So I finally got my proverbial feet wet, having delivered my very first academic presentation at the China-ASEAN Summit yesterday.

I spent almost two agonizing weeks on the entire thing: a week of planning (and some sort of procrastinating), several days of research, a day for the outline and two days to finally cobble the whole thing together into something half-decent.

I actually sent the final paper to my professor at 6am, on the day I was supposed to deliver it. Talk about last minute. Not that I intended it that way. It’s just that up to crunch time, I still wasn’t confident enough about the paper.

I wasn’t really satisfied with the sources, and that idea kept hounding me as I was trying to finish the paper. At some point I was actually tempted to just leave everything and run for the hills — literally. My favorite song these past few days is “Sa Tollgate” by the Eraserheads (in Anthology). A tollgate, any tollgate, man. Just get me out of Manila! I was seriously thinking of just packing up and leaving, which is so unlike me. The pressure, I tell you. I felt like I was actually cooking in slow heat in some pressure cooker.

My professor was very encouraging, though, so I pulled my act together in time to get the thing done.

And I did it, yeah, though not exactly as dignified as I would have hoped.

I just couldn’t resist embarassing myself, I guess, and had a coughing fit in the middle of delivering the paper. It’s happened to me before, really, so it wasn’t so surprising. Anyway, I did get through the entire thing unscathed, and the general feedback is that I did well. Someone came up to me and told me not to be too nervous, but I can’t remember who it was because I was, well, too nervous.

Anyway, while sitting on stage — in a panel-like set-up — I realized a lot of things. First, people tend to do silly things while the speaker’s yakking away. I saw a woman pulling out her hair (I do, too, sometimes, and seeing her made me realize how silly I looked doing so), a guy was dozing away right on the front row and there was this weird guy forcing himself to throw up. Why? I have no idea. Maybe he had too much to eat at lunch, or he’s a closet bulimic, or — well I’ve taken up too much space thinking of some random dude trying to make himself puke.

Anyway…I guess it’s a good first, and maybe I won’t be so scared to do it next time. Hopefully I won’t have a coughing fit either.

Well, well.

I’m on to the next challenge, which is the JLPT in December. Or December 3, I should say, which isn’t really December but “Decemberish”, because it’s technically too close to November to be considered really part of December. Or something, I guess. In any case, the exam is way too near, and I really have to get my butt moving if I’m to pass this thing.

I’m starting to think that I’m addicted to difficulties, like I’m some sort of masochist or something. I’m constantly putting myself in difficult situations, saying yes to things I’m not really sure I can pull off. The presentation, I said yes to, not because I believed I could do it, but because I thought such a chance wouldn’t come again in two lifetimes and I had to take it or die disappointed.

Maybe I am a masochist, and the only thing that’s keeping me alive is complication. Though I insist that I’d like to live a simple life and just live with my boring self day in and day out, I’m starting to realize that I do complicate my life — a lot — like I’m actually looking for ways to flog myself each day.

All I want is to be some boring professor, droning my students to death in a history class or something.

Unfortunately, the things I do seem a lot more complicated than the boring little picture in my head.

Miracles do happen.

Dreams do come true.

Congratulations to the UST Growling Tigers — Champions of the UAAP Season 69 Basketbal Tournament.

I’m starting to think, and for someone with my brain it’s never a good idea.

You see, I tend to overanalyze things that could seem pathetic to other people. It’s probably a disease, along with my obsessive-compulsive disorder, borderline narcissism and antisocial tendencies.

So it really isn’t a good thing, you know, when this particular brain function kicks in.

I’d really rather not think at all, if I can help it.

That’s what I imposed on myself around four months ago, right before I got a new job. I was engaged in endless thinking, second-guessing and debating with myself — an endeavor I’d rather not do ever again in my life. Ever.

But it’s starting to get to me.

I’m not blind you know.

I’m starting to see myself slipping into something I didn’t imagine possible. Not possible at all.

In September of last year I was deadset. I declared a desire to teach for the rest of my life. It was a serious goal, one that I might as well have tattooed on my back for posterity. The only reason I took a job was because I needed the money, and an excuse to leave the house everyday.

But now… I’m not so sure.

Somehow I was expecting this to happen.

Not that I’d expected good things from the job the moment I entered its doors. I’d been burned rather crisply twice. Being optimistic this time just seemed out of the question. I’d thrown all ideals I’d harbored out the window.

But now… I’m actually starting to like what I’m doing.

For real.

I’m willingly staying beyond office hours (me, Miss On-the-Dot… can you believe it?), thinking about all the stuff I do even while commuting or walking home. I’m thinking about my job nearly 24/7 (my brain time is divided between Thomson and Matsujun), and I don’t even know why.

It used to be that Saturdays and Sundays were the greatest days of my life. All the other days of the week meant nothing but crap. Thinking about work used to make me sick to the point of turning a rather nasty shade of green. But now the office is almost my life, with none of the drama that used to drip all over each and every trip to the hellhole in Ortigas.

Worse, I almost skipped school the other day because I wanted to stay in the office. To WORK.

What’s wrong with me???

