"In the trickle of time’s eternal hourglass, in this little existence of mine, something must have even a smidgen of significance, something else must be worth trying."
Writing requires a strong heart? The writer must be able to withstand the extremities of emotion, to have prudence from being consumed by the fires of one’s own passion, to bear emptiness and fill it up. To turn the must frail gesture into the most pompous event, and the most pompous event into a frail gesture. To take nothingness, to take Being, blend it and put into paper. It takes a strong heart to be a writer, instead of the merely written about.
Instead of just being a big writer-wannabe.
Where did my writer’s voice go? Has it drowned it the drone of Makati’s early morning traffic? Suppressed by the small squabble or the vicarious venting of irate customers? Did my voice die and resurrected into a --- beautiful buzzing bee? The simplest explanation turns out be the right one: Ockham’s Razor. I am suspicious about that and think that this medieval philosophical principle is obsolete, if not terrifically false. Nowadays, it would have been more likely to adhere to a principle such as: the stupidest explanation turns out to be the best one. This is what we tend to believe. Like, the earth was formed out of this big fucking bang. God created the universe in seven days. Jesus Christ is an alien. Human beings came from monkeys. Like, the Truth is a great loneliness.
I think it was Einstein who said, “There only two things infinite --- the Universe and human stupidity… I’m not sure about the former.”
“I’ve given up on being brilliant.” I forgot who said that. Or perhaps I’ve quoted it too often that I forgot it was I, like reverse pumping ego or labelling theory.
With all this fuss about my sky-rocketing blood pressure and having an impending heart attack, I had to eat healthy. And I began running again. Running to have a little less paranoia. (I have discovered that running not only relieves you, but also effectively reduces your fear of anything. This must be scientific.) I ate less, and am grateful for my Ops Manager’s concern. She slated me on dedicated e-mail that made my work not much of a drag. Although required visits to the doctor, and buying expensive medicine actually is a real nuisance. I barely even drink anymore. I smoke 2-4 cigarettes a day.
Life is a series of compromises.
It was my self-love, my excessive indulgence, which weakened my heart.
And why have I not imparted my love? Is something noticeably lacking in my life? I can’t prevent myself from asking silly questions. And I am tired of sophisticated rationalizations, or yielding into self-pity. The answer is simply because this perfect-idea girl of mine has not miraculously popped up from the world of ideas and assume perfect human form to amuse me with her witticisms, be insanely in love with me, my groins, my ankles, and be all that I want her to be. Now, that’s something ultra-hyperbolic. The more obvious truth is that I even though I start regularly meeting up with someone, love chooses to conveniently lurk in a limbo. So I am blissfully alone: loving myself, loving myself too much, and that pretty little figment of my vivid imagination. I’ve sporadically asked myself why I’m alone, but I never complained. In a moment of weakness, I would jump at the chance on anyone who would spread her legs apart. How difficult it is to even fall in love --- to revel in something that is rat’s ass stupid.
Meanwhile, my aloneness steadies.
My aloneness is an oxymoron: it is preferred-adapted.
Success is merely a stubborn insistence.
I’m beginning to collect enough determination to quit my job very soon, maybe sometime around summer. Maybe after (1) saving for a little investment in case I’m bumming for a month or two or three (2) another trip to the beach. Or maybe I should add (3) after tempestuous, multiple-orgasmic sexual intercourse with a dashing officemate while in the office. Right.
When I took this job I promised myself that my maximum length of stay with the company would be two years --- and that is if I get to enjoy what I’m doing. I think the estimates were too rough. It’s been one year and six months, and statistics would say that I actually enjoy myself only 11% of the time while I’m in the office and absolutely enjoy myself 89% of the time when I’m not in the office. I’m closing the time of my life to learn to laugh at the risks I’m going to take, and learn to humble down when it is life’s turn to laugh back at me. This must be a way to allow living to open to my being. I’ve enjoyed mentally drafting my resignation letter. I’ve hatched a few interesting plans, about what to do after resigning, or while being in the torturous, indeterminate state in between jobs. One of them, of course, is to find out what it’s like to have other jobs.
While working on my resume I had to describe what my work consists of:
My work consists of providing comprehensive and quality customer service. It has been my task to efficiently and effectively resolve customer service issues while multi-tasking across multiple channels and capably utilizing technology tools and business systems. These generally outlined duties and responsibilities are performed meeting all client-imposed service levels, with a customer-friendly yet highly professional quality of work that is constantly monitored and assured. This type of work not only requires in-depth client-based knowledge needed to help its customers, but also demands that the representative make sound judgment calls in implementing business policies and decisions, and promote a lasting customer relationship. Given continuous and extensive training on business policies, business tools, and business strategies to handle client-specific needs, (particularly in Internet-based travel service, domain registration, hosting and other website services,) and the skill it thus yields, this work experience earns one an excellent customer service background.
