I’ve been using my words and my inner desires to figure out the person that I am right now and to create the person that I want to be in the near future. It’s not that those two personas are quite different. I think it’s like my current persona is in the puberty age, looking up to my future persona as her full-grown adult superhero.
I have passed the baby and the toddler stages. Those were the days when I learned how to write, how to blog, discovered other writers, appreciate and even envied a few, both living and dead. When I try to recall how I feel about my kiddie selves, I like my innocent scribbles during those times. I’ve written for myself, keeping all my thoughts a secret — both offline (notebooks, journals, password-protected Microsoft Word) and online (anonymous blogger).
That went on until I craved for recognition and interaction with regards to my writing. I wanted to be read. I wanted to be heard. I wanted people to slice my chest and take a look at what’s inside. I wanted to induce a reaction — mostly affirmation from them. So, I decided to come out in the blogosphere.
I took the first step.
I made a blogging mess obviously, writing about this and that, but consciously worrying of what people have to say about me or my thoughts. So I kind of filtered them. My high school honest, ethereal, dramatic writing faded on my current ink. I questioned myself on how evil of me to let that precious little writing pixie go.
Well, it’s just not me to blame. I took up engineering, trying to awaken the “smart and technical” side of my person because I always thought that I could be a better person if I could contribute like how the left-brainers of society do. I ended up being a test engineer, facing integrated circuits for breakfast, talking to them on coded words, on a level that they understand me.
I stayed in my company, you bet, but I couldn’t stop my fingers from hitting on the keyboard in an attempt to save my writer alter ego. So, after a brain-draining day, I would always write on my blog until I discovered that I could get paid for my writing. It was a prestige that I am not willing to keep to myself. I read more blogs, fished for more employees while keeping my day job. My personal blog transitioned into a Lifestyle and Finance blog. And I don’t know where to place
I have been writing, but I’ve been writing for somebody else. I longed for happy reliefs after a tiring heartfelt entry. I longed for writing for myself. I longed for writing and reading and reading more and writing more about what I have just read and reading more about writing. I longed for this kind of life.
I dream of this life while writing pieces (ie, e-mails) that I am not excited about. Okay, yeah, I often get lost in my thoughts in the office because I can no longer wait for the day when I can say that I’m giving up writing codes for writing on blogs. Repression breeds
Today may not be the day when my adult writer self should be awakened, but I can feel its faint breathing oh so close.
To the man who ran over over my dog with his car, know that the picture you’re seeing in this post isn’t my dog whom you ran over. My dog was (was is difficult) was fluffy white, white pinkish lower lip and eyes so wide and innocent and kiss that could fill up my insides with warmth — warmth that you, I figured, could never ever have experienced. I picked out a dog picture which doesn’t resemble my dog because I still can’t bear to see anyone whose features is as close as my baby’s face and body. Because that would mean imagining her with excruciating pain, broken bones and internal bleeding and gawd that would be freaking hard.
To the man who ran over my dog with his car, know that all I wanted from you was to feel sorry or at least pretend to be sorry. But what you did was tell my mom that a street is no place for dogs. Of course, that’s the case, but we live in a subdivision. In little, narrow streets which you couldn’t speed away that fast. Mom told me she heard a thud and yet, you went ahead. Only if you did stop to look at what you have hit.
To the man who ran over my dog with his car, mom told me she found our baby under our abandoned car across our house, crying of pain, peeing all over the place with her tongue out of her mouth. She got her and did first aid, but she couldn’t help it. Mom didn’t say the word ‘dead’ over the phone. Of course, she wouldn’t. I still have to ask it myself. And when she said yes, I sort of froze and kept asking the details. But, I wasn’t able to sustain it that I have to cry in front of my eight-year old cousin during our supposed to be Mother’s Day out for my aunt and welcome back celebration for me.
To the man who ran over my dog with his car, know that you have broken a mother’s heart and a mother’s bones on Mother’s Day. My mom cried as soon as she heard my voice cracked and my dog had 5 one-month-and-a-half babies, all of whom are orphans now. They must have been missing their mom because my dog was a pretty caring and loving mother to all of her babies. She still cleans her first daughter’s ears even though BamBam, that daughter of hers is already four years old. Mom told me BimBim just sit beside her mom’s body all the time after that incident. And what breaks my heart even more is that thought of how her husband, BoomBoom feels. Gawd, that dog is extremely sensitive and I bet he knew what went wrong. He knew that the love of his life wouldn’t be there with him on the coming days.
