scared, denying it doesn’t change the truth. Sooner or later we have to put aside our denial and face the world. Head on, guns blazing. ”—Meredith Grey
Saturday night. (April 28)
Alone in my little blue room, wide awake in all my grunge glory. I haven’t done such since February. Saturday nights in Manila always meant either DVD marathon with dorm mates, or dinner/coffee with a potential significant other, or malling/partying/ timezone-ing with the girls/boys.
I’ve finally moved out of the dorm so no more DVD marathons. I didn’t feel like going to the mall or club because three of the past five week nights I’ve already spent at The Ledge. As to the dinner/ coffee, ummm… I think the universe has run out of men to throw at me.
Oh….the melancholy.
So what better way to ignore that disconcerting feeling of loneliness that tries to squeeze out every ounce of numbness and self-reliance inside of me but to face my books and my thinkpad and start working.
With three non-work related projects that I unwittingly said yes to, it looks like the next Saturday nights in solitude won’t be so bad.
***
The advocacy plan that I was drafting for project A was beginning to make sense when my phone beeped.
And then it happened.
Just when I thought I was standing on a rock solid step in the career ladder, I start feeling sand beneath my toes.
And the sand is shifting.
When I was learning how to surf, I always had that shifting sand experience. One minute I’m standing where the water is just at knee level. No danger. Then the strong current sweeps the sand I’m standing on and without me budging an inch, the water reaches my waist.
I get on my board and start to paddle out into the open ocean.
***
When you’re 27, and you’re from UP Diliman, and you’ve held positions of responsibility in reputable national and international agencies, you become a control freak.
You always want things figured out. You feel the need to manipulate situations, things, people — 24/7. You are never without a contingency plan. You can do anything. You’re bullet proof.
Then the Universe unfolds. An all-out war is launched and your hefty ego is the first casualty.
***
The Paris Declaration on Aid Effectiveness. The One UN Country Office Policy. The CPAP Outcome Review. The 2007 Memo Circulars.
I’ve found out ways to dance around these policies.
I have already made plans for my next career move in the event that I get tired of calculating my steps at the ledge of GOP-UNDP. In fact, I have a sure job by the time my present contract ends in June.
Until a directive came out last Thursday.
Three paragraphs, seven sentences and a four-stroke signature. That was all it took.
The text message that I got explained the implications of the new directive to my current contract and to my supposed sure next job.
I remember all the opportunities I let go at the beginning of the year and the guts and the effort I poured into ensuring that the plan I chose will result to my expected outcome.
***
Comfort zone. I was starting to have one prior to the directive. It hasn’t been easy building that zone. And now I’ve made decisions and my decisions have taken form. I knew what I want to do, where I will live, the things I will engage in.
I should’ve come up with a full blown risk management blue print—not just a one-two step plan. Shouldn’t have allowed that need to settle down take my psyche hostage. Shouldn’t have forgotten the 48th law of power which says:
“Instead of taking a form for your enemy to grasp, keep yourself adaptable and on the move. Accept the fact that nothing is certain and no law is fixed. The best way to protect yourself is to be as fluid and formless as water; never bet on stability or lasting order. Everything changes.”
Should’ve. Shouldn’t have. Should’ve.
Oh…the tragedy.
***
I want to throw a tantrum.
Let out a blood curdling scream. Smoke my head off. Throw a punch at whoever I’ll bump into along the street. Drink all the Absolut Citron in the world till my sweat tasted like vodka and I pass out. Emo-shop all my savings away. Play Russian roulette.
But first, I take two caps of Tylenol extra strength to avert what felt like a menacing migraine that has started to chew on my head.
***
I want to cry. But I can’t. Don’t want to. Because crying merely validates the obvious.
That I’m not bullet proof. That not everything is in my control. That I am once again defeated.
Oh, the misery.
***
Ah, crying. Women are notorious for resorting to tears to avoid getting a traffic violation ticket, or to change a grade of 5 to 4, 4 to 3, or to get a boyfriend to beg for forgiveness even when it was obviously her fault.
It is not my ammunition of choice however. When faced with sticky situations, I attack head on—with a spur of the moment spin, a draconian republic act, a compromise. Never with tears.
To begin with, I look horrendous when I cry– red eyes, red nose, snot. I get tired of the quick, successive, short, shallow breathing that comes with it. And when I’m choking on my sobs, I find it impossible to talk. Plus, in case you didn’t notice—I now wear eye make-up—and I’d hate to mess it.
Unless of course my tears can manipulate God. Then I’d cry my guts out now.
***
Hmmm…. God…
I have been a Christian for close to four years now.
I still have a clear memory of that night at the altar. Back in May 2003. When the abstract concepts– of God, of love, of faith, of mercy, of salvation, of grace became a reality to me and ceased being merely head knowledge.
However, walking in faith has not been easy. One minute I am in total surrender and in awe of my Lord and Savior. And the next minute, I am Eve taking a bite of the forbidden fruit to satisfy my curiosity; I am Jacob taking matters in my own hands because I’m not so sure how God would pull things off; I am an Israelite in the desert complaining of how long the journey is taking; I am Gideon needing a tangible sign from heaven; I am King David indulging my carnal desires; I am Jeremiah fighting with God over His plans and orders; I am Jonah running away from where God wants me to be; I am the rich young man having second thoughts on giving up my possessions and taking up the cross; I am Peter denying I even knew Jesus Christ.
At this juncture of the dramedy known as my life, my childhood issues keep me from handing the control over to the Creator of the Universe, who died for me and who knows the number of hairs on my head.
I don’t know… Maybe I just need something good to happen right this very minute. I need a sign that things will fall into place. I need a reason to go on.
***
Does God drink coffee?
Because I think I need to sit down and have coffee with Him at Starbucks.