Or what my work may really consist of is:
My work consists of kissing the customer’s ass. A lot of American dotcom companies outsource their customer service department since they see it as a mere necessary evil. They can take advantage of cheap Philippine labor, and cut down on costs. The irony is that the reps in this country are smarter, friendlier, more committed, bred in the best Philippine schools. They are talented, but they compromised to sell their soul to capitalism, intelligent but more interested in having the higher middle class lifestyle, more than willing to kiss customer ass for dough. The companies probably would only have to shed out half as much for these reps. While we try to genuinely help customers, we mostly endure their vicarious venting, bear the burden of their disgust, then muster up excuses, spout our spills and stress ourselves out on a 24x7 basis. Globalization, American Imperialism brought to you by Voice Over Internet Protocol. The land of milk and honey comes to you. They pay the new grads relatively better wages than most companies would, we get sick (physically or figuratively) but also get good health benefits, and the Americans chip off a lot of cost off their shoulders. What this experience thus yields: another newly grad who took on the job discovers how this world really works.
In the trickle of time’s eternal hourglass, in this little existence of mine, something must have even a smidgen of significance, something else must be worth trying.
“Against boredom the gods themselves fight in vain.” – Nietzsche. I haven’t told this to myself in a long time. Maybe, I’m just bored.
How did the rest of your life begin today? The night at work becomes less and less tedious and the least bit stressful since I’ve been slated on dedicated e-mail. Moreover, my stats are impeccable on the performance metrics this month. A perfect 100% for QA sessions for three consecutive weeks, and I’m meeting the prescribed average speed of answer more than 150% above standard. I don’t know long this will last, but with this work I do not feel like Atlas bearing the weight of the world.
I know that going back to the voice channel will be like paying a great penance.
After work I turn on auto-sleep mode in the bus after taking a walk to the loading zone. The January mornings have been chilling. Upon arriving, I eat a light breakfast and take the car to CCP. I’ve been running with increased speed and endurance. I catch my breath while walking around the film center, in the shade of these tall magnificent pebble pillars, and maybe even in the presence of the infamous phantoms of construction workers who built this beautiful edifice by the sea. On one side, the buildings of Makati are clouded with smog. Buildings that has eaten up so many lives.
Compared to other hobbies or sports, the great thing about running is that it’s very basic. All you have to do is run. In it’s basic form, you don’t have to devise sports techniques, coaching analysis, consider team work or any requited concentration. You can let your mind sink deep in thought. Right after running I treat myself to a currant-flavored sparkling water at the Figaro. I enjoy the jazz music that pipes in, and the view of the trees dancing with the wind, behind the window blinds.
On some occasions after work, I wait for the movies to open and have myself one of those chicken popcorns or Baskin Robbins ice cream while watching. Seen on film, The Lord of the Rings is a slightly easier version of something like Homer, Ovid or Iliad. It seems, however, to be something made specifically for blockbuster cinema, a little bit more idiotic in execution, but heavily fancied up with eye-popping special effects. I’m really glad though, that some theaters in Robinsons already have neck rests, cup holders and THX surround sounds, and you only have to pay half as much compared to seeing it Glorietta or G3. And then I’d stay at the mall to get decaffeinated coffee and maybe some sweets, while eying pretty ladies of all ages.
Or after work I listen to my records. I haven’t gotten over MOS Chillout annual 2002, and surprisingly enough, Rivermaya’s live and acoustic is an excellent local find. I also put this compilation of songs from high school, most of which I downloaded from the net on a nostalgia trip. And of course there’s Jazz.
Or after work I read a little and write my journal. When I read the first story on Ian McEwan’s “First Love, Last Rites,” I already decided on getting another book from him. The first story reminded me a lot of Jeff Noon’s “The Cabinet of the Night Unlocked.” Only, I think McEwan’s seems to have mastered that dispassionate tone of delivering themes that passionately. He powerfully produces a familiar estrangement and fascination. You can see all the elements of the story, and each gesture work towards that strong, surprising ending.
And then I sleep it off rid of those disturbing dreams since less distress is due to me.
How did the rest of your life begin today? The rest of my life is beginning to start off better everyday.