I’m starting to feel my path towards teaching slipping away, not because anyone’s forcing me to give it up, but because I’m starting to get comfortable where I am.

There might be no turning back.

Yesterday, my professor reiterated the inescapable necessity of learning the “jargon” of Area Studies, which technically means learning jargon from all fields involved in this interdisciplinary course.

And so I realized that maybe I was headed towards a path I’d always hated.

Maybe all my dream boils down to is becoming a jargon-spewing know-it-all bitch in tailored suits and designer shoes.

I’ve never been one for jargon. I think it’s nothing but the smart-ass strategy of stuck-up people trying to seem more special than they actually are. Besides, it’s another way they keep out the “laymen”, so to speak.

It’s goddamn arrogance, I tell you.

But maybe that’s what I’m bound for, taking in this jargon like there’s no tomorrow. Sure, technical terms are unavoidable in any field, but I’ve seen a lot of people with empty heads randomly stringing these impressive words just for the heck of it.

Do I want to be like them?

Will I be like them?

Now I want to take up International Relations in Japan, so that means more studies right? More jargon, more education –> less learned? Very Chuang Tzu of me to think like that, but that’s the way it goes.

Sometimes it’s better not to think too much… or think at all…

Unfortunately, I can’t think of any better title to describe my day.

I took a leave from work to enroll in UP today. June 7 to 9, with June 13 being the opening of classes. That’s cutting it a bit too close, isn’t it? It’s not my problem, though, so I’d rather not dwell on that.

Anyway, I decided to leave the house a bit earlier today, considering the mishap I encountered in my previous enrolment. I think my feet went on strike that day, after hours of walking all over the campus (yes, I’m not exaggerating). So, I told myself I’ll be damned if I get caught in that situation again, so I decided to start early. The logic is simple: go to enrollment early = finish early. Comprende?

Of course, I didn’t think I could get away with it that easily. There are lines, man, lines. All over the place. In the cashier’s office, the registrar, the AC building, etc etc. It doesn’t help that everyone seems to be moving under water, with no hurry to finish anything at all. Enrolment is THREE days, after all. We’re all doomed!!!

But no. Maybe it’s because I was expecting the worse, so the world decided to give me what I didn’t expect — as usual. Anyway, enrolment was technically a breeze. No lines, not much walking around the scorched campus — no sweat! Or maybe a bit of sweat — it was sweltering after all.

Now I’m stuck with two subjects, both with the 5-8 PM schedule. Which is great, except for the fact that I work from 9-6. I suppose I can talk to my boss about it. I might have to go to work earlier on the days I have classes. I’ve got Saturday free, though, if that’s any consolation for all the people dying to see me on weekends (there isn’t a lot of these people, though, considering that I’m the one always badgering people for weekend meet-ups, which probably means having no classes on Saturdays is a consolation for no one else but ME — I’m ranting).

Thinking about it now, an MA seems to be much of a hassle. Why am I doing this to myself anyway? I have a job that doesn’t require further studies, so what am I doing this for? To torture myself? To eat a chunk out of my savings?

I suppose I’m doing it for myself. Everything else I’m doing right now is for the people around me. A corporate job, check. Decent savings, check. A good sideline, check. I’m doing this not because I’m greedy and I love money. I’m doing this because one day, my father will have to retire and I have to be ready to take his place in providing for this family. I want that day to come soon, because God knows my father has worked more than his fair share in this lifetime. I’d love to have him relax for the first time in his life.

And so, this MA, it’s my gift to myself.

I’m doing this because I want to, not because I need to.

I’m not complaining. Complaining won’t get you anything anyway, plus it makes for major nega image points. It’s not that I’d rather not work in corporate, either. There are things in life that you just have to deal with. Let’s just say I’m rather ambivalent about it. My dad’s not forcing me to work to feed the family, no. But having something of a conscience has dictated that I be at least a little more concerned and less selfish when it comes to this family. Besides, I believe it’s a daughter’s natural duty to take care of her parents someday.

My MA, therefore, is a little concession I granted myself.

If I didn’t need money, I’d be a public school teacher.

Seriously. I’m not trying to go all emo and weepy sappy on this one. I don’t envision myself as a Fraulein Maria of sorts, either. Sound of Music still gives me the creeps. Jack Black in School of Rock is more like it. I don’t want to teach the kids anything grand or incredible. No opus for me, unlike Mr. Holland. I’m not good enough for all that.

All I want is to give these kids the gift of passion to believe in something. Anything.

I look at the children running all over the streets of Metro Manila and feel despair. If they had a teacher — even just one — like the teacher who inspired me to believe, I guess they’d be living for something to.

Just like I’m living for the day I get to fulfill my dream and forget the price tag. Wishful thinking, but my MA is the only thing keeping me connected to a dream that has to be put aside for now.

I may never become a teacher, and my MA could become useless along the way.

It doesn’t matter.

I’ll even take a PHD after this, if only to keep me connected to the one thing I want most: teaching. It could be a dream — even remain a dream forever.

It doesn’t matter.