To the man who ran over my dog with his car, know that you have taken away one of my life’s inspirations. That I would forever be longing of my dog’s kiss when I’ll be coming home next week. What’s left of BimBim’s kiss is a dew on top of the plants on the soil that she was buried under. She wouldn’t be there coming all over me when I’ll enter the gate next week. She wouldn’t be there hiding at he back of our house during Christmas Eve this December because she’s afraid of all those firecracker noises. She wouldn’t be there to take care of her kids. She wouldn’t be there to make my BoomBoom happy. She wouldn’t be there to give birth to new puppies who have been making our friends lives a stretch happier.
To the man who ran over my dog with his car, I got her five years ago and I even let her sit beside my during one of my review classes. I got her for BoomBoom. But you ended her life in a matter of minutes. You took her away from us without being sorry for us.
To the man who ran over my dog with his car, people I care about tell me that I could just go buy another dog, but no. Nobody is irreplaceable. Just like your wife. Just like your kids. An animal cannot be replaced with another animal because one creature is a person of his own. I wish you treat dogs like humans because they get hurt, feel emotions, eat like we do, breathe like we do, they could die and they could be loved. Loved by people and animals alike around them. So, don’t go acting like you haven’t killed somebody because you actually did. Without being sorry.
To the man who ran over my dog with his car, if you ever run over another dog the next time, at least fucking say sorry or just pretend that you are. Your lack of compassion has made my baby angel a little more human than you can ever be.
Photo Credit: Flickr
So because going back to old twitter posts is some kind of difficult, I am to compile my best tweets. Of course, they’re judged by me, nonetheless.
Gawd, I need to read. I write so much better when I read novels. But tell me how can I squeeze all the things that I want to do in a day?
— Aiza C. (@aizanity) April 8, 2014
There are many ideas going on in my mind right now. On days like this, I want to go home, walk straight into my room and just write.
— Aiza C. (@aizanity) April 8, 2014
Before I go on with what I envisioned to be an eye-opener, hope-giving article, I would like to ask you one question. Are you truly, madly, passionately in love with your day job, the work-life balance it gives you, the monetary benefits you get from it, the social benefits that comes along with it and the co-workers you interact with everyday? If yes, you may skip this article. If not, the darling, by all means, proceed.
I urge you to have a life outside of your day job. If you feel so grumpy on mornings, especially on Monday mornings, that you literally drag yourself into the shower. If you just got in your office and wished it was 5pm already. If lunch is only the time when you are alive in the office. If you dread your boss and your job and you feel you can’t do work for another day anymore. If you keep on dreaming of leaving your current job and pulling up the wittiest I-resign video which you plan to upload on 9Gag.
I urge you to have a life outside of your day job. If you consistently shrug the feeling of guilt for not being there for your wife. Or husband. If you are becoming more intimate with your computer than with your loved ones. When your puppy’s happy, delighted mood is replaced by a sad barking moan when you just walk away after saying hi to him as soon as you got home. When you’d rather do overtime work on the weekends.When you have exactly no idea what your teenage child is doing in school. When you’re just completely unattached with a bunch of people whom you call family.
I urge you to have a life outside of your day job when you feel like you are supposed to have a different job, way way different from your current one. When you think that your college course was a huge mistake. When you feel like a trapped artist in a left-brainers’ world. If you feel like life is unfair because you cannot just do what you love to do. When you feel like changing career or planning on doing so.
I urge you to have a life outside of your day job when you can’t recall the last time you had fun with friends. When the only people you have been talking to were either clients, sponsors, customers, superiors, suppliers and co-workers. When you felt embarrassed that you didn’t know your closest friend already has a baby and you asked her whose baby was she carrying when you bumped into her while on your way to the bank. When the only connection that you have with your friends is Facebook.
I urge you to have a life outside of your day job because what will become of you if right there and then you are stripped off of your day job title? Do you have other things that you can do to keep you busy? Will you still have friends that you can depend on, those who still really care? Do you have other means of acquiring income? How about your health? Did you get a personal long-term healthcare aside from the company health insurance?
I urge you to have a life outside of your day job because what if years have passed you by and life left you old? Can you still do the things that you wanted to do while you were young? Did you get to kiss in Paris or soak up some sun in the Philippines? Did you get to play that Ultimate Frisbee your office friends were raving about? Would you have adventures to tell your grandchildren aside from how you managed to debug a test program during your working days?
