Just one more day and it’s the end for me.
Somehow, I try to find any kind of emotion left for all the tragedy and agony I’ve experienced this past week, and the funny thing is I don’t feel anything anymore.
I guess I’ve always been the type of person who hates dwelling on the negative. As much as possible, I try to forget what I’ve been through, I am always in a hurry to move forward. Though you can bet I hold grudges and I don’t forget the people who made my life miserable. It’s one of the negative things about me–I don’t easily forgive and I tend to plan my revenge. That’s why The Hubby never failed to remind me that I have been purrrrrty blessed in my short life, and that I shouldn’t spend it holding grudges. Yep, The Grudge — that’s me 🙂
But in spite my shortcomings, I think it’s kinda safe to say that I am made of a lot of things. Not just black or white; sugar or spice; love or hate — I think revel in being the ball of complications that I am…
I. …I am someone that is (thankfully) raised well by my parents
I was born to middle middle-class parents who had to work in order to earn an honest living. I was not schooled in the top 4 universities in the Philippines, but I am a product of a state University. For everything that I buy, I had to work hard to achieve it. In short, I am not rich, I am not famous — but am lucky to possess the breeding that can be equated with proper upbringing.
During my time in the middle of the tempest last week, I had all the reasons to walk away and give the company THE finger. After all–in all intents and purposes–I have nothing to lose. I have an amazing job waiting for me, and I can get by even without the back pay (thanks to a Hubby who pledged support, and parents that are willing to lend me a quick buck). But I decided to swallow my pride and just let it be. I never once answered back or stooped to the level of my tormentors. I had a quick prayer for each time I was faced with harsh words and harsher treatment. As Bitchy C puts it, “It took a lot of courage to choose to take the high road…” and it did. And even till now, I am thankful cos it made me a lot stronger than I thought I was…
“…Sick of all this inertia
Won’t you mend me?
Lover, can you help me?
I’m a child lost in the woods
A black heart pollutes me
And I think
You’re a mountain that I’d like to climb
Not to conquer, but to share in the view
Pulled by a false inertia
Pushed out by circumstance
Pistol firing at my feet
That’s coercing me to dance…”
II. “Haaaaaaaay, Lani…”
That’s what actually Saintly J said (twice) while we were feeling posh and smug, buried chest deep in a late snack of vegetarian crepe (for J), plus a dish of eggs, bacon and crepe for me and Bitchy C (I can’t remember the names cos they were spelled in French). We were at Cafe Breton, celebrating the near-death of my career as a Senior PR Consultant for the Firm.
The food was good, the company was amazing (albeit foul-mouthed):
We were discussing J’s apparent predilection for young, nubile females (unconfirmed — I value my life and I don’t want to die by J’s “eskrima-ing hands” and the apparent happy life waiting for me and Bitchy C away from the tempest that is the former company. We were, as usual, loud, uncouth and hungry — shoveling mouthfuls of food while we goad, tease, harass the poor J.
That’s one thing I am adorably made of: the capacity to meet people and fall head-over-heels-in-like with them. J, Bitchy S, Conservative A, Tattooed L — these were the people I fiercely value at the company-that-must-not-be-named. I was not lucky to find a career in public relations, but I was lucky to find people who accepted me: grammatical errors and all. I am happy and okay with that.
III. Apparently, I was (effing) dressed like Barbie: The travails of being fashion-hungry, and a blondie wannabe
I went to work today, dressed like this:
Apparently, I was FUCKING dressed like plaid-wearing Barbie. I kid you not, I didn’t took pictures cos my face was too harassed to merit public viewing. I was wearing my thrifted plaid skirt (bought for 50 bucks!), my black blouse from Forever 21 and the heavy studded boots I’ve taken to wearing ANYeffingWHERE. Might go out with a bang, I figured…then fast forward at 12MN, I search the net and find Barbie wearing the exact same shit I wore. My fashion peg, ladies and gentlemen, is a doll. Gives you an idea on my maturity quotient.
Everyday, here are the two things that are constant with my life (and outfit):
The black bag has been through hell and back and still sturdy. The boots is perfect for long walks and for giving the extra “attitude”.
Then, I had the brilliant idea to redo and fix my roots (they are now showing). I’d love to look like BOA:
If only I’d start looking more like a human being (with the high cheekbones), and less like a chipmunk., my life will be easier.