Zye's Wanderings

Ole!

noreply@blogger.com (Zye) — Sun, 29 Sep 2013 12:30:00 +0000

It was Mexican food night at our humble abode yesterday.

The original plan was to go out to our usual haunt and take full advantage of their bottomless margaritas, but while Maika and I were lazy-Saturday-afternoon-lounging, we realised we needed to do some sort of physical activity that demanded more than lifting a glass off a table and back. We also wanted to watch Mexican movies, but decided that watching Diego Luna and Gael Garcia Bernal make out didn't do anything for us. Hence, cooking.

Now, I'm not much of a cook - something those well-acquainted with me can fully attest to. Fortunately, Maika is much more enthusiastic about the whole culinary deal, which basically led to our spending four and a half hours making burritos, nachos, margaritas and black russians, because we always need more than one kind of alcoholic drink around. We even made the tortilla chips by hand. I swear, if I made them every weekend, I'd have squeeze-worthy biceps.

The thing with cooking meals that need assembly is that in the process of waiting and doing everything one at a time, you tend to pick up little bits and pieces here and there, the excuse being taste samples. So by the time the burritos were ready, we were on our way to being full, but had to give the finished food (and our hard work) the respect it was due.

And in between heating refried beans and rolling out dough, it hit me that I am now really and truly okay. Thank goodness for fun roommates who know you and for seemingly mundane activities that prove to be healthy for growth, for experience, for the stomach and yes, for moving on.

As it is though, our refrigerator is now piled with takeout containers of ingredients, and we'll be packing the stuff for lunch at work for the next few days. I'm going to dig up my copy of "Like Water for Chocolate," just in keeping with the theme.

Wondering on the Wandering

noreply@blogger.com (Zye) — Tue, 11 Jun 2013 19:21:00 +0000

On my way home a few months ago, packed on the rush-hour train between a lady reading a Tagalog romance novel and a teenager taking duck-faced selfies with her phone, my irate thoughts became a reflection on the idea that my life was going nowhere. Somewhere between the Magallanes and Guadalupe MRT stations, I was literally jostled and elbowed into the world-come-crushing down on you realisation that I'd meandered through a morass of jobs, careers, degrees, schools and ambitions without having a single clue about what I wanted to do or how I wanted to do things. How exactly did I get here?

Like most children growing up in these beloved PH Islands, I was indoctrinated early on in what the prescribed, step-by-step formula to success should be: study hard, get good grades, graduate with a college degree in a field of interest deemed economically suitable, land a job right away in an established industry, gain financial stability, find a dependable spouse and have a family - all these in the least amount of time possible in order to gain long, fulfilling years ahead and ultimately, a happily ever after.

From pre-school up until elementary, I was on the "right" track. I did pretty well, placing consistently on the honour roll and getting actively involved in academic extracurricular activities, though it was around this time that I discovered my abhorrence for math and my lack of any athletic ability (except for running - I'm very good at that, in all senses of the word).

Then I entered high school. It would be more dramatic to say that upon entering high school, everything went straight to hell - which was true for many - but it wasn't like that for me. Not as much, anyway. It was in high school that I lost all sense of direction, and it was wonderful. An odd thing to say, but true. It was like my peripherals had suddenly broadened and what had been solid horizons slowly turned into smudged lines. Being measured in quantitative terms lost all meaning, learning was done more thoroughly outside the classroom than inside, experiments were more social than scientific, academic achievements were commended but other more...extraordinary feats were better valued.

Truth be told, I was a terrible student from high school well into graduate school. I was out of the classrooms more than I was in them (something my high school yearbook confirms), got just the acceptable grades to pass my classes, exerting the extra effort only when I really liked the subject or the teacher, and came very close to not graduating either high school or college properly. I even left my Master's degree in the middle of an academic year. I once got a note from a college professor on a paper I did that stated, "I regret that you have not been a more diligent student." I aced his advanced major class...but then again, I failed Physical Education 1 my freshman year and had to retake it.

The more critical Filipinos would say that I should've done better with the opportunities I had to get a good education, and I agree. Education is, after all, very important and in the Philippines, it's the stepping stone to a brighter future for those of us not born with a silver spoon in our mouths. I'm not proud of the kind of student I was. But to be honest, I wouldn't trade what I gained in experience from getting lost all those years for the straight-path direction I would've otherwise followed - they've made me who I am today and I now have a wealth of happy memories, hilarious anecdotes and useful life lessons learned the hard way to show for it.

Looking back, I can cite many reasons for why I am where I am now: lack of motivation, self-discipline and focus, teenage rebellion, peer pressure, laziness, identity crises, overconfidence and complacency, discontentment, even my mother's (who has degrees in Psychology and Guidance Counselling) theories on my having entered school too early (for the record, I was two years old when I started sitting in on pre-school classes). Perhaps all of the above, along with a general sense of confusion about what my life goals are, have contributed to the fact that despite having an excellent educational background (school-wise, anyway), my entering the workforce right after graduation, the skills I possess and my "potential," the woman in a pin-striped uniform nodding off in front of me on the train seemed to have her life together more than I did at the moment.