I urge you to have a life outside of your day job because life is not revolving on our work alone even though it eats up a third of our day on all weekdays of our lives. We ought to see the world our Creator has made for us to enjoy. We have to nurture relationships and not just start-ups. We have dreams of our own that we have to work on.
I urge you to have a life outside of your day job. You just owe that one to yourself.
I have this realization (read the title) just a few weeks ago when life dropped me off in Limerick since early February with a bunch of people I only saw (not encountered) at work. Actually, life’s not really to blame. Let’s re-target the reason to my employer who sent me off for work here in Ireland. I have to do engineering work with these brilliant Irish guys, some of whom would make total hotties. And I am this Filipino lady who tries her best to walk as fast as she can just to keep up with her Irish counterpart when going to a meeting in another building while having to have the composure to bodily communicate that the 9 degree temperature is not bugging her.
Anyho, we’re getting a little farther from my topic so right now I’ll bring you back to my thoughts of why I feel happy knowing people find me a little cray cray. So, as I have told you, I have not officially talked with these officemates of mine back in the Philippines. I saw their faces, but we’re not even colleagues who share the floors. Imagine the horror of spending three whole months in a foreign country with people you know nothing but names about. I usually feel uncomfortable around new people and I have to adjust to this whole new thing.
But, a few road trips, lunch talks and grocery shopping later, I found myself actually enjoying their company. Although, of course, there are a few things which I find irritating on some. But they’re just purely nitpicks. Tolerable. I always see the good in everybody anyway. Can’t stay upset for long. As I was speaking, my bricks came down. I mean, I talked to them. A pretty lot. I blab and blab about how Frozen, The Little Mermaid and Tangled can be related. I would do little money talks and one time, I have mentioned that I want to retire early and they looked at me like I’m dumb because normal people retire at age 60. (Just an FYI, I’m an Associate Financial Planner, but just for myself and my boyfriend first. Fairly new to this and I find money talks with other people a little hard to pull off.) I insisted that there’s a difference between a geek and a nerd. I told them I felt bad for Jamich, the real-life YouTube stars because Jam, the boy was diagnosed with a stage 4 lung cancer recently and they just shrugged it off because they don’t know Jamich. (You can help Jam here.) They are also reactive when my mood would hit the high scales when a male friend mentioned Pinterest — I always feel a strong connection with social media-savvy people and I never thought that men actually linger on the site. And they kept on repeating my Facebook status (below) which I posted after a trip to Blarney and Cobh. I apparently enjoyed the trip, but I just didn’t show that super ecstatic feeling.
Today, my lips touched a stone many great writers have kissed, my feet walked the same path the last Titanic survivors have trodded. My heart is way too small and too weak for all the world’s wonders.
However, when the group needs somebody to act as the spokesperson, they all look at me. They demand that I use my communication skills. Hey, they’ve never been disappointed. I got them 2 bottles of free soda when I ordered pizza over the phone. I was perceived as a student by the tour bus driver in Dublin and was offered €16.00 for an €18.00 ticket. When I told him that I was no longer a student, he said, “Well, you are a student of life still.” Yeah, so that’s how I got the discount. And they did too. *wink*
Well, I’ve done a lot more things for them to think of me as this quirky, dynamic, audacious, silly, high-pitched girl. I enjoy the title. Because it’s a validation that I see things differently from what normal people see. I have visions that they don’t have. I can trod farther than people who settle to be ordinary because I go over the fence when they think that it’s the border people were not supposed to cross. I see service and happy errands when they see burden. I appreciate the light when they choose to be blinded by it. I find comfort in being called crazy weird. I find it heartwarming when they laugh at my wisecracks. This simply tells me that I am out there to create something, to instigate emotions and to kill the doldrums, to inspire, to open minds to a lot of braingasmic ideas and ideologies.
As Steve Jobs would have put this simply,
Here’s to the crazy ones, the misfits, the rebels, the troublemakers, the round pegs in the square holes… the ones who see things differently — they’re not fond of rules… You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify or vilify them, but the only thing you can’t do is ignore them because they change things… they push the human race forward, and while some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius, because the ones who are crazy enough to think that they can change the world, are the ones who do.
People, sorry not sorry for being a Millennial Hipster.