Day Off

I am still catching up on my sleep. Last Thursday, our school had a field trip and I had no choice but to go, even against my will. It surely is a great way to take a breather from a stressful life at work but ironically, field trips tire me out even more.. I woke up at 2 AM, in time for our departure which was scheduled at 3 in the morning. I just couldn't figure out why we had to leave that early when our itinerary is within one area: Manila Ocean Park, BSP and Mall of Asia. I wasn't giddy about this trip since I have been joining year in, year out and it always feels like we could have done so much more had the organizers/agents really thought of an itinerary that will compensate for the back ache, hunger pangs and EDSA smoke I have inhaled while sweating my butt off on a rickety minibus seat.

Christmas Bonus

Times are hard and it's not only true in this part of the world. Even US, the superpower, is going through tough times. Yun nga lang sa Pinas, sanay na ang mga tao sa hirap. I am no exception.

Last week, naibigay na sa aming mga pobreng kawani ng gobyerno ang inaasam-asam na Christmas bonus. Napaaga ata ng konti pero sabi nga, mahirap tumanggi sa grasya lalo kung nandyan na! Nung iniabot sa akin ang pay envelope, di ko mapigilang mapangiti lalo't maraming nakasulat sa wish list ko this Christmas. Sa wakas, mabibili ko na yung minimithi kong digital camera.(well, among others) haha!! Nung masilip ko ang laman ng envelope, bigla akong nadismaya kasi mukhang mag-aabono pa ako para sa mga luho ko. Ganito na ba talaga kahirap ang buhay?!

Personally, di naman talaga ako maluhong tao. In fact, saksakan ako ng kunat! Ang hirap kong maglabas ng pera sa wallet kasi may guilty feeling na, what for na gumastos kung pwede mo namang i-save na lang, diba? Sa kabilang banda, kaya nga ako kumakayod para naman ma-enjoy ko ang pinaghihirapan ko. At least nakikita ko kung saan napupunta ang araw-araw kong pakikibaka sa loob ng classroom, na halos matuyuan na ako ng laway sa kakasalita.

Nung medyo bago pa ako sa trabaho, sobrang magastos ako sa gamit. Hindi uso sa akin noon yung nagtatabi ng at least 20% ng sweldo ko. Pagdating ng payday, sige lustay! Tapos kinabukasan, nakatulala na sa kisame at nagbibilang ng butiki. Nagsawa ako sa ganong buhay! So I decided to shape up and manage my finances. Malaking bagay yung ginawa kong pag-terminate sa mga credit cards ko. It was a giant leap but it was truly worth it! Ngayon, pag may nakursunadahan akong damit at talagang wala akong pera, binabalik ko agad sa rack. Nakakasama ng loob pero in a way, natuto akong disiplinahin ang sarili ko na hindi lahat ng gusto ay dapat bilhin. Kung may tatlo akong matinong jeans at limang matinong pantaas, ok na ako. haha!

Mukhang mapupurnada na naman ang digicam ko nito! Yung ipambibili ko sana ay nasa bangko na. May panata pa naman ako na once naipasok ko na sa bangko, di ko na nilalabas. Next bonus na lang ulit ako bibili, tutal may hihiraman pa naman ako ng camera. haha!!

What's In A Name?

“Ma’am it’s Justin po, not David.”

I have lost count of the times that I called out a student by a different name. Remembering names is quite a struggle especially if you have to deal with 50 students in a cramped classroom. Worse, I teach 7 classes which makes it even harder to match a student’s face with his name.

This lapse of memory was never an issue during my first few years as a teacher. I just stared long enough at a student’s face and voila, the details get stored in my memory bank at a snap of a finger. It seemed easy as ABC to me. Let it be said, my memory then never failed me.

9 years and over 70 classes may have caused this slight memory decline. However, even that is not a valid reason. In college, we were reminded to make an effort in memorizing students’ names. That way, a teacher could make class discussions more personal rather than the stiff and formal setup that we’ve all been used to.

A student who is called by his name feels a certain kind of affinity to his teacher. He no longer thinks of himself as merely a line on a teacher’s record book or another paper to be marked. It is like the Berlin Wall being torn down. Somehow he regains his confidence and individuality.

A name distinguishes an individual from the rest. It’s his mark; his identity. Take the name out of the person and he becomes just a face in the crowd. Barely noticed, easily forgotten.

In a classroom, there are voices that want to be heard but since they are not fully recognized, they tend to hide inside their shell. All it takes is a simple gesture of reaching out. Knowing them by name is a good start.

I can’t guarantee that I will no longer have “memory lapses.” It would probably occur every now and then but as they say, the journey of a mile starts with the first step.

Fanny Price, My Alter Ego: A BOOK REVIEW

Call it serendipity, a fortunate accident. For months, I’ve been scouring every bookstore in the city for a copy of Jane Austen’s Mansfield Park. A treasure hunt I called it. It proved to be one so I gave up.