All that matters is that I keep the dream alive for now, despite the distance. My MA is the only thing linking me to my real ambition and I’d rather have a shell of it than nothing at all.

And so, enrolment, and another semester.

Overheard while waiting aboard a Buendia jeepney this morning:

Woman: Mama, dadaan ba tong ano…
Jeepney Driver: saan?
Woman: Sa ano… (long, incoherent Visayan mumbling)
Jeepney Driver: ano?
Woman: Sa embahada ba?! (slightly vexed)
Jeepney Driver: embahada ng?
Woman: NG PILIPINAS!!!

I swear I did not make this up.

***

Proud to declare that my Ping Medina obsession is officially over.

Unfortunately, I’m currently obsessed with Conrado de Quiros, after seeing him on television.

***

Just found an absolutely heavenly shop (kiosk, actually) called “Branded”. Got myself a TVJ shirt. Ha Ha Ha. Oh glee! Would have gotten the “Sgt. Pepe” design but it was in faded lemony yellow, which is technically also my natural skin tone.

***

Just finished Ha Jin’s “War Trash”. Initially, I thought it was rather biased against China. Wrong, wrong, wrong. The novel was very well-written, extremely intelligent, rather gritty, at times dragging but always honest.
Craving Asian authors as of the moment.
That sounded carnivorous.

***

Still don’t know if I passed AS299 aka Research Methods under the dragon lady herself, MADAM JUNG (aliases are necessary for my survival). Will probably know before the world ends.

Most people underestimate the power of a mentor to change lives. I don’t usually subscribe to the entire “Oprah/self-help books” crap. In this particular occasion, however, I can’t help but wax nostalgic when thinking of one of the greatest influences in my entire twenty-two years of existence. Certainly, a lot of people have greatly contributed to the person that I am today. Most everyone that I have come across has left some sort of imprint on my soul – some so negative that harsh bleach will be required to scrub off unpleasant memories. There is one particular person, however, that I shall never forget, even as I momentarily step off the path that he had influenced me to pursue.

He probably doesn’t even know that he’s one of the greatest influences in my life. Save for a particularly gushy text message, I’ve never really told him how I really felt. Two years. Day in and day out, save for Tuesdays and Thursdays. Even after graduation, I was one of the few students who maintained steady contact through text messages and the occasional visits. It wasn’t really necessary. Most students don’t bother to keep in touch with their college professors after graduation.

For me, however, he was a lifeline.

Or a hotline of sorts at least. He was always there, reliable and always straightforward. At times, I swear I can detect slight desperation in his voice as I needle him for no sensible reason. He was never polite or patronizing in his words, which is probably why I like talking to him so much. I remember how infuriated I was the day he refused to take my side in a fight. He was genial, as always, smiling his rather irritating smile that seemed to signal a profound mystery he still refused to reveal. I have to admit I really hated him for that at that time.

What I didn’t know, of course, was that he was secretly fighting for us, rooting for us. For me. As he would all throughout the two years that I had labored under his tutelage. He was honestly frustrating at times, as he did have that rather “know-it-all” air that irked an egomaniac like me. He appeared to have all the answers in the universe, but was unwilling to divulge them to ordinary mortals.

I have no idea if he was loved. It seemed he was quite popular, or notorious, depending on how you looked at it. He wasn’t specifically special, either. He was rather infamous for his droning voice and sloppy grin, plus the corny jokes he would drop from time to time. I was never a special student to him, either, or so I believe. I was asleep in his class most of the time — definitely not the sign of a diligent A+ student. Whatever he thought of me, though, or thinks of me today, is no longer as important as how I think of him.

Carlito Dalangin is the man that shaped my life. He probably has no idea, but it is his example that has inspired me to become a teacher. Though I may be no nearer to my goal today than I was after graduation, I know that someday, I will be a teacher, a mentor, just as he was to me two years ago. Just as he is to me to this very day.

He has shown me the thanklessness of teaching. He has shown me the bitterness of living a modest life as a professor. Certainly, he has never vocally encouraged me to become someone like him. In the two years that I studied under his guidance, he had never mentioned my future as college professor. I am sure that he, like everyone else, would rather I enter the corporate world to earn big bucks.

Despite all these, all I remember is the joy of having a mentor, of having someone who believed in me when I had nothing impressive to show. I was nobody, and am still nobody, when he saw me and believed that I would someday become somebody. He believed in me when it was pointless to do so. He believed in me when the rest saw me as just another class card.

A new soap opera claims that it’s a teacher’s obligation to believe in his students. Growing up, I was met with a lot of disbelief and suspicion. My teachers saw a bum who could’ve done better. There was the recognition of potential, but none saw the possibility of me ever maximizing it. He, however, did. He had faith in me, though he never did speak of it to me directly. He had no reason to do so, but he always believed that I would make it.

The proudest moment of my life wasn’t the time I got my diploma from a priest. It wasn’t acing my first interview either. The proudest moment of my life is hearing him tell my parents just how good a student I was.

It was all I needed to hear.

Someday, I will be a teacher. Not an educator or a lecturer, but a teacher. Someday, I will have students, and I would like to do for them what he has done for me.

Change lives.