May 28, 2003

I don't have ruby slippers but...

[Yeah, I only have my smelly ancient black slip-on Hilfiger sneakers because all my nice shoes are safe in my flood-surrounded house. I don't think my sneaks will hold any power for Dorothy.]

But anyhow...

Let's go back home.



 
Boiling point

This is it.

The moment.

I am seconds away from exploding.

I appreciate the very few people who have allowed me to be myself, who do not wish to stifle me and who realize my need for space and breathing room, but for the rest, I only have one thing to say.

LEAVE ME ALONE.


***

DON'T think I don't know who you are.

IP Address: 202.81.160.# (APNIC - Pacific Rim)
Language Setting: English
Operating System: Microsoft WinXP
Browser: Internet Explorer 6.0
Mozilla/4.0 (compatible; MSIE 6.0; Windows NT 5.1)

I hope you are pleased with yourself.







 
Dead girl walking

Looks like I'm going to be spending another night here.

This place is looking less and less like an office and more and more like prison.

Food supplies are dwindling.

This morning I still had the tub of pasta stepgrandpa brought over, half a cheese steak, one chicken strip and cold soggy fries leftover from last night's dinner. They're all gone now. I only have a third of a jar of peanut brittle and half a jar of ube jam left. Not exactly quality sustenance.

Being stuck in yesterday's clothes was torture. When the flood disappeared from my office street, I walked a few blocks to the supermarket for supplies. Bought a couple of shirts, a pair of shorts, a towel and toiletries. The wind was so strong that I kept imagining the electrical wires snapping and frying me to death.

The cold shower did my soul good. At least for a little while. Until I heard the city authorities proclaiming on TV that flood control has improved. "Because what used to be waist-deep is only knee-deep."

Someone should force those bastards to stay in their office for two nights straight. Or make them swim in their brilliant knee-deep murky waters. Or make them drink pitchers of flood water.

That should show them what "improvement" means.


***

I HATE fussy talent managers.


 
Just in case you're wondering...

Yes, I'm still here.

It will be 5 p.m. soon. People have gone to the office in clean clothes, looking and smelling like they had just stepped out of the shower. A lot of them were sent home a few hours ago because of the storm. By now, they have changed into comfortable house clothes, have climbed into bed, are snuggling with their loved ones, watching television, raiding their fridge.

But I am still here, in yesterday's clothes, feeling dirty and filthy and tired and miserable.

I want to take a bath. I want clean underwear. I want my bed. My pillows. I want my grandma.

I am so close to throwing a tantrum. Or killing someone. Or both.

This is not good for my sanity.





 
Early morning whining

So this is how it feels not to have anywhere to go.

Okay, that's an exaggeration.

Because people have been extremely nice, offering their homes to me. Even my boss has asked me to bunk with her daughter but I said no. I don't want to be a pest. All I want to do is crawl into my own bed and hide under the covers.

I spent the night stretched out on four ugly blue chairs, trying to get decent sleep.

It's 6 a.m. now, I just woke up, my body hurts, it's too hot here, I'm cranky and on the verge of tears.

I want to go home.

But I can't, my grandma said. Because the flood level is still too high. She says she'll call in a few hours.

I don't want to wait a few more hours. I want to go home.

I want to bathe and change clothes and wear my really old really soft high school tank top with silk boxers and hide under my covers and sleep.

I want to wake up and have lunch while Tito Juan watches weird television shows.

I want to write on my own computer, goddammit I have too many things to write.

I'm homesick.

I'm tired.

I'm sleepy.

I want to go home.

But it's not like I have a choice.

Bah.

I'm going back to the ugly blue chairs.




 
Rapture

The waiters and waitresses come from the school of bad service, the loud music made it almost impossible to think, it was raining, the sun was hiding, the sand wasn't fine, I have no tan lines to show off, the boat ride was traumatic, there wasn't enough tequila but this is how I fell in love with Puerto Galera.

 
Refuge in the insignificant

Because I can only afford to think of the little things:

Today I dreamt that I weighed 200 pounds and I freaked out.

Was wondering why people were looking at me as I walked outside - until I realized that my fly was completely unzipped.

Stepgrandpa went to my office just to bring me pasta and artichoke dip for dinner. He makes up for everything and everyone.

Supernanny [or at least that's what J calls her] lost my keys.

I have no choice but to stay in the office the whole night because my house is flooded. My back will be crying for mercy when I wake up [if I sleep at all].

Everything else is just too big.




 
[Un]suicide note

My trip to the beach was exciting, tiring, exhilarating, wonderful, dangerous and in a way, life-changing.