One time while scanning through the back issues of magazines in a quaint secondhand bookshop, something caught my attention. It was lying on a pile of Anime comic books. The book’s front cover was partly ripped but its title seemed to be flashing itself towards my direction. I almost jumped for joy at the sight of this book that I’ve searched long and hard for.

I was not raised in a typical family set-up and that’s what Fanny Price and I have in common. Among three sisters, Fanny’s mother Frances was ridiculed for her poor choice of a husband: a man without education, fortune or connections. This was at a time in English society when a man’s fortune is deemed significant by any woman who wishes to marry well. Frances’ two other sisters were fortunate enough to have married gentlemen of large fortunes.

Frances’ misery was not a secret to her sisters. Mrs. Bertram, the more generous one, did her sister a big favor by taking one of Frances’ daughters Fanny, then ten years of age, to Mansfield Park, her husband Sir Thomas Bertram’s large estate. The child was raised under the care of the Bertrams.

The first chapters reveal to an extent Fanny’s awkward adjustment in Mansfield Park. The young Bertrams — Tom and Edmund, Maria and Julia, all described as socially confident and well-grown and forward of their age give a startling contrast to Fanny’s inferior and shy nature.

Fanny struggled to fit in her new home amidst her intolerable feeling of homesickness. The drastic change of lifestyle was starting to take its toll on her. Soon after, the growing friendship she had with her cousin Edmund proved to be an excellent alliance especially since her relationship with the other Bertrams were cold and indifferent. Edmund had become her confidante, her brother, her defender.

What really defines this novel is the dramatic transformation of a shy impoverished lass into a woman of pedigree and culture. Fanny Price had become the object of Sir Thomas’ experiment in improvement. It almost seemed an obsession of sort. According to him, “the clue to Fanny’s excellence lies in her consciousness of being born to struggle and endure.” Although raised in the sheltered home of the Bertrams, Fanny was acutely aware of her humble rank. Her thoughts were always filed with the family she left behind in Portsmouth. How she wished her siblings could enjoy the comforts and luxuries that she was blessed with.

Fanny’s homecoming is one of the novel’s highlights. Having acquired good education and breeding, she returned to the home she had not seen for years a completely changed woman. On her return, she observed that it was the “abode of noise, disorder and impropriety,” totally different from the kind of life she was used to at Mansfield. Despite this, Fanny was very anxious to be useful and not appear arrogant in the presence of her parents. On the contrary, she could think of nothing but Mansfield, its beloved inmates, its happy ways. Everything about Mansfield was in full contrast to her parents’ home. The elegance, propriety, harmony and above all, the peace and tranquility of Mansfield were brought to her remembrance every hour of the day.

When she had been coming to Portsmouth, she had loved to call it her home, had been fond of saying that she was going home; the word had been very dear to her; and so it still was, but it must be applied to Mansfield. That was the home. To Fanny, Portsmouth was Portsmouth; Mansfield was home.

Sir Thomas remained the biggest influence in his niece’s life. He had loved Fanny as if she were his own and a possible union between Fanny and Edmund would definitely serve him well. And so it came to pass that the two cousins were united in the sacrament of matrimony, assuring Fanny of a good choice of a husband and along with it, a good fortune.

Fanny’s life is marked by irony, so is mine. I was not raised by my parents. At 3 months, I was entrusted in the care of my maternal grandparents for which I’m extremely grateful up to this day, even if they’re long been gone.

As a child, I envied friends and classmates who brought their parents when they went up the stage to receive a medal they worked hard for. I resented the fact that my parents weren’t there. However, the wonderful people who raised me somehow filled the void that was growing deep within me.

Until today my parents are having a hard time making both ends meet with only just a limited income to get by. Now that I’m a working professional, I have come to realize that they did a noble act when they decided to entrust me to my grandparents. I know it was a crucial decision to give up one child in order for her to have a brighter future.

Guilt creeps in everytime I see my parents sigh over how miserable life is while I am having the best time of my life spending every penny that I’m earning. I have lived a pretty charmed life. In fact, life has been so good! However, it is still not close to being complete because I never had the chance of growing up in a typical family home.

Austen’s depiction of the heroine Fanny Price brings to light the theory that a person’s environment and upbringing are what defines him as an individual.

I may not have had the privilege of being raised by my parents but a part of me continues to long for them since they are my family. I couldn’t be happier because I’m blessed with two homes. Thus, I have the best of both worlds.

My Shoebox

MY MOTHER and I had an argument recently over a seemingly insignificant shoebox.

It occurred one weekend as she was getting rid of the clutter that had accumulated in our storeroom. I was busy fixing my closet that had turned out to be a total disaster. You see, I have this bad habit of not putting back my clothes after picking out what I would wear on a particular day. Weekends are the most convenient time for me to put some order in my pathetic closet.

After folding clothes or hanging them for an hour, I went out of my room to take a rather late breakfast. Suddenly, something caught my attention. It was lying by its lonesome beside our trash bin. The poor thing must have been asking why it ended up in that miserable place.

I rushed to my mother to ask her if she had any idea how precious that shoebox was to me. She said she didn’t know.

That shoebox has been with me since I was 12. When I first got hold of it, I had no idea that I would be keeping it for so many long years.

But then I didn’t know that I would develop an obsession with letters. I remember that when we were in 6th grade, my best friend and I wrote each other letters even though we saw each other every single class day. Every other day, we would drop by our school’s mail service to retrieve the letters we had written to each other. What silly sixth graders we were!

As the letters started piling up on my study table, I wondered where I would keep them. When I saw the shoebox in my mother’s drawer, I knew I had found the answer.

Through the years, my shoebox has held mementos and memories of my past. It used to hold only my treasury of letters from friends and even foes, but as I grew older, I began to stack up on knickknacks that would remind me of days gone by.

The shoe box is, in fact, my Pandora’s box. Unlocking it may not exactly result in catastrophe but it will unleash a whole lot of emotions—joy and sadness, hope and fear, anger and frustration, to name a few. Going through the contents of this box never fails to bring a smile to my face on most occasions. But there are times when it brings tears to my eyes. Every item in it has a story to tell.

There’s that dried rose petal that a high school “friend” gave to me on Valentine’s Day. I had actually slipped it between the pages of Volume 3 of my Encyclopedia and totally forgotten about it. But several years later as I was doing some research, I found it lying flat on the brittle pages of the book. I gave it a new home: my shoe box.

Another item in that box is a heart-shaped bookmark from the first guy to tell me that I was the most beautiful woman on the face of the earth. Oh, what silly lies love can utter! He knew how I devoured books. I even warned him not to ask me out while I was trying to finish a novel by some Russian writer.

I have no idea where he is now. Something tells me he’s married. Or is he?

One letter that kept me giggling for hours was from a friend who was undeniably smitten by her Philosophy professor. In class, she did nothing but drool over her teacher. She doodled hearts of various sizes on her notes, while Professor X expounded in Kierkegaard and Nietzsche. She eventually professed her love for him on one of her test papers. Nothing happened though. And now, she’s happily married to her high school sweetheart.

I still have with me my first pay envelope that I received six years ago. It was my first taste of financial independence. It meant that no longer would I depend on my parents’ benevolence. I felt like I had finally become a full-fledged, functioning and productive mammal. But even as I began earning my own keep, I knew it didn’t give me a license to splurge on everything I want. Times are hard you know, so I learned to save for the rainy days.

Photos use up a lot of space in my shoebox. Unlike those that I keep in albums, these photos were sent or given to me by people who were once part of my life: friends who haven’t been to the Philippines for the past 10 years, acquaintances who have come and gone, and former lovers who defined what love was to me back then.

I love photos, old and new. They tell a thousand stories. It’s history captured on a roll of film. The people on glossy paper may not be around anymore, but their photos immediately summon old memories.

Truth be told, my shoebox is one of the things I can’t live without. I could survive without the modern-day conveniences such as a mobile phone, a laptop, a PDA, an iPod, but not without my shoebox. Call me a sentimental fool if you must, but this box certainly keeps me in touch with my past and serves as a reminder of what I was and how I used to be. And it always feels good to look back at these memories. After all, these are what make us who we are today.

When I confronted her about the shoebox, my mother was stunned. And she couldn’t say anything as I recited a whole litany of reasons why this shoebox matters a lot to me.

Of course, it was a mistake to have kept it in our storeroom. But I did it because there was no room space left in my cabinet. Now I keep it under my bed. I am planning to purchase a transparent bin that will become my shoebox’s new home. And hopefully that’s where it will stay forever -- just within my reach, along with the memories that each item brings.

No More Bills

August 28 was a monumental day for me. In fact, it was the day I looked forward to in years! I have this bad habit of procrastinating pertinent matters for tomorrow but this particular ordeal lasted for almost five years.

Voila! I have finally paid my credit card bill in full! And I mean, down to the last centavo! Handing over my 5-digit payment was truly one of the sweetest things I have ever gone through in life. I could almost taste it! It was more than just a sigh of relief!It almost seemed like a big load was lifted off my chest. You people, have no idea how much I suffered these past few years over that freaking plastic card. Signing up for that application, I believe, was the cause of my financial woes and I deeply regret it.

I have no one else to blame but myself. I got so caught up with the idea of bringing home a new pair of stilletos or a new pair of jeans or a dainty little bag just by swiping my Mastercard. Every item that I only wished for was virtually at the palm of my hands. I had no control of my spending habits. All I knew was, I had to have more and more. It felt so exhilirating to leave a shop with a paper bag filled with goodies I drooled over. Ironically, when I reach home and take them out of the bag, I realize that I don’t need them after all! In hindsight, some have remained untouched in my closet. But that didn’t deter me from hoarding items that I thought would give me a certain kind of satisfaction. It had become a compulsion. The next thing I knew, I have maxxed out my credit limit and everything went downhill.

