Of Packing.

I couldn’t believe my senses when I saw all my career’s worth of clutter at the office. I haven’t realized I can get so attached to something worldly.

I have just decided to give my career a break, a hiatus from stress, as my husband refers to it. For me, it was leaving everything I have worked hard for, everything I vowed never to flinch from when extros fly. You see, I have been working for a radio station for the past two years, 2 months and seventeen days—to be exact.

Let me give you a virtual tour to my space:

This was (please take note of the tense) my space when I was still at the radio station. This tiny space ( 2 meters by 2 meters, I think) experienced the nasty, the stressed, the naïve and the better of me. I’d like to pay homage to this space some day. At one time, it was even so hospitable enough to house 4 to 5 persons. Well, of course, nobody stayed too long. We’ve seen some better days and it spells OUTSIDE.

On the office-stark work desk are some of my “frequently-used things”— phone unit for the office trunk line, CD’s, my cellphone, my ID, a single-lens reflex camera (that’s a Nikon F55) and a carry-everywhere bag which contains all my smoking paraphernalia. On the right side is my PC unit which basically became both my nirvana at the station, and my Pandora’s box when it fails. I would also pay my last respects to this PC, and I’m giving it 6 months, max. When I left her, (she’s a she!), she was typing her last will and testament already. Too bad, the printer queued and failed to print the will.

Here’s to your last beep, my friend. For the eyestrain, the cuss and the prayers we uttered together, for your drivers that drove us crazy, and for your belly-harrassing USB ports: I salute you. Thanks for helping met type my resignation letter, by the way.

Next, is what I considered my third home. I spent most of my afternoons here manning the mixer every 9-10 am and 5-6pm daily. During afternoons (say, 4ish) the setting sun would cast a soft light over the knobs and tinkeroos of my console. This was my moment of solitude. And I dearly miss those unholy hours of butt-drying shows.

You may notice that the studio’s set-up is very, very basic. I mean, I could even put one up myself. Simple as it may seem, but this studio really delivered. For the love of math, I can’t keep track of all the Mass Comm students I have had an educational chats with in this booth. Once upon a time, they were all there—running around, touching that knob, failing to wear the headphones during an airbreak and so micro-phobic. Oh, was I ever so stressed! But, I do miss the creeps.

Now, this one here, is our Christmas tree. It’s a drawing, yeah. But it does look like a tree, doesn’t it? Especially with the improvised Christmas Dangles (CD’s? ), it’s a tree and message board all drawn in to one. Haha!

Depression attacks now, and I have no diversion. Argh! Anyway, here’s a rundown of the people who made my last days at the station quite difficult to let go of.

--From Leo. He’s a Dating Daan person and I have always loved our conversations. I even went dead air at one time. This was how he bared his soul to us. If not for these causeries, we would’ve never known that he’s a skater, a great dancer, a guitarist and has been a juvenile “pasaway” (he was already one even before the term was coined and re-coined).

--From Arum. Such a talented lass she is. She sings and her voice is a killer. She jumps around and you can’t really keep her still, lest you want her to have an instant nervous breakdown. She’s a butingtingera, making pakialam of all the softwares she’s adept with at present. Makes a really great impersonation of Anabel Rama. Just a warning: that Doraemon tattoo got there on its own. Ask her.

--From Fateem. She’s new to the brood and I had the luxury of meeting her on my second to the last day. Her voice is so subtle, you’d think she fainted. Great bedroom voice material. I liked her the first time I saw her. Why? Because she reads. I’ve never met anyone who reads for the love of it. (well, Camille Perkins could also be one, but I never saw her again L)

--From Jayvie. Tsaraaaaaaan!!! I’ve got four words for him: Attention Deficit and Hyperactivity Syndrome. He was all too formal the first time I met him. He was wearing a pair of reading glasses, that weren’t and he spoke so minimally. I badly longed to hear his voice, only to wish otherwise later. He was like a young Harry Potter (good thing he isn’t Harry, else he’d constantly fuzz about his scar.) When he went with us to San Fabian, his bag contained all his “kikay” things. Vain! On the best side, he’s sweet and so thoughtful. If he’s a punctuation mark, he’d be “!!”

--From Jeremy. He’s a Virgo and that explains why he’s so sensitive of his surroundings. He can feel things, in a not-so-La Vendetta way. His “beauty” is effortless and catch him work on that smile. An ordinary snap shot with him would make you feel like Sunshine Dizon when she played Bakekang. Yep, that’s how worse the picture is, no pun intended. Jeremy can talk about things but he’s better when he laughs about things.

-From Tim. He’s the boy-next-door, and the-boy-who-cried-wolf. Boy-next-door—because the neighbor’s got a great keyboard and he’s so good at that. Tim is such a talented musician. He cried wolf, because he would always pull a prank on us, and we’d believe him (remember that Pagibig thing?) and we’d only find out that it was a joke after six months. This guy’s got big dreams and high hopes. But he’s not the type to just sit around and wait for things to happen. He makes things happen.

Note: Put the last three persons together and the fourth person becomes nothing but a lunatic. That lunatic was me.

--From Ron. Such a great guy to have worked and rubbed elbows with. Every time he drops by the station (being its consultant), he’d always have a ‘lesson for the day’ and ‘joke for the day’. He’s one brilliant soul and I can never imagine running the station without him.

There. The people behind my baggage. Speaking of which, how does two years of career looked like for me? Here.

Yes, that’s two years worth of time at the office. I thought it was just a matter of saying, “this has been Christine, signing off…”. It was all too easy to ponder on. But my logic left me when I saw my “going-away” things. It was two years packed in say, 5 or 6 boxes.

And pictures with some words to help me beat missing them.

The Cosmic Yosi Project.

No other pair of lungs, human lungs, to be exact, was harmed during the shooting of this project. If you find some pictures offensive, y0u can always do something about it. I wish I had time to help you ( but I won't still). The Cosmic Yosi* team is not responsible for attacks of hypothermia, any kind of allergic reactions or delusions. If you have just quit cold turkey, do not view this page.

If this illicits violent reactions, contact cultleader26@yahoo.com.

The Cosmic Yosi Project was shot some 3 years ago. It doesn't carry an objective for its creation, aside from the fact that lazy, boring Sunday afternoons can really feel like lazy, boring Sunday afternoons if you don't move your butt. In this case, I decided to move my lungs, my butt, my eye, and my pointy finger.

Excuse the subject, at some points. Here's one for my age-old vice and its poor benefits.

"Yosi Galing sa Lupa"


"Yosi ng Langit"


"Interplanetary Yosi"


"Pangkalawakang Yosi"


"Now yosi it"

The Ligligan Parul Effect (still)

This is my barangay's entry to the annual Kapampangan Christmas fair dubbed Ligligan Parul.

There were 8 contenders for this year's competition. And, just like last year (and the years before it), I missed on yet another visual fiesta.

Good thing there's CLTV 36! Their live coverage of the event, sort of alleviated my years of longing to witness the Ligligan. At least I got to see the other barangay's parul sans human trafficking (literally) and the nearby temptation which spells 'mall'.

Anyway, being the shutterwhore that I was, here are some snapshots when I went to see 'test light' of Telabastagan's parul entry. I kept trying to squeeze my face in my puny digicam's viewfinder just so to have a snapshot of 'me and the parul' , but my efforts were futile.

While I got so caught up watching the parul at the forefront, my husband pointed to the back of the truck. And there's a much bigger show going on there. Just behind the parul is a group of men turning the cylinders at the back of the truck. These were the men who drove the parul to grandeur. Unfortunately, I forgot the save the image on my finger disk, ergo, no file image. But I'll try to post it here some time, if I don't forget.

An interesting bit of a trivia: did you know that a monstrous number of hairpins is needed to make the parul light up? The pins were attached to Kingkong cylinders (they're huge!), and that's all I knew of it. The men were too busy to explain technical things to an onlooker. And besides, I wasn't worth the multi-tasking, and the humiliation in case they screw up. I guess I could wait till the competition's over. And what do you know, I was actually standing in front of this year's grand champion. Telabastagan 's parul is this year's best bet, with openable midpart of the Nativity Scene and this "reminder" for the finale:

The Ligligan Parul Effect

ligligan, originally uploaded by cultleader26.

For the things I believe In

What makes us distinct as humans is our ability to communicate. But, let me just add one thing more. More than communication, we have the capacity to believe.

I believe in the power of inter-relationships. But, it is most comfortable to deal with others if you believe in yourself first.

Yourself. Believe in forgiving. Forgive yourself for your shortcomings and learn from them. Reward yourself of life's little treats, you deserve it--once in a while. By the time you realize you should've done this, it may be a little late. You can't turn back time.

Time. Respect time, enjoy it and pay courtesy to other people's time. Don't set your wristwatches ten minutes ahead of time. You cannot trick it, or outsmart it. Realize that the Earth rotates in its axis and revolves around the sun exactly as it does everyday. That makes each day 24 hours, 60 minutes in an hour and 60 seconds in a minute.

You don't lack time, that's a lame excuse for procrastinating. Managing time is the key.

Manage. It's not a sin if you live in the moment. It's just that, try to think a little farther every day. Picture yourself in a few week's time and work hard for the things you need to see that self you pictured a week ago.

Picture. Do not ever throw away pictures. These are solid artifacts for the next civilization's diggings. You can't touch relationships, but you can always look at pictures to remind yourself of all the nicest things that went with that photo shoot.

Nicest. Try to do something nice every day. Hand that teller a piece of candy, compliment your boss on that blouse she's donning, ask someone how he/she is doing, write a little something for your loved one.

And mean it.

Mean. Do not be mean to others--even if they are at the wrong end of the argument. That teller I told you about (whom you just handed a piece of sweet)? She may have been bitchy at the bank this morning, but you'll never know...she just might've caught her husband gallavanting last night. Be thankful yours isn't.

Thankful. Appreciate the littlest of things. This blog may be senseless for you at the moment, but have you ever thought about people who aren't able to read, or write, or see? Learn how to count your blessings, even the minutest of one. They're little, but they're still blessings.

Blessings. Take everything and everyone as a blessing. There is a reason why "the maker" introduced you to a stranger, or handed you a conflict. You'll know the plan after the execution, life's a lesson as they say. You learn it when you're through.

And take this blog entry as one. Believe me.

How other bloggers do it.

I have received bad news yesterday. And deciding to leave the negative energy in the past, I distracted myself this morning. I went to work (AWOL can be worse, you know), but kept a little something for my self.

I'm not going to work today, or at least do something work-related, that is. I'll just surf, write, blog, eat and smoke today. Whatever's going to last my chi.

And so I started looking for jobs in the city--online. I typed "Angeles City jobs", and I didn't quite find what I was looking for. But I did find something-- a blog. An old, familiar netizen's blog. I've known her during my "chat" hey-days. We were working in the same company then. She resigned from work after a couple of months. Now, she's a netizen fulltime.

So, I took time-out (which was a lot) and went over her entries. You see, I never really understood how "blogging for money" worked. I remain an orthodox in the fine craft of writing, for the whole essence of it. But, now I get it.

You don't need to compromise the craft for the bucks.

The Catalyst

A recent causerie with an old-new friend brought me to thinking: creativity can be sold.

It can be bought, leased, modifiied, auctioned or even faked. If you will.

Variable as it is, you will now find it difficult to sense the real fumes of creativity. It is now just a mere word with so many verbs you can do to it.

But here's my contribution to that "word". My cheap, but counted attempt to make it meaningful.

Again.

**********
What you will find after this post are just some of the things I did to pass the time. I never thought I'd go and look for these articles and place them in one pot, just like what I am doing now. I will not edit nor revise anything. Kindly excuse the lackluster, at some points.

A Tribute

As far as I am concerned, a tribute is not only for the dead. It is for someone you hold dearly in your life and a sudden change will make you realize how much you may be losing in the future.

This one is a tribute to a dear friend--who's still alive.

I hope she doesn't get to read this. Or someone don't get to tell her to read it. I know it's for public consumption, but I'm banking on the idea that she'd be so "happily free" that she'd forget to check on Friendster. Maybe not.

A private message will do then...Hahahah!

Change

Once in a great while, I believe in wiseacres. And today, i find the cliche "change is the only permanent thing" works. Well, that's why they call them cliches--they always work, don't they?

In my so-so years of existence, I could say I have gotten through trying times. Times which I hope my son would never borrow...nor even attempt to imagine. I have been betrayed and sold, made and lost a lot of friends, been left high and dry...name it.. I got the full works already.

As a 23-year old mother to a 3-month old son, I feel that my priorities are at full-time high to the only person that will matter to me...and me to him. It's true, you can arm yourself with friends...those whom you never thought would never lose interest in you, or listen to your musings, the sugar coating of human relationships. It's true that once in your life, you will feel that you must marry, but haven't found the right "Yang" to complement your "Yin" yet. Or, you may have found him...but he has found someone else.

This day, I realized that my son is the "littlest" thing I have ever decided to give my life to.

And we will always have this constant "human relationship" even without the sugar-coating, I am assured.

Smoker's Chronic Cough

I broke into an unhealthy habit post-pregnancy. Due to my celibacy from caffeine-smoking (they always go together, you know) for 10 months, I find it somehow 'uncontrollable' to get a ziggy break in the mid-hours of PC-induced work. I tried to fight it, prevent it from becoming a habit, but hey--I'm just addicted. I've been deprived for months and now I'm back with a vengeance.

Anyway, this morning, I saw students--in all their cuteness in college uniforms and microscopic bags. Of course, for those who weren't born yesterday, it is not an effing fact that "teenagers" get curious earlier these days.To cut the crappy part, they were all smoking.

And so they were. All six of them cuteness.They all looked the same to me. You know, the starstruck appeal (you get that when you get hit by a Starex van, moron!), organized chaos-y ponytails, blue faux-pearl earrings, ballerina shoes (which, to me, just look likes a shoe after eating Mentos--the Freshmaker! =)

I can't recall the faces. First, I'm bad with faces. And second they radiated an aura of "synoymity" --if there's such a term. (I have just coined it, if there's none. hahah!)
What caught my usually non-challant eye is this girl who has her back turned on me. She bought 3 ziggy sticks, sat on her seat, took out a lighting gadget from her bag--and whoa! Another contrapment, which, up until that moment I saw it --was unfamiliar to a professional smoker. It looked like a pair of chopsticks.

Oh, well...it was a pair of chopsticks...I was just trying to make you imagine things! ^_^ Hahaha!

She placed the fire on course. The unhealthy habit which would relieve her of her longing for the vice is finally starting to blaze. And then something happened...she grabbed the sticks...aimed the things in between her vice and went on passing smoke onto her lungs using the sticks. It was as if she was eating a crayon or anything that had the same shape.

Darn..she got me there. I was just sooo "unusually" curious of the thing, I didn't care if she was staring at me!

Must we always be a compulsive sinner without admitting that we are "the sinner"--and not anyone who made us one? Why can't we do dirty things without accepting that our hands will get dirty in the process.

Whatever happened to smoke filters!