The other day, I had no choice but to pay for a three-hundred peso bill over-the-counter at a nearby Metrobank branch. The wait made me feel like a dog with accelerated progeria. I aged years in the 45 minutes I was in line. I watched with clenched fists as my teller leisurely disinfected her hands with rubbing alcohol, while the line in front of her swelled. I wanted to grab her by the neck and drown her in Green Cross.
The day before, I went to Makro to buy one frying pan. One frying pan. If you’ve ever shopped there you know how long queues could get, so I could not believe my luck to find a line with three people and about 20 items between them. The lady in the middle of the line was a petite nun -- without a cart. What luck, I thought. Ha! I should have been more suspicious of those innocent-looking religious types. As the head of the line cleared, sister’s sisters cut in line with enough merchandise for “care packages” for all the orphans of the Third World. Grrr...
Also this week, I went to the Social Security System Office ("46 Years of Faithful Service," they claim) in Marikina City, where the entire population of the city and the Province of Rizal converged on the day I decided to get a new ID card. The folks who work there obviously missed the whole “public servant” concept –- those power-tripping drones. Even the security guard conducted himself like an omnipotent deity. So pissed, I was. They should just rename that institution and change their tag line -- the darn thing provides neither security nor service.
Likely, this is payback for all the times I cut in line in the cafeteria in grade school . . .
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10.08.2003
I WANT MY MAMA
Damn, I miss my mom. It's been 10 years (last September 3) since she's been gone and her absence hasn't gotten any easier to bear.
I miss and envy her capacity for unadulterated rage -- how she would pick fights when she was really pissed, without regard for what other people thought or how it made her nose flare.
I miss her crispy kangkong, leche flan, macaroni salad, beef steak, among her many culinary creations. This, of course, is magnified by the fact that I have the cooking skills of a tuna.
I miss shopping with her like there’s no tomorrow. Each trip to the grocery with my mom seemed like civil war was going to break out any minute. In boutiques or department stores, my mom could draw sales ladies like groupies to a rock star. She had this rule which simplified decision-making: if you like the shoes/bag/whatever, buy all the colors.
I miss how she was always there, when I first became a mom, teaching me to decipher between cries that meant “I’m hungry” and ones that meant “You haven’t changed my diaper for 10 hours -- my butt hurts!” She also guided me through bathing my newborn for the first time, which was a qualified success as I didn’t have to administer CPR after it.
I miss how secure I felt knowing she was just a phone call/drive away.
I miss how no matter the size of my problem, it always seems unimportant when I was with her or talking to her.
I lament the fact that there are so many things I want to talk to her about but will never be able to.
Crap, I’m starting to cry now. Oh, you get the point.
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10.06.2003
DYAHE
When I’m out driving with my husband, the radio is tuned to an a.m. station. After all, responsible adults are supposed to know about politics and government whitewashes and the price of fish and traffic traps, right?
But when I’m alone in the car, as I was yesterday, I plug in my mp3 player, switch it to “random play” and listen to my current favorites. Umm, well, I sing to them actually. More accurately, I sing to them umm . . . aloud.
So, I was doing my best Rob Thomas, when I realized a group of college boys on the back-end of a jeepney were watching me, smiling. A lifetime ago, I would have done my patented goddess of dead-ma look and turned away, just like any respectable woman in her thirties. But something snapped in my head and I did the strangest thing. I shifted my shades lower on my nose, raised my hand with my thumb, pointing finger and pinky in the air and mouthed “rock on.” They laughed and signaled me back.
Dyahe talaga -- I am sooo in denial.
That little episode must be an unexpected outcome of my neice’s 17th birthday party yesterday. She’s a head taller that I am and a college sophomore now. Jeez, I was a college junior when she was born. That’s 17 plus . . . oh hell.
When I start wearing pigtails and tiny cropped shirts, shoot me.
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10.02.2003
GHOST OF A CORPORATE SLAVE
I will officially be separated from my company on 31 October 2003. But as I was going off to take my maternity leave, I had prepared my turn-over report and cleared out my office as early as end-July. I left with the knowledge that my early retirement created a need to reorganize that will affect my division. Still, nothing could have prepared me for what I saw when I came back to the office to tidy up the last of the loose ends.
Someone was parked in my parking space. Someone else was occupying my room. And worst of all, the people on what used to be my team -– my children -– were now someone else’s step kids. And they spoke to me somberly about how they were now being treated like second class citizens, how they missed how things were when I was around and how working for the company will never be the same again.
So this must be how it feels to be a ghost, haunting what used to be one’s home.
While I am very excited about the prospects of my “new life,” I can’t help feel a twinge of regret at how quickly traces of 8 years of my corporate life could disappear so quickly. My past accomplishments and the personal sacrifices made to gain them seemed to have been forgotten even before I got my last paycheck. C’est la vie?
A lesson is to be learned here, my gainfully employed friends. Never content yourself with making contributions toward the business goals of a faceless corporation – even if it temporarily feeds your need for status or money. Create something that you are passionate about –- something that gives you joy. Touch people’s lives and jump beyond yourself. I feel in my heart that that’s the only way one can truly leave a mark in the world.
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