I need time to collect my thoughts.

No, actually, I really just need a break.


 
Oh no, it's another post about the nanny

Nanny Slash Bodyguard's fashion sense is a bit... uhh, bold.

Like today. We went to the mall, the supermarket and my office and she wore a pink and black silkscreened shirt with torn sleeves, acid-washed jeans with weird stitching [don't ask me to describe it, I'd rather draw it for you], ancient rubber platform sandals, a leather necklace and beads on her wrists. Her nail polish - blue-gray on some fingers, pearly pink on others - was cracked and chipped.

Yeah, funkiest nanny ever.


***

Here comes another one...

Finally figured out why Nanny Slash Bodyguard looked so familiar.

She looks exactly like this girl from my high school - a freshman who used to stalk me and my cousins. That strange girl apparently had a crush on me and my other female cousins at one point or another. She and this other weird freshman supposedly fought over my graduation picture - which I find really stupid because the pictures were so ugly that most of them ended up in my bedroom trashcan.

No wonder it took me a while to warm up to Nanny Slash Bodyguard.

Finally did some minor bonding with her at a bad Chinese restaurant [was the closest place to the supermarket - but why am I explaining myself?] after our shopping trip.

Nanny Slash Bodyguard worked in Hong Kong and Singapore. She left Singapore because her employer always locked her up in the house and refused to give her her salary. She has a four-year-old daughter and a lazy husband in the province. Her mother-in-law grows okras and eggplants in their backyard and sells them at the market. She has worked as a promo girl, going from house to house under the heat of the sun, trying to sell stuff no one wanted to buy.

But what made me see her in a different light is this:

She also thinks our set-up is ridiculous.

She said that she asked how old her charge was going to be. "Twenty-two," they told her. She found that disturbing.

I came clean too, and told her that I've been making fun of the whole situation.

She said grandma wants her to change my sheets everyday and bring food and water for me everywhere we go. Yeah, like I'm a first-grader.

"Yeah, sometimes they think I'm seven years old," I said and we laughed.

And that's how she won me over.



***

BEST thing anyone's ever said to me:

"You're a mess and I love you."

Notice the use of "and" instead of "but."


***


LOVE conversing with people who are enthusiastic talkers and are a quote-a-minute.

Tim is one of them.

After finding about my blood test story, he screamed, "Pammy, come on! Does that mean you'd never go for lipo? Maybe you were killed by needles in your past life.."

Then, after hearing about my desire for freedom and the mixture of emotions I described yesterday, "Beautiful! I like I like I loooooove that feeling!"

When I told him about my session with Genius Aunt, "No wonder you're my friend. You're crazy too. I like. I loooooove crazy people."

While talking about a beach some people we know went to: "Puerto Azul is like the beach gone nowhere! Oh my! Kadiri ha! I'm digusted. Totally!"

Lol.


***

YESTERDAY, my sleepy eyes snapped open when I read these words - "Power of Attorney".

Those were the first words on a document my mother sent over for me to sign.

Signing that paper would mean that I was giving my mother's lawyer the authority to act on my behalf in an upcoming hearing. Were they crazy?

Sent back the papers unsigned along with a note.

"Ma,

I'm sorry. I cannot sign this document. I do not want to get involved.

Pam"

Of course she was furious. I remained firm. Being a plaintiff in a lawsuit against my father isn't part of my short-term and long-term plans.

Less than an hour later, her lawyer - someone I've never met - called me at home. I told the maid to tell her I was in the shower. Wasn't exactly in the mood for pleasant conversation - I knew she was calling about the document and I might just end up being nasty.

But she called again not long after. I sighed, grabbed the phone and got ready to spew venom. I was prepared for war.

"Your mom said you refused to sign the document?"

"Yes. I don't want to have anything to do with the case." My voice was cold. Really cold.

"Uhh, okay. Coz I told her that you should make your own decision and that her case wouldn't be affected even if you didn't sign the document..."

The moment I realized she didn't call to persuade me to sign, the ice melted. She only wanted to know how I felt about the case.

"See, I supported my mother's decision in the beginning. But that was before I saw how the lawsuit has affected everyone else. That was before I saw how her world started to revolve around the case and nothing else. I have no desire to get involved."

Ms. Lawyer was logical, understanding, warm - and she has been having problems with my mother.

Apparently, my mother has been using her as a shock absorber - even when it comes to things that are not related to the case. My mother has even been venting to her lawyer about me - how screwed up is that? She actually told her lawyer that she had a stroke because of me. I would have been angry as hell, but I found the whole thing so ridiculous that I could do nothing but sigh and shake my head.

"She didn't have a stroke. It's just Bell's Palsy. But yeah, I know she blames it on me."

But apparently, someone had spoken to the lawyer before me and made it clear to her that I had nothing to do with my mother's facial paralysis.

Ms. Lawyer asked me questions - mostly concerning my feelings about the case. I gave her honest answers.

Before we said goodbye, I told her to try and be a little more patient with the drama. Because I see more coming.

With my mother in the picture, definitely.


***


DRAGONDUDE tells me my lips turn red when I'm happy or relaxed.

Was surprised - didn't realize that until now. He's right.

Cool. It's like having a mood ring on your face.

Be wary. They turn blue when I'm mad.


***

TOO many things have been happening.

But later, I'm leaving everything behind to go to the beach [yes, Nanny Slash Bodyguard will be among those left behind].

This will be good for my soul.

I think.





 
Smurf + Elmer Fudd + Helga - Dexter + Any Shoeless Cartoon + Cartman = Nanny Slash Bodyguard

YESTERDAY was day two of the Nanny Slash Bodyguard saga.

It was our first time to leave the house together - her first chance to prove to me that she was worthy of being called Nanny Slash Bodyguard.

I had my doubts.

In fact, my doubts were so immense that I had spent the previous night at my cousin's party making a mockery out of the whole idea. The routine was a success. Relatives Slash Audience found my ranting so hilarious that they had to dab their eyes with tissue.

Apparently, Dragondude isn't the only one who thinks I'm funny when I'm mad.

But I digress.

I had doubts not only because of the fact that she did not have a single pair of shoes [although as a shoe junkie, I really do find that highly unsettling]. I couldn't understand her when she speaks. And she seemed very... cartoonish.

Yeah, that's the word. Cartoonish. Don't ask me which cartoon, I haven't decided yet.

But I'm open-minded, so yeah, I decided to give her a chance.

Before we left the house, I said to her: "You might want to bring a book. You'd probably get bored in the office."

"Yes," she said, patting her bag which looked like it was about to burst. "I already have one."

Good. One point for Nanny Slash Bodyguard.

We walked a few blocks to the corner where I always hail cabs.

One finally came along. As the cab was about to stop in front of us, this jerk came running towards it, eager to steal it from us. But in one fluid motion, Nanny Slash Bodyguard blocked his way and opened the door of the taxi for me.

Wow. Good job. Two points for Nanny Slash Bodyguard.

I sneered at the jerk as we sped away.

Nanny Slash Bodyguard spent the afternoon and evening at my office lobby, sitting one of the ultra-comfortable lounge chairs and reading her book. She went to McDonald's for dinner.

On our way home, the first thing she did inside the cab was lock all the doors, something she saw me do on our way to the office. Fast learner. Three points for Nanny Slash Bodyguard.

Since her arrival, she has cleaned the two rooms I have been invading. Quite a feat, really, as rooms tend to turn upside down when I take over. So yeah, four points for Nanny Slash Bodyguard.

Then, just as I was writing this, I heard a knock on my door.

"Pam, your vitamins."

Nanny Slash Bodyguard even put my vitamins on a nice little plate and she actually had a coaster under my glass of water. Hmm.

I feel like a four-year-old but okay, five points for Nanny Slash Bodyguard.

Today, we're going to the supermarket and the mall. Nanny Slash Bodyguard and I will go shopping.

Let's see how this pans out.

But so far, despite the absence of shoes [although I think she bought a pair today] and the cartoonish qualities, she's doing fine.

Not to say that I will be happy to have her tagging along with me everywhere.

Oh lord, no.


***


TOOK a three-hour test in the office yesterday, one of the steps necessary in formalizing my five-year-late absorption into the world of the employed and the privileged.

There were sections on grammar, abstract reasoning, reading comprehension, personality and math.

Yes, math. There were too many math questions with square roots and polynomials and whole integers and fractions and other things I've tried to forget about after passing Finance 101 in college.

Found that quite odd because in the five years that I've been working [save for the occasional computing needed to come up with pie charts and graphs that would accompany articles], the only time we needed math was to figure out how much money we needed to prepare for the guy about to deliver our dinner.

It really wasn't a good idea to take that test with only an hour of sleep as ammunition.

Strangely, I think I did better in the math sections. How fucked up is that?

Yeah yeah, this world is never without surprises.