The frustration of being stuck in a rut with nothing but grey areas around you is something I've discussed a hundred times over with friends. It's especially difficult for those who, like I mentioned earlier, did everything right and followed all the steps necessary to "succeed." For me, who has held down God knows how many jobs in different fields, moved apartments countless times and found myself at a crossroads too many times, it doesn't exactly get easier.

Do I have a clearer, more specific vision for what I want to do and what I want to accomplish? Of course I do. Despite my aimlessness, I've inherited an obsessive-compulsive streak that made me sit down and make a list years ago. Do I wish I had a better picture of how to get those goals and wish I had some idea of what my future would look like? Definitely, all the time. But I've learned enough by now to know that the things we plan for and the way we expect our lives to go is never the way the world wants it happen. I've been blindsided and have had my plans knocked upside down and turned inside out far too often not to.

It may seem like my life is going nowhere. After all, I haven't quite grasped the threads of stability that I need to keep me sufficiently grounded. And there are times when I do wonder if I've been wandering for too long now and if I should just stop, readjust my internal compass and follow whichever path is nearest and most convenient, even if it means giving up on myself. My years of wandering have led to so many different possibilities and have opened windows of opportunity where I didn't think there to be any, but there comes a point when it just gets exhausting. And that's when I stop and think.

Life holds no guarantees - that's a fact. Much as I would like there to be, I have no concrete answers and I'm sure not going to get any. I may not have followed the step-by-step guide to success as mentioned above and by deviating, have made things worse for myself in the professional arena, but I am who I am. And from all of the things I don't know, there's a lot I do know. I know that I can't go back in time to fix whatever I've messed up, and that regrets won't help me any. I also know to take opportunities as they come and make the most of it, because otherwise there's no point in even trying. I know that I've made and that I make a lot of mistakes, and that those are the building blocks that support growth and maturity.

I know that I'm still lost right now, and that I probably always will be just a little bit lost for the rest of my life. In my wandering through life, exhausting and confusing as it may be, I can only hold on to the firm belief that I'll find my way eventually, at my own pace and in my own time. Until then, I'm just going to take on all of the seemingly wrong turns, all of the surprising twists and bends in the road, the unexpected intersections and the forays down side paths and see where they lead me to. Professionally and personally, it's been one hell of a journey so far and in the end, while it may seem like it, it's not true that I'm going nowhere. Because whether it's a straight path I'm taking or one that meanders on and off course, it's always going to mean me moving forward - slow going or fast, smooth or bumpy, even at a standstill sometimes, but always, always moving forward.

Any Direction but One

noreply@blogger.com (Zye) — Fri, 07 Jun 2013 15:00:00 +0000

Found this on a random YouTube search and was so charmed by it. I love it when songs are coherently written, plus the catchy tune complements the words so well (and that accent!).

Also, the lyrics suit me perfectly - a happy coincidence.

"The Wrong Direction"

Passenger

Yes, plz.

noreply@blogger.com (Zye) — Fri, 24 May 2013 08:23:00 +0000

While going through old photos on Facebook, I came across this:

Taken by my sister on a trek through Barlig, Mt. Province, it's evidence that lifez realy is more fun in the Philippinezzz!

It's Raining Meant

noreply@blogger.com (Zye) — Tue, 22 May 2012 16:11:00 +0000

An old post from exactly a year ago, retrieved in retrospect of just how much one year can bring. When I look back at the events of this day, it actually seems like a different person standing in that humid summer rain of May 23, 2012.

I'm back in the Metro.

And I've decided to revive this blog, because I need something to keep me grounded. My friend Kubi pointed out that I should start writing for myself again, instead of just doing it for a living and, of course, I realized she's right (she says she's smart that way).

While I've had apprehensions about moving back to the "big, bad city" instead of staying in the city/town that I love, I've come to terms with life here. It may be the effect of having grown a bit older and wiser, but I'm not as threatened or intimidated as I used to be by the fast pace of life, the obnoxious attitude of cab drivers, the apathy of the crowd I join every day on the commute to and from work and the overall sense of self-importance the city has.

In fact, as I was standing under the dripping awning of the sidewalk along the Ortigas MRT Station-Robinson's Galleria route yesterday, I found myself appreciating Metro Manila, to my utmost surprise. It was pouring when I finally managed to extricate myself from the (usual) jam-packed train, I had no idea where my umbrella was and therefore had to rely on the minimal covering the sidewalk offered, and to my utmost chagrin, a speeding vehicle splashed the contents of a large puddle onto my jeans as I was avoiding the smaller puddles.

But as I stood there, along noisy EDSA on a rainy evening, beside a parked motorcycle (on the sidewalk, under the awning, inconveniencing all passers-by), I didn't feel annoyed or frustrated or ready to turn into The Hulk (I heart you, Mark Ruffalo). I watched all kinds of people wearing everything from barongs to short-skirted uniforms hurriedly splash their way to their destinations and thought, "It's really every man/woman for him/herself here." What I was feeling was something akin to resignation/acceptance and all I could think of was that there was a Dairy Queen at Robinson's Galleria. I took it to mean that indeed, I live here now.

As I was getting ready to dodge raindrops once more, a man asked me where Robinson's Galleria was - apparently, I now look enough like a taga-Maynila to give directions and the clincher was that I was able to point him in the right direction with no hesitation.

Speaking of Mark Ruffalo, how adorable is this: