Would that eternity become everyday?

Not that I'm prolific with blogging and stuff, but recently I've faced an insurmountable writing slump.

Shortage of ideas? Check. General walang-gana feeling? Check. Regular power interruptions that suck like hell? Check.

Yes, pin the blame on power interruptions, you lazy bum. But this time, I must admit, I am seriously not passing the buck to some innocent bystander. No emotional displacement here. It really is the truth. This power crisis is going to be the death of me - or at least the death of this blog, with all my dreams of being a superscribe dying with it.

Imagine having only 4 hours of work per day. Sounds good, if you've got electricity to power hard drives and the intarnetz, hell if you have stifling heat and boredom to deal with. Then you get these phone calls from bank agents from Manila who scoff at the idea of power interruptions. Talaga? Wala kayong ilaw? Yes, wala kameng ilaw. Power crisis po kame. Don't you read the news? Generators? No, we have wiring problems. We can't have a generator without frying everything in the office.

With nearly all my work tied to the computer and the intarnetz, it's impossible not to feel bored. Or tired. Or dejected. Or just so freakin' pissed at the world for taking global warming lightly. When the lights do come back on, I feel as if I've done a week's worth of work, like someone who has just experienced a dozen of health insurance leads gone wrong. By then, I'm too beat to do anything but abuse the intarnetz for the deprivation.

As a countermeasure, I've tried catching up with world events by reading the paper - present and past issues included - only to end up folding them into a paper fan. I've brought some books over, but the heat and humidity is not exactly a pleasurable ambiance to soak up literature. Anyway, power interruptions are supposedly going to end on June. Bully for that day.

This piece is 1/4 angst and 3/4 pure therapy for repressed emotions.

I think I'll try defying gravity

Normally, I don't mind politics. It does not mind me and I it. The whole political mechanisms are most Machiavellian, and being machiavellian is something that God never deemed necessary when He created me.

In the hype before the May 10 elections though, it's something that can hardly be avoided. Everything is saturated with politics - news, events, text messages, social networking site.

As for me, I'm still kind of mum as to who my president would be. How I wish we have a candidate like Obama in our presidential elections. Someone exceptional. Someone who is remarkably different from the rest of the pack.

If I were to vote for somebody into the highest office of my country, I'd want someone who inspires me, someone who'll convince me to walk through hot coals. Yus, I'd walk on hot coals if someone can inspire me enough. In this presidential race, nobody is astounding enough to rise above the dough. Everyone is so, I don't know, so-so.

I feel for presidential candidate Gilbert Teodoro, though. At first glance, he is more than qualified to be president. But one look at who endorses him and people change their mind, me included. If that's not enough, look at where he is now. Left standing on thin ice, like someone whose health insurance leads went up in smokes. Too bad, too bad.



This election is going to be monumental. And I will be a part of it.

Not arrogance, just simple fact

People say it’s wrong to resent. To be honest, I’ve never been a resentful person, not if you count when incident in elementary where I wrote “I hate D and V very much” over and over again in my diary. You don’t become resentful overnight. It draws from a series of slides and snapshots from life, builds up steam like a locomotiove, and eventually explodes in your face. The funny thing about is that it can start from the most mundane of reasons.

Groceries, for example. I’ve always done the groceries for my family ever since I started working. It just happened. One day I had my paycheck, decided I wanted to have hotdogs for breakfast and from then on, it was so. Admittedly, I wasn’t doing it wholly out of the selflessness of my heart. It was also partly vanity and partly self-validation.

The hardest part about groceries is seeing it all disappear before the next paycheck arrives. Yes, groceries are meant to be consumed, better gone than left over, blah, blah, blah. But seriously, can’t we all practice a little self-control and go easy on the consumption?

Ok, so I wouldn’t feel so bad if I could see my groceries being a part of the great circle of household economy. Groceries feed person, person gets healthy, healthy person does housework, I come home with groceries. See the beauty of it?

In health insurance, you give some and you take some. It’s not all peaches and roses. You invest time looking for genuine health insurance leads; you invest your hard earned money in it and wait for the returns. It’s a sacrifice but one voluntary makes it, knowing that something is worth it at the end of it all.

Anyhow, I’d really rather not be a miser, twisted and shriveled up with resentment. But it’s harder and harder to be all generous and nice when you come home and see dirty dishes all over the kitchen sink.

The picture of perfection is only in your mind

It wasn't until a college friend sent me a text message asking for a favor that I realized that I had become a citizen of the world(wide web). Her favor, which had me digging through my email's archive, began with this text: "Na computer tu ara? ("Are you in front of a computer now?")

Not "How are you?", or "Are you at work?". Just "Are you in front of a computer now?". The question just dared me to answer otherwise.