Since I couldn’t pay my bill in full, I resorted to paying only the minimum amount. I was informed much later that paying the miminum will only make things even worse because in truth, I was only paying the interest and not the principal. True enough, everytime I checked my monthly bill, nothing has changed.

The straw that broke the camel’s back for me was the time when credit card representatives started hounding me with calls in, for heaven’s sake, my workplace! How worse can it get? One time while I was reading my students’ book reports, a co-teacher came rushing in to tell me that I had an important phone call. I was taken aback because seldom do I receive phone calls at work. Reluctantly, I picked up my bag and walked all the way to the other building where our phone line was, to take a call which could turn out to be prank in the first place.

When I held the receiver close to my ears, a woman’s voice resounded. I knew right away who she was because their company has been calling me quite incessantly. Soon after, the realization that I was overdue hit me on the head. The woman informed me that my card had been endorsed for cancellation because of my refusal to make a payment. I told her to expect my payment anytime soon.

When I applied for a credit card a few years ago, I was not fully aware of the trouble that I might be getting myself into. All I knew was, my worn-out wallet would finally have a shining Mastercard logo that I could flash everytime the need arises. To me, it was a sign of independence. Never did I bother my parents to bail me out of my financial worries. It was solely my responsibility. And in a way, it made me feel empowered to be managing my own finances.

Now, I feel like a newly-born child… I’ve learned my lesson the hard way and I am not about to commit the same mistakes again. The card is still in my wallet but I haven’t been using it for the longest time. I consciously make an effort NOT to bring home a single paper bag from a mall. It’s a tough challenge but I’m getting by.

What is online shopping for?

No Show

I have made up my mind not to attend a "friend's" wedding.

Two years ago, when he told me that he's seriously considering tying the knot with his longtime girlfriend, I almost fell off my chair. To me, it was the final straw! I have suffered long enough so the moment he broke the news, I knew it was the end of the road.

I met him through a college friend. We exchanged numbers and that started it all, for me, that is. I was just fresh out of college that time, never been kissed, totally innocent in other words, then he came rushing by and I got trapped.. He was everything I wanted my man to be --- driven, smart, focused, passionate...The list goes on and on. However, I knew that I didn't stand a chance. We did get along well but it simply wasn't enough.Then something knocked me on the head.. I can't possibly waste my time on a man who will never be completely mine..

Reading through his wedding invite was sheer torture. Here was the man who kept me wide awake at 2:00 in the morning, just so I could help him get through the pains of a college thesis he was working on. He hounded me with phone calls everytime he was back in town and geez, I was a willing victim. To him, all these could have meant nothing but to me, it meant laying my heart on the line.

All this time, he has no clue that years ago, he broke my heart into pieces and left it bleeding, incapable of healing itself. Not only once have I thought of facing the "devil" head-on. I wanted to blurt it out to him that he made me fall without him noticing it. My purpose? To finally put an end to this vicious cycle and eventually redeem myself from a trap I got myself into.

I would have wanted to see him walk down the aisle on the happiest day of his life but I love myself more. The years I have wasted whining over "what could have been" is a thing of the past. I have buried it all and never will I look back...

Birthday Blues

I turned a year older a few weeks ago..Frankly speaking, I was not so thrilled. It finally dawned on me that come next year, I’ll be 30.Shucks!

At 5, people ask you what you want to be when you grow up.You come up with answers that your parents imposed on you — a doctor, lawyer, teacher, nurse and what have you.I remember quite well that at such an early age, my answer had always been: teacher.For my birthday and even during Christmas, I wished for a mini blackboard and a box of multi-colored chalk. I think every kid has gone through the same phase. I would incessantly prod my Lolo to buy me this blackboard which had the English alphabet and on the left corner was a mini clock.When I finally had it, I was ready to die. That was my first passion.My Lolo had it nailed on the wall so I could finally live out my dream.

At 10, people remind you that you shouldn’t be joining conversations of elders because it’s improper. But when you get into a fight with your younger brother, the same people remind you that you’re no longer a kid and that you’re supposed to know right from wrong.So how should a ten-year old kid react?

At 15, everybody warns you about boys and how you should try to stay away from them because they’re no good! Back in high school, I got scared to death when a classmate asked me if he could walk me home.The nerve! Even if it was the 90’s,teenage couples who were seen together were frowned upon. Unlike now, high school kids are way too liberal.They hug and hold hands in public.In fact,when they notice people staring at them, they take it a step further. How I miss those days of youthful innocence..

