The Colonel is now The Retired Colonel. He finally ended his service last August 15. Unlike most of his mistahs who are Generals he ended his long career as a Colonel. No bands, no speeches from the Director of the Philippine National Police or the President of the Philippines. His birthday crept in slowly as he was speaking in front of a congregation sharing to them the Jesus film they are giving away to each police officer in the service. And then that was it. The end of his 35 year of service.

Like most of us, he had a thankless job. Only a handful of people have any respect left for the police. I can’t blame them. But I feel for The Colonel too. After he became a Bible-bearing police on December 25, 1990 his superiors mocked him, the president bullied, him and his classmates found him weak. No one wanted to promote him. No one wanted to give him a “real” job. He tried to be a catalyst of change in the midst of corruption, lies, and imperialistic forces and all he got was a handful of pastors who asked for money, subordinates who back-stabbed, bosses who jeered every time he would talk about the Gospel.

All the years that he had been harshly and unfairly treated I never saw him give the finger to the government. I would only see him smile politely even if he assigned the stupidest jobs, I would hear him ask us to pray for his bosses and him, I would hear him pray “Thy will be done.” I am not religious. I may not follow anything he says. But deep in my hear I know that he is right. Deep inside what I see them do to him cut me up and make me bleed. 

Now that the curtains have fallen in his career, maybe he is happy. Maybe now he will feel useful. The least I hope he feels relieved. I know I’ve written so many of his bad sides. I fervently hope he does not feel a lesser man.

He has moved to Arizona without any immediate plans of coming back. It’s just me and Tanduay Girl now here in the country. I called her yesterday to catch up on some family gossips. And as we laughed and teased each other, I realized it may take years for us to see each other again especially when I move to Canada.  That was when swells of loneliness and abandonment hit me over an over that no amount of Z’s could stop it. After all these years of being away from him, it hit me hard how far apart The Colonel and I are.

I seriously think I deserve one. It’s not easy being in my position. Because they know I can pull rabbits out of hats (a knack I learned from my former fallen angel for a boss) they tend to dump much work on me. The hardest of which is to hire people.

So [S], our Production Manager, sends a message 3 weeks ago about an enticing position of Telephone Researchers. Pay ain’t bad too, if you’ll convert it to pesos, at $500 - $800 a month you’d think people inside would clamor for the position. But since it’s a job that would require someone to be on the phone when it is daytime in the US, simple logic will reveal that it’s like working in a call center except you do out bound calls and you ain’t selling. Majority of people who work here do not like evening shift, besides lack of food options, these guys actually worked in call centers before they applied here. They hated call centers that’s why they moved here. Out of the many candidates and many people they tried to woo the position to, only one person accepted it.

It was no surprise when [S] sent a message to the gregarious, voluptuous, witty, ...okay, okay! She sent me a message telling me that we need 5 people immediately. So last week we published an ad in one of the local online job search engines. Just 2 hours after we published it, I had to sift through 37 application forms already! Part of the price. Sure.

Now Mr. Lonc (the Owner of Bamm Bamm Incorporated) is not happy with the little Web Designer we got, can’t blame since the guy doesn’t know how to code in PHP or hard code in Flash. So he tasks me to find a senior Web Designer. Mind you his criteria for judging is hard to pass --- you gotta be a designer and developer at the same time, know PHP, CSS2, Flash and active scripting PLUS s/he needs to understand the psychology behind web site design. Where in the mighty name of Java will I find one here in the Philippines!?!

Now, I can still carry these things. It’s fine. Except when I started interviewing for the Telephone Researcher today...

... the first guy assaulted my nose with his funky smell.

... the second one, a girl, made my eyebrow rise when she said she doesn’t know anything about our company but wanted to to work in Bamm Bamm because of the relax environment

... the third girl came in while she had a fever. I know life is hard now, but I don’t want to share what she’s got.

... the fourth girl shocked my socks off with her halitosis.

... the fifth was so late and made my ears bleed with in her poor English. Yeah, she was perky but she doesn’t even know what “composition” means.

Sigh. Lately, my duties as a Hiring Manager is causing me extreme discomfort and distress. Now are the moments I wish I worked in a normal company and get health insurance or at least hazard pay. But what the heck, tomorrow I have eight interviews lined up... and the day after that... and the day after that... and the day after that...

I hardly get offended now. Maybe because I went through a lot of pain. Maybe because of all these pain I’ve become apathetic. Maybe because of all the pain I received and gave I’ve learned to toughen up and grow up. Looking ay myself in my dim mind, I see me in full armor. An armor that protects me from heart quenching pain. A shield I have learned to always hold to secure my sanity (though my trusty Z’s help too).

After all these years, I’ve learned to step back and assess any comment or action which I find offensive. I’ve learned to shut up. And after all these years I still walk away when I find someone’s words towards me too hurtful or too accusing. Yes, one of my best talents is to walk away. And every time I do the person I leave behind always shouts that I am always reliable on that --- walking away. I know they feel frustrated, they’re angry at me, they’re hurt I left them. In my mind I do not care.. or should I say, I DO CARE. I care enough to walk away and not say hurtful things out of spite. I care enough to walk away before I hurt them physically.

There are a few moments when I do stay. And I’ve always regretted staying. Either I cut them up worse than they deserve or I cut them up literally and blood and gore have to be cleaned afterwards. All the hugs and apologies do not erase the fact that I’ve hurt them. And even if I do not wish to, it’s there already.

So bear with me bitch, if I do not speak to you for a few days even if you are just sitting a meter away from me. You’d rather be suffering in silence rather than suffer with all the insecurities I can instill in your mind and heart. But because I know you itch to find out why I would not talk to you, fasten your seatbelt and in case you’d need it I’ll have the EMT waiting outside.

- You are so fucking tactless! God! I can never believe you have the nerve to say that could’ve intimidated C which is why she is failing audits. And because you’re so tactless you repeated the same words even if I bluntly told you that what you said is a crude joke. Hello?!? Maybe you don’t know what “crude” means. Go get yourself a dictionary!

- And don’t you dare accuse my trainee that she is cheating and she should not continue training. Are you not the one who is seeing a married man?!? Seriously, your double standards make me sick. What makes it more sick is you’re seeing a married man who is older than my dad! Fuck bitch, are you running out of men? Weird. When you cavort and flirt with all the guys in the office.

- What’s with the loud laughter every time you walk in? You’re laughter is so fucking irritating, it’s quite tempting to sock your mouth.

- Why do you get jealous every time your duckies ask me out? Hello. It’s a smoke break. If you can’t take it light a cigarette and join us. Don’t tell your duckies not to talk to me! Anyone can talk to anyone and anyone can not talk to anyone. It’s called power of choice. Who are you to stop them?

- I don’t understand why you keep on telling me everyday you want to be demoted. If you really want to be demoted go tell the boss. Or are you not meaning what you say? It’s so obvious you don’t want to be demoted. You just want a bigger pay. If you want a bigger pay, why don’t we just let it out in the open. I get to hear you whine everyday about it it’s driving me nuts! You got issues, I got issues, every one has issues. Stop whining and start working bitch!

- Stop shouting at your duckies! How dare you tell them that the reason you are stuck to the manager position is because of them. As if you do not enjoy the glory. As if you are not enjoying the fact that you don't have quotas. Get a grip of your boobs woman and quit putting it up on their face that you are a manager. FUCK YOU! 

-And since you asked for it, stop trying to compete with me. Mr. G told you already... “You can’y compete with D.”

And now that I'm done, exhale.

SmartBRO sucks!

I've been trying to login my Facebook the other day and I couldn't. The naïve me thought their website was down. Yesterday I tried to login to my blog and I got the same webpage as the error in Facebook. It seemed fishy but I let it go.

Today my boss tried to login at home to his HSBC account to pay for our account in MyNimo and he couldn't. He is using SmartBRO too. When he asked me it up from the office it was fine. Argh! I dialled *888 then to talk to their customer service. And of course I'm suffering the hold music so long I hanged up.

For some weird reason I can't get in my Facebook. Hmmm... somehow my Safari wants me productive. Quite frustrating, this is. I want to open my Facebook and bug people! Now I have to resort to my Friendster account which is quite lame because then I can't send drinks to my friends or play games. I know I can add applications but I like the blandness of my Friendster account and do not plan to add any apps in it.

I guess this is so far the most boring post I will write. I meant to write about something and it has been sitting as a draft for more than a week now. But I can't bring myself to finis it. Part because it will be another angst-ridden tirade about the political system and justice system in the country and part because I am over-my-head-high in my deliverables.

Speaking of work. I don't know about you but one of my pet peeves are people who name drop. The most disgusting thing besides rape and eating pork and okay... alot more, but one of the most disgusting thing is talking to a person who name drops every person s/he knows who s/he thinks will make her/him be admired more. Ugh! Piggy-backing on someone else's name just to be known. What a moronic form of self-worth. It gives me much pain sitting and listening to a person who keeps on saying "the guy I know who is one of the richest..." or "this person I know really well who is so respectable..." I mean hello... I don't give a damn. I would sit and listen for five minutes just to be polite and then I scream "I DON'T GIVE A DAMN SO SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!" Of course, I do that only in my head. Because this person who loves to name drop is my supervisor.

Twilight

just watching the preview is making me giddy.

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice. 