I don't think my friends ever expected me to be the resident computer junkie. Neither did I. I was one of those people who failed to grasp the significance of Ctrl + S in high school. I never got History of Computing right, messing up COBOL with FORTRAN and vice versa. Nearly all my projects were handwritten. I don't have a computer unit at home, ever since my brother thought it was a good idea to bring our hard drive to school.

It was only when I got my first job out of college that I started getting it. Networks, manga and Crunchyroll. I got my first office-issued laptop, a bulky Compaq, and from then on it was Photoshop, torrents and zip files (cough, porn!, cough). I miss the Compaq badly. Last I heard, they had him back in storage, never having figured out how to sweet-talk him to work. *sniff*

Oookay, so it's not that impressive. Any 15-year-old can do all those stuff better than I could ever hope to. But there are times when I feel that I ought to have an award for being able to do wonders with a computer. Take last week for example. The Outlook was being a pest, I had a deadline, and I only had YM-ed instructions from a colleague on how to configure the damn thing. Besides, I'm a nurse for Pete's sake. Nurses aren't suppose to know these things.

After a few snags, Google here and Google there, this:

Nirvana. Thank God for Google.

So yeah, now I'm a great believer in Google. I use it as a verb everyday. I get pissed off when people come to me for information when they can easily Google it online.

I expect to have more of these moments with my current work. I'm practically an IT professional by association. In a few months, I'll be marking my first year at work and will be logging my 8640th hour in in the internet. Yes, I actually did the math for that.

Despite my hours, I still have yet to become a full-fledged netizen - online shopping, internet banking, health insurance leads, freelance jobs, the works. You know, stuff that will turn me into a total hermit.

And health insurance leads? Everybody needs health insurance. And everybody ought to have genuine leads on the internet.

Contrary to popular belief, I don't have split identities when I'm online. I'm just as awkward as I am in person, still socially inept and retarded.

There are just some things Google can't do for you.

All in but the kitchen sink

Packing is a lot like health insurance leads. It’s personal, customized to individual needs, certainly not a one-size-fits all thing. It’s like a discipline, packing. You get better with practice.

In all honesty, I’d draw flake for my packing skills, or lack thereof. While it’s relatively easy for some people to pack their things in an hour or less, it takes me weeks and weeks of notes and pre-plan planning to get my packing in order. Last-minute packing gets on my nerves and I snap at everyone for every little thing – for not making me dinner, for misplacing my stuff and for being annoyingly cheerful.

This week, I’ll be in Manila for one week. With everything so topsy-turvy and hectic, I barely had time to pack, with the end result of having my mom drone on endlessly about the importance of not procrastinating. But take note. I did NOT procrastinate. Endless office OTs and rotating blackouts stole my time away.

Being on the slightly heftier side of things does not help either. From my meager experience in traveling, I had to carefully plan out my clothes, making sure that they weren't too short or too tight. Unlike petite ladies. They can use anything and they'd still look adorable. Dressing rehearsals are a must in my packing agenda. I’d prefer shirts and jeans anytime, but when you have bosses and jobs, you do what you have to do, though you don’t necessarily want it.

It’s a miracle that I managed to pack all of my things for this week in one trolley. Everything’s neat, light and budgeted. I’ve even got some extra space. Either means I’m getting good at this packing thing or I left something at home. Let’s hope I did not, yes?

It’s going to be a busy week. Looking forward to getting through deadlines, going shopping, seeing Zamboanga again and finally claiming in those OT credits for a week-long vacation.

Where do you expect us to go when the bombs fall?

A month ago, a bomb exploded, followed by another, early in the morning in the city. Thankfully, there were no casualties and no injuries, except for a couple of park bouganvillas gone to flower heaven. The incident hardly caused a fuss among Zamboanguenos. It hardly made the evening news, too. Some didn’t even know what happened.

Which goes to show how used we Zamboanguenos are to this kind of life. The worst bombing incident in this city happened when I was in high school. Bombs exploded in the middle of the commercial district, killing dozens and injuring millions. When you live in such a volatile area, you get used to walking around with eyes in your back. As time goes by, you develop a kind of bravura exclusive only to those who live in no-man’s land – a polished, sort of nonchalance, a frightening normalcy in the midst of chaos.

When the latest bombing happened, everyone went to work as usual. No holiday was declared. Just another day in Zamboanga. Doesn’t mean we weren’t scared. When things like these happen, you get scared and you think of the future. You think of things – the what-ifs, that car you wanted to buy, the book you haven’t read, the health insurance leads you were thinking of following up, your dream job. A couple of my friends have even thought of moving to another city with a more secure peace and order situation.

Whatever happens, though, we go on. The things that happen in this city do not define the people who live in it. Sure, we get scared. But we do the best we can with what we have.

And we hope for a better day tomorrow, where bombs don't fall anymore.