At 20, fresh from college and ready to conquer the world, you think you can finally get hold of your life.You can make decisions on your own.You can go out without permission.In other words, you have a life.But lo and behold, you are still the same dependent, immature, good-for-nothing rascal! When I finally got a job as a real teacher, I began planning my life ahead. I had so many things in mind.A master’s degree, a fat bank account, a trophy boyfriend.And the list goes on and on..Then I slowed down.That’s when reality hit me.I still did not have a life! The very thought of enjoying independence thrilled me.In fact, I wanted to move out of the house but realizing that I couldn’t afford it, I stayed under the protective wings of my aunt which meant that I still have to obey the house rules and all the things that come with it like curfew, limited phone calls etc.

At 25, you finally tell yourself that you’ve had enough! My biggest pet peeve is being asked when I’ll tie the knot.The heck! I’ve seen so many failed marriages so I’m starting to have second thoughts about the "great plunge." I also owe it to the attachment I have with single life. It’s the only kind of life that I know.To suddenly have a transition from being a uni to a bi (as in two) is too much to bear for me.I’m used to being on my own well as far as deciding what Value Meal to get or what movie to watch.Haha! But seriously, I’m having a hard time managing myself, so how do you expect me to care for somebody else? Sure, I also want to be somebody’s object of affection but until the right man comes along, I’d still be singing the same tune..

And oh, I almost forgot, the JOB! Anybody who has been doing the same thing for the past six years will eventually experience a burnout!I’m a living proof.During my first two years as a teacher,every morning was a blessing to me.(It still is but in a different view). I looked forward to each morning knowing that I’ll be doing what I ‘ve always wanted to: teaching. I was idealistic then..I was convinced that I could change the world but I was proven wrong.On my third year, a huge rock hit me on the head.I’ve become aware of the tricks of the trade.I’ve learned that what you see is not always what it is. You also have to accept the harsh reality that you have to deal with rude, egoistic and arrogant people in the workplace.The sad part is, they’re there on a regular basis and some would move heaven and earth to make your life miserable.There are simply people who gain pleasure from seeing others in pain and misery.That’s just the way it is..Despite this, I think I still enjoy my job but admittedly, I’m not as passionate as I used to be.However, I look at each morning now as an opportunity to revive whatever was lost in me..My idealism, my passion, my zest for life! Naks!

There’s no way I could turn back the hands of time. Gone are the days when I would giggle at the sight of my high school crush or when finding a cute scented stationery was enough to get me high.Haayy..The innocence of youth is truly one of the best things in life! If we could only nurture the child within us, then and only then can we appreciate the simple joys of life..

Mismatched

Somebody once told me: YOU’LL NEVER GET RICH TEACHING. It didn’t make any sense to me at that time. The only thing that mattered was receiving a degree and eventually, earning my own keep.

Back in grade school, I marveled at playing teacher in front of my eager playmates, whose eyes were fixed on a tiny blackboard with alphabet and animal illustrations. While I, on the other hand, pointed a wooden stick to anyone who dared not listen to my pseudo-lecture. It never occurred to me that I’d be doing the exact scenario several years after. The only difference is, instead of shabby neighborhood kids as spectators, I had real school boys and girls in tow.

The temptation was too hard to resist since I grew up in a huge clan virtually infiltrated by stern and traditional schoolteachers. However, I consciously attempted to veer away from it all by feigning interest in other fields. I once visualized myself as a flight attendant, pulling a huge trolley on her way to the tube, dressed in a fancy suit with a 5-inch stiletto pumps. It spelled glamour to me. But when I discovered that planes do crash, I immediately abandoned the idea.

I also toyed with the idea of working in an advertising agency mainly because I thought that the job was all fun — coming up with witty storylines for products that may not even reach the market. I heard from a reliable source that ad agencies pay well. One thing that totally turned me off though was the truth that these agencies are inhabited by bitchy people who wouldn’t think twice making one’s life miserable. So again, I abandoned the idea.

I totally had no specific degree in mind when I walked out of high school. All I wanted was to make my folks proud by handing them an authentic diploma. So while I was trying to figure out what I’d do with my life, I opted to take Education on a whim. After one semester, I wanted to find a way out! I couldn’t for the life of me become a schoolteacher! It was entirely out of my character! I remembered the times when I’d make fun of my high school teachers for their outrageous sense of fashion or their uncanny peculiarities while inside the class. I wouldn’t ever subject myself to that kind of cruelty! But due to a twist of fate, I held on for another semester and before I knew it, four years had gone by.

In hindsight, the four years I endured taking a degree I initially brushed off turns out to be one of the best choices I’ve ever made in my young life. There are things that we consciously stay away from, not knowing that it is paving the way for greater things to come. I couldn’t be happier because I’m convinced that I made the right choice.

Three years ago, a dear friend of mine was bitten by the “dollar bug.’ Sure, it feels great to take on new challenges and eventually earn more than you have imagined but there are certain things in life that you hold dear and that you can’t have the heart letting go of. To me, it’s the fulfillment that I get from teaching.

I may not have the material comforts that my friends in corporate suits enjoy but I have far better experiences that could last me a lifetime.

My life is not what I envisioned it to be but deep in my heart I know that it is just as it should be.

Signs of the Times

Had I been given the power to turn back the hands of time, I would relive the days when my daily garb consisted of a starched checkered uniform matched with an almost knee-high white socks and a well-polished black shoes. Add to that, a knapsack ripped at the seams due to the unimaginable weight it had to endure on a daily basis.

That was more than a decade ago but the memories it evokes always stir up a certain kind of nostalgia. My life as a high school coed in the early 90s tops the list of the good things about my past that I often look back with so much fondness.

I remember quite well that while other students were making the most of their summer break, I constantly nagged my mother to purchase my school supplies way before everybody did. Waiting in line was simply a harrowing ordeal for me.

Armed with a long list of school items, I rummaged through every nook of the bookstore, searching for notebooks that had dainty designs on its cover. How I loved the smell of a crisp new notebook! I would even sniff its pages like a girl gone wild.

But more than the exhilarating thrill of having new things to show off, what I genuinely looked forward to was getting back to school — seeing familiar faces and hopefully meeting new friends, delving into numerous school work that may prove challenging and enriching at the same time, enduring eight excruciating hours taking down notes and even engaging in silly banter with scoundrels at school. That was a typical school day for me.

Now that I’m a teacher myself, I just couldn’t help but notice how times have changed, have I been that old?

Back then, life was a little less complicated. After school, there was nowhere else to go but home. In fact, my Lola, who was a staunch old school advocate, insisted that I should be home before the church bell tolled at 6 pm, signaling the Orasyon. I objected quite fiercely but house rules were totally non-negotiable. So I had no other choice but to abide, even if it was against my will.

If beating curfews was one of the things I had a hard time dealing with, managing my “finances” was as easy as ABC. Since our house was only a few blocks away from my school, tricycle fares were out of the question. The only thing I had to spend on was my daily snacks and it really didn’t cost that much. I received a whopping P20 – just good enough to help me get by in a day. In the afternoon, I had a habit of emptying my pockets so I could slip in a penny or two in my piggy bank. It just dawned on me now that perhaps saving too early on is partly to blame for how I turned out to be — unreasonably close-fisted to a fault.

A decade ago, doing researches could be likened to finding a needle in a haystack. There was nowhere else to go but the library. It was a little infuriating to find out how some unscrupulous rascals reveled at making other students’ lives miserable by taking specific books and putting it away in a different shelf where no one can find it.

In this day and age, such scenarios may no longer be possible. Thank heavens for the Internet, whereby everything you need to know is just a click away. I once heard somebody say: If it’s not in the internet, it does not exist. Well, I can only speak for myself. Nothing beats the euphoria of discovering something that you have worked hard for. It’s no longer a question of what you have unraveled but how you did it.

High school life is often marked by the kind of relationships that we allow ourselves to nurture — whether friendship or the sudden rush that only a young love brings. It’s all part of growing up, anyway. The desire to belong or to fit in is always a main concern for an individual who seems to be at odds with his identity. Chances are, he would find solace and refuge outside the comforts of his home, possibly through friends or a “significant other.” The latter is something that I still have to get used to.

In my days, dating or going out with somebody of the opposite sex was a subject spoken under hushed tones. Couples remained very discreet about their affairs to avoid the vicious scrutiny of the public.

But nowadays, we see an entirely different picture. Teenage couples seem to have a world of their own. Some have no qualms showing their affection in public. They even take it a step further once they notice somebody throwing glances at their direction. I can only sigh in consternation.

Well, such is life. Things do change and usually it happens in a blink of an eye. Being caught in the middle of these drastic changes could be likened to being thrust into the stormy sea wherein the only chance for survival is to go with the tide. However, it wouldn’t hurt that much if we take the road less traveled if and when the occasion calls for it.

Can somebody hand me a Pensieve?

Accursed

"O hija, ikaw, kelan ka ikakasal?"

Aarrggh!I dread going to family reunions, gatherings, weddings, birthdays (you name it!), due to this seemingly innocent query.

I have ceased accepting invitations, unless it’s from somebody I can’t simply have the heart declining, for fear of running into someone who wouldn’t get off my back until I gave a satisfying answer for each personal question hurled at me. Lest I be mistaken as an arrogant snob, I politely flash a nonchalant grin.

Funny how I once looked forward to seeing a familiar face in a crowd of strangers whom I can readily start a conversation with. It almost seemed like letting out a sigh of relief knowing that I won’t be sitting by my lonesome, getting ignored by guests who seemed to be acquainted with everyone except me.

When my inconsiderate and all too eager high school and college friends started tying the knot with the men who they claimed changed (or distorted?) their vision of love, I resolved to stay away from the prying eyes of the nosy public. It goes without saying that these insensitive people will annoyingly hound me wherever I go, making fun of the fact that I still have no ring to show off.