***


This isn't just about the blood test

Before I begin what is bound to be a long post, let me just say that this isn't just about the blood test. Really, it isn't. If, after reading what I have to say, you still think that it is just about the blood test, you better keep that to yourself because you're just going to piss me off. And believe me, there are already too many people on that list. You don't want to be #437.

After yesterday's test, the HR person handed an envelope to me. "This is for your medical exam..."

I didn't hear the rest. Medical exam? My aversion to doctors and hospitals kicked in.

I walked to my section's cubicle and sat down, dazed. I tapped an officemate's shoulder and asked, "Exactly what does that medical exam involve?"

"Urine test, breast exam, x-rays, blood test..."

Again, the rest of the words fell on deaf ears. My entire brain - no, actually, my entire body - focused on two words. Blood test. Blood. Test.

No fucking way.

My heart started pounding, I felt breathless and I was close to tears. It felt almost like my panic attack, but a notch or two lower.

I am not going to let some person stick a needle into my vein and take my blood to play with in some laboratory. No. Way.
Yes, my tolerance for physical pain is unbelievably low. My fear of needles unbelievably powerful.

My mind started whirring. If I don't let them take my blood, I wouldn't become a regular employee. Sure, the vacations, bonuses, profit shares and benefits sound nice but are they worth my blood? "No" was the resounding scream of every single cell in my body. No. Fucking. Way.

"Fine," I said out loud. "Then I just wouldn't become a regular employee."

Because, when you think about it - really really think about it - not becoming a regular employee also has its charms. I would still be able to take freelance jobs. I can pursue other projects. I don't have to attend the "7 Habits of Highly Effective People" seminar. I wouldn't be tied down. I don't have to let myself be swallowed by office politics. There is more freedom. I will still have total control of my life. Not to say that I wouldn't be loyal to the paper I work for. I have been writing for the past five years and will not even dream of switching broadsheets, no way. I will go on with my jobs and take on responsibilities - old and new - just like I have in the past. They just wouldn't be giving me plaques honoring my service and dedication and no parties on my birthday either. And yeah, my paychecks will most probably almost always be late.

Was overwhelmed with all sorts of emotions. Exhilaration because of the renewed sense of freedom that has washed over me. Excitement at the possibilities the future has in store for me. Nervousness because this decision might shape my future. Panic because my officemates are threatening to strap me down onto a desk to take my blood. Anger at myself for being such a coward. Annoyance at the fact that I took that three-hour exam for nothing.

I feel like I've been hanging from the edge of the cliff and I just let go. But instead of being terrified, I'm laughing laughing laughing all the way down.

The last time I felt exactly like this was the day I decided to quit school. I already felt like I had been wasting time in Political Science - the professors did nothing but brag about which senator they knew and which ex-first lady they had dinner with. Then came the harrassment I received from my psychotic ex-boyfriend who thought that stalking, spreading rumors, physical abuse and kidnap threats were normal stages in the process of getting over a relationship. That pushed me over the edge.

I remember that everytime I even saw the gates of my school, I felt like throwing up. Going to class was torture. I was always the last person in and the first person out. Then came the day I forgot my ID card at home. Shouldn't have been a big deal, I could have been logical about the whole thing and presented my registration form to the security guard but I didn't. I panicked and fled. It was that same night, cocooned by the darkness the blackout provided, that I knocked on my grandmother's door, curled up on her bed beside her, cried and told her I was leaving my university.

It was the same night that I called my mother and told her, "I'm quitting school. There's nothing you can do about it."

I still consider the year that I quit school the best year of my life. Although I felt shaky in the beginning, like I do now, things worked out. Or rather, I'd like to think that I made them work out. Got a promotion, started working for a dot com while working for the paper, got promoted in the dot com twice in less than a year, wrote for different magazines, discovered the joys of dating many people, not just one psychotic loser.

It was a year of enlightenment and discovery.

Before I graduated, the big bosses in my office asked if I was planning on staying - or rather, they made me feel they wanted me to stay. And I said yes. Because that seemed to be the right thing to do. Because it seemed to be the next step. I was excited, to the point of complaining about how much time they were taking in processing my papers but at the back of my mind, I was thinking, am I taking the easy way out? Or rather, the easy way in? Was I being a coward by taking the step everyone was expecting me to take? I knew my answer was yes but I had no guts to challenge that. Not then.

It took one fear to overcome another. I may be a coward when it comes to physical pain but I am not afraid of taking risks.

Countless people will probably think I'm being insane. Or stupid. Or both. I'd like to think that this will be another journey for me, one of enlightenment and discovery.

So really, it's not just about the blood test. The blood test was just the intstrument.