“Nag-igib na ako ng isang drum ng tubig para sayo.*”

I would hear those lines said every night after dinner. Tita B - the Colonel’s oldest sister, Tito S, and Doctor Steve (who was not yet a doctor then) were all sitting with me on the dining table waiting for me to drink my Enervon capsule. Which is fine if you're an adult but not if you’re seven or eight like me then. I would drink so much water the capsule would dissolve half it’s size before I could swallow it. And all that time they would sit and wait until I swallow it.

I think my parents could not afford the tuition at our private school or my dad was not giving my mom his salary, it depends who you asked and at what time actually so versions vary. But anyway there was lack of funds and I had to stop schooling in our private school and I had to temporarily stay at Tita B’s house and live with her family. Tanduay Girl was still studying at the private school - she’s a straight A star student and I believe they offered her a scholarship while we had our financial troubles.

Now Tita B is scary. She’s tough. I cannot remember how I felt when my mom told me I will live with them but I’m sure I cried and cried. While living with them she would not give me my merienda** if I do not sleep after lunch. She would refuse to make me another glass of juice if I spilled the first one she gave me especially if I spilled it on the carpet. She placed Doctor Steve and my other cousin K’ Hen in one sack and tied it on top of a tree while lighting a small bonfire under it because they fought to much. And when she would bath me she would scrub a big stone on my back and arms because she said I was too dirty. School was more than an hour away so it was stressful waking up at 5 in the morning with the news blaring out from the AM radio...I don’t remember listening to AM radio at home so I hated their radio. It meant waking up so early and travelling. But that does not compare to the stress I get whenever she would de-worm me. Gah!!! How I hated it. I wanted to go home. I wanted my toys. I wanted my family.

But after sometime I got used to living there and studying in a public school. I remember the first day in school where she pointed a big tree and told me it was an apple tree. My child-like mind was blown away by this thought. I felt I was in the US of A whenever I was under that tree (later I found out it wasn’t really an apple tree but a star-apple tree, I heard wrong). Every afternoon I get first pick in the school’s merienda because Tita B’s Home Economics class cooked it. Doctor Steve would buy me paper dolls before we go home. During weekends Tita B would make me ginataang mais*** or bilo-bilo**** or banana cake or chocolate cake (which is THE yummiest I’ve tasted until now). She was much more of a mother to me than my real mother was. But as years went by her strickness was replaced with a quite smile and an endearing voice often asking me if I have eaten and would bake me my favorite chocolate cake.

June 22 Tita B suffered a stroke. 

Three Saturdays ago I visited her in Manila. When I walked in their living room my smile was frozen in place. My cheery hello died instantly and was replaced by shock. Two physical therapists was holding each of her arm and tried to support her as they teach her how to walk. Her left leg was paralyzed and so was her left arm. Her face sagged and I can see the cheekbones protruding. She looked like a starving adult in Africa. When she saw me her eyes twinkled and slowly she said “Hello, kumusta ka na Dang?” I could not cry then. I had to smile and share stories and make her feel everything is normal and dandy even though I wanted to weep and asked God to heal her and make me get the stroke instead. Kahit ako na lang, wag lang sya. Before the Colonel and I left, we prayed with her and Tito S.

I told myself three weeks ago I was ready to write about it. But whenever I would try I can’t even stop crying. So I said maybe a week from now, but even a week after I couldn’t see my keyboard because my eyes are too blurry with tears. And so I said, let me try again next week. This time I am able to write it, even with tears. She is surrounded by throngs of people who love and care for her. More so she has a big God who is the strength of her heart. So even if I will no longer hear her whistle from one block away, she will always be that strong caring mother in my heart and mind.

~~~~

*Nag-igib na ako ng isang drum ng tubig para sayo - I fetched one drum of water for you

**merienda - snack

***ginataang mais - sticky rice with corn cooked in coconut cream

****bilo-bilo - rice flour balls with fruits and sago cooked in coconut cream

Everyone has it. And I am no exception.

My life is generally an open book. Most people know that...

I had to go to therapy. 

I had a difficult childhood. 

I had been taken advantaged.

I was a good  liar, cheater, and thief. 

I make poor, if not terrible, choice with men. 

I was in sex, drugs, and alcohol. Rock n’ roll not much.

I was rebellious, indifferent, vice loving, biatch without a heart.

These are things that I do not hide. Some are highly overrated while most I would rather forget.

But out of all the things that people know, I hold one deep dark secret. A secret that I try to forget but on the quietest moments of my days it resurfaces it self like a phantom. I try to run from it catches up on me refusing to let me forget. It is a secret that cannot and should not be forgotten. Because if I do, shit would happen. 

Shit had happened once. And it was excruciating to go through the psychological torment and guilt. And so this deep dark secret is something I can’t just shrug my shoulder on. Because of it, I am veered into being responsible.

But no matter how responsible I am. Sooner or later, responsible won’t help. No amount of zoloft or any medication will erase the stigma it causes. Especially this Friday, when once again I will have to go through a scary ordeal hoping this secret will not laugh cruelly on my face.