Their "false concern" on my imminent spinsterhood has always fascinated me. I couldn’t believe that at 27, people perceive me as a pathetic and desperate old maid.I could perhaps attribute it to the impeded Filipino mindset.

In this country, if a woman is way past the marrying age, tongues start wagging and silly thoughts of a jilted bride suddenly arises or worse, rumors will spread that no man has found her worth lusting over. How mean!

A few weeks ago, a bachelor cousin of mine who works as an analyst at Goldman Sachs came over for a short visit. Out of the blue, my mother asked him if he had any single friends whom he could hook up with me. The height of desperation from a wailing mother over her daughter’s shameful singlehood! My cousin amusingly retorted, "What? You want her to marry? She’s only 27. She’s quite young!" Thank God, I have found an ally!

Marriage is not a question of how old you are, besides, age is only just a freaking number! I have seen exceptionally accomplished women achievers who still refuse to take the plunge for fear of losing their independence and be weighed down by numerous responsibilities.

I do not, in any way, regret my choice to stay single. It has made me appreciate myself even more: my strengths, my weaknesses, my ideals, my character. If I opted to have married at a younger age, I doubt if I had been able to travel, or party all night to my heart’s content or splurge on that pricey pump stilletos without any feeling of guilt.

Sure, I would also love to see myself walking down tha aisle, preferably in a Lhuillier gown, gazing at the eyes of the man in tuxedo whom I will spend the rest of my life with. However, a wedding only lasts for a day. The days and years following the wedding is the actual marriage. That, my friends, is something I have not prepared myself for, just yet.

I have always been optimistic about finding "The One." It probably wouldn’t hurt if I wait a little bit more. Things done in haste always spell disaster while those endured by time are what makes life worth living.

In the meantime, let me enjoy my life as a single woman, free and unattached, in the way I know how. This is my choice. If I am not bothered, then, why would you be?

Math Warfare

In one of my Literature classes, a student raised his hand and asked me point-blank what I consider the toughest challenge of my life so far. I came up with only one answer: MATHEMATICS.

If there is one thing that I regret most about my childhood, it would have to be the time I received a 79% mark in Mathematics for the first grading period. I was in Grade six then.

It certainly had nothing to do with the teacher. She was quite aware that most of her students found the subject too intimidating. To me, it seemed like I was dragging my feet everytime I got to her class. Despite this, she tried all possible means to make her subject more appealing to her mathematically-challenged pupils —– me included. But I just couldn’t bring myself to even half-heartedly enjoy numbers.

Let me put it clearly, I knew the four mathematical operations by heart. It’s piece of cake to me. What I really find nerve-racking were the more complex processes such as equations, fractions, exponents and the like. My unfavorable quiz and exam results must hyave compelled my teacher to give me the axe. I knew it was coming but the confirmation on my report card nailed it! It left a big blow which nearly cost me my self-esteem. It scarred me for life.

High school was quite an ordeal. My nemesis appeared in the guise of Geometry, Algebra and Trigonometry. I barely opened my other notes because I have made it my personal mission to face the enemy head-on. Although I didn’t receive any grade lower than 85 in all my subjects and I believed I have improved dramatically in Math, it was still not enough to make me have a change of heart.

Filling up college application forms was relatively an easy task for me because I had one goal in mind—- to get rid of Math! So I opted to take a degree in English. However it was not what I pictured it to be.

On my first year, the phoenix had risen from its ashes. Dealing with x’s and y’s all over again was enough reason for me to pass out. Just when I knew I was off the hook, my biggest nightmare had come back to life to torture me even more. I so wanted to speed up the clock from ticking and put an end to this relentless woe which was virtually crippling my existence day in day out.

The school year eventually ended and thank heavens, I didn’y flunk my Math subjects. Up to this day, I have no idea how I was able to get through that ordeal.

Truth be told, I have high esteem for individuals who can solve mathematical problems even with their eyes closed. I’m amazed by their overwhelming knack for numbers. I acknowledge that it’s a talent, a gift which unfortunately was not made readily available for me. I am not in the least complaining. Besides, one cannot always have it all. There’s bound to be something missing.

My antipathy toward numbers only represents a speck of my personal frailties. I can list a whole lot more. It seems that the older I get, the more I discover that I am truly imperfect. However, this discovery of my numerous weaknesses somehow lead me to a better appreciation of the things that I already have.

Although we are often judged by our shortcomings and flaws which I think is utterly unfair, the fact still remains that it is not what defines who we are. It is our character.

I am no math wizard and I never will be. It doesn’t make me less of a person, does it? I will no longer dwell much on the things that are missing in my life but rather, I will celebrate the wonderful things that I’m blessed with.After all, it’s not about having what you want but wanting what you have.

Snooping

Watching people in their unguarded moments is an art that I learned so well through time. I am in no way a spy nor a mentally-deranged snoop but merely an observer of human life, its natural behavior as well as its eccentricities.

I used to believe that people behave differently at certain situations but through constant scrutiny, I’m convinced that we all deal with life’s complexities in a surprisingly exact fashion.Our eyes sparkle at the sight of our beloved; we get thrilled at discovering a crisp envelope in our mailbox; we flare up when a significant other shows up one hour late for dinner and we get annoyed at finding a long queue of shoppers at a counter when all you have in hand is a toilet paper.

It’s a wonder how one can be a witness to numerous eye-opening occurrences simply by taking public transport. Commuting is another art that I undeniably excel at and which by the way I relish every single time because it gives me a glimpse of how people are.

Once on a jeepney on my way to work, I almost got into an argument with a young lady who literally squeezed her butt into the tiny space beside me.I told her there’s enough room for her on the other side but she simply ignored me. I shifted my eyes to the people behind the jeepney driver.I soon found out why this snooty coed refused to change seat.An Aeta husband and wife were feeding their children. The father was tearing a biscuit wrapper for his young son while the mother was breastfeeding her little bundle of joy. Since I could no longer move freely on my seat, I took my things and grabbed a seat beside the Aeta family. The bitch let out a sigh of relief to have gotten rid of me. There was not even a trace of remorse on her face for being rude to the katutubo. I should have given her a 5-peso coin and asked her to buy some good manners. The Aetas seemed to be content in their own little world, oblivious to the fact that they had just been a victim of an obnoxious upstart. The color of their skin certainly does not make them less human. We’re of the same race and forever it shall be.

Malls are a convenient place to observe people. Why? Obviously, for the reason that each hierarchy of the social strata is well-represented. From class ABC to the newly-coined "jologs" type.Sadly though, malls could also be a haven for prejudice.I’ve always marveled at how customers dressed to the nines get treated compared to those who are clad in worn-out jeans and faded shirt.Salesclerks are unusually pleasant to the former. From the moment these demi-god clients step into their store, the salespeople would receive them earnestly, a subtle way of telling them that they wouldn’t mind being at their disposal. Money indeed talks!

However, a few salesclerks transform into Mr. Hyde when they deal with customers who are not as well-dressed. Sure, they still lavish them with attention but with a dubious motive in mind — keep an eye on them for they might hide items down their trousers or inside a bag. Funny how some individuals judge others by the clothes they wear. Clothes are supposed to cover one’s skin not one’s character.

By the way, I have a confession to make. I’m an eavesdropper and I’m proud of it. I don’t do it intentionally though. It’s just that I can’t help myself from overhearing other people’s conversations. It’s in fact an ingenious way of delving into the psyche of unsuspecting victims.It’s a blessing that I’m a fastfood junkie. You’d be surprised at the number of interesting characters that abound in any fastfood joint. The most common breed are women who think that their pathetic lovelives are the center of the universe. There was one who kept mouthing curses against her ex-boyfriend whom she claimed left her for a slut he met in an obscure girlie bar. If curses could kill, her poor clueless boyfriend would have been dead by now.

It was also in a fastfood chain that I’ve proven my theory that most women look at their mothers-in-law as a threat to their marriage. A woman who I think was in her mid-30s was complaining to her girlfriend about how she could no longer stand her mother-in-law. She felt that everything she did is not good enough for her hubby’s mother and that she was only hanging by a thread for the sake of her husband and her children. Good thing, I don’t have to deal with that yet! Thank God!

On another occasion I overheard a female employee whining about the injustices in her workplace. It appeared as though she couldn’t get along well with her colleagues as well as with her boss. She said that her co-workers were a bunch of empty-shelled humanoids who did nothing but gossip all day.

Way before the advent of text messaging, there were phone booths in every corner. Two pesos was all you need to make a call.I was standing in line, waiting for my turn behind a dashingly attractive yuppie. The booth was partly open and I was only a few inches away so I overheard his conversation with the person on the other line.He was asking for apology because he couldn’t possibly make it to their date due to an unforeseen circumstance. After a few minutes, he ended with an I Love You and hung up. As soon as he left the booth, a pretty tisay came rushing by and gave him a sweet kiss on the lips and together they walked hand in hand. My jaw dropped! Right before my very eyes was one of life’s greatest mysteries—- philandering and cheating partners! The nerve of that guy to even call his gf when in truth he was, I assumed, going to spend the night with another woman.

There are certain facts about life that are simply not learned in school.These are the things that we learn once we explore the real world. It may present itself to us in manner we haven’t imagined in our wildest dreams but the lessons we gain from it will see us through in this lifetime.

Life in itself is a mystery. Observing, human life unfolding right before our very eyes could make a lot of difference. We may not favor everything we discover about life– the good, the bad and the ugly— but learning to accept that there are things we can’t change is a great start.. Truly, experience is the best teacher of life..