Christ the King Columbarium. Photo by CallMeCreation.com
Today is my uncle’s inurnment, roughly three years after he suddenly died of suspected Covid during the early days of the pandemic. Almost all his surviving siblings came, so a number of my cousins were there, too.
From our departure from my apartment to Christ the King Seminary that is 15 minutes away, I saw the trees shedding their leaves and the branches have become bare. Dried leaves have been floating around, riding the wind. It’s the signal that the long hot and dry season is upon us. The trees have prepared for the dry spell; by late April and May, they will be a riot of colors as they show off their blooms.
In the garden, in the middle of the Christ the King Columbarium. Photo by CallMeCreation.com
“Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”
My uncle has become dust while the world around us continues with the cycle of life. Leaves are dying so enough resources can be channeled by the trees into producing flowers and then the seeds may be spread before the rainy season starts, to nurture new life.
We die in different ways. There are times that our bodies have died and given up the ghost, so that the spirit can continue to live. There are times when our bodies continue to live even if our spirits have died. How do we then go on?
We just…go on…and continue with the cycle of life. We have lost our leaves and we can channel our remaining energy into planting seeds so we may live another life.
My time in this apartment is up and I’m closing this chapter in my life. I have loved, lived, and died in this home so I have planted my seeds elsewhere. Like the sturgeon and salmon, I’m going back to where I came from to give new life to my spawns while I…
I don’t know.
Maybe like the salmon, I will go back to where I came from to die. Or be like the sturgeon, I will live to a hundred even after spawning. I have no idea what I will be; all I know is that my 5 years in this apartment are enough and it’s time to leave behind the ghosts of the past. This apartment always reminds me that I was not good enough.
My new home, on the other hand, is a reminder that I am good. That I am enough. No one will treat me like dirt because I am not good enough. In this new life that I have planted, no one is allowed to treat me like dirt again. And before I become dust, I vow that I will live my life with dignity and grace.
Kimchi occupying the best seat in the house. Photo by CallMeCreation.com
I don’t understand myself; the entire day I was just procrastinating and I couldn’t push myself to write the trend/analysis piece due this week. I spent almost the entire day reading the Alexander McQueen/John Galliano biographies (still not done with the book) and the reviews of Prince Harry’s tell-all book, Spare (<<< it is so talked about that even The Economist weighed in, that’s why I started reading about it).
It was only at 8:30 pm did I begin finishing the trend/analysis piece. By 10:30 pm I was done.
Writers do have strange writing hours. I’m not one to write during the early hours. However, there are some writers who are so disciplined that they can block time for writing (like JK Rowling). When I was still in the faster news cycle phase (during my newspaper and online news/TV network days), I could sit down and write in a snap. Not so much nowadays. Age? Or maybe because I have a slower news cycle; the things I write are no longer the by-the-hour kind of stories.
I’ve had some wins today. My APAC boss agreed with my 8-point action plan for staffing and salary review. FINALLY, there will be a salary review and we would have raises. It was a gutsy move on my part and I was in danger of alienating my bosses. Internship for undergrads has not been successful at the parent company-level so I may have an uphill battle regarding this item. I have to check out the hiring process for graduating communication students in SG, among other things.
As for the jarring events of today, the diesel engine calibration center where I brought my car yesterday called me. I have to fork out PHP 50k for the overhaul of my engine (after having a calibration two years ago, in January 2021). I brought my car to Ishimoto (which is advertised as a specialist in Japanese diesel engines), thinking that they would do a thorough job. As far as I know Isuzu’s diesel pumps are made by Bosch, so might as well go to the brand specialist. I thought of having my car’s diesel engine re-calibrated because its exhaust has become black again and I don’t want to flunk my emission test prior to registering my car with the Land Transportation Office.
Along A. Bonifacio Drive in QC, near Balintawak. Photo by CallMeCreation.com
But there you go, I will be 50k poorer. It was like being punched in the stomach since I’m still periodically writing checks to my contractor. I am scheduled to issue another check this month 🥴
Hopefully, the next re-calibration will be done after five years, not two years. Initial reason given to me by the secretary is that usually engines like mine are overhauled when these get fed with contaminated diesel. I told her, it’s annoying because I only load it with the higher end diesel like the Petron Turbo or Shell V-Power Diesel after the 2021 calibration (even during the height of the diesel price spikes). 😤
I would get the full picture once I claim my car on Friday when I talk to the engine mechanic.
For some reason that I haven’t asked yet, a friend sent me this hugot this morning:
I told her, it was a hard lesson I learned in the past two years. This is why I learned to love myself more. To listen to myself more, and never second-guess myself anymore. I told her, this is why I adopted the things written in this card below:
There is something fundamentally wrong with how media and literature portray love. Like making yourself into a doormat will give you happiness, bring you to happily ever after. Like there is something noble about continuously fighting for love when that person will never love you back, when he didn’t in the first place.
Wrong. There are things that you just have to give up on and this above is one of those.
To regain my self-confidence and reinforce this self-love, I am reminding myself this quote everyday:
I am more than what he thought I was. I am worth more than what I thought I was worth. I may be lacking in some departments but that shouldn’t diminish who I am and what I offer. Too bad, he didn’t see that before because I can be more as I mature and learn.
To the person who I will meet in the future, I will be a rose that will bloom if I am loved for the sum of my parts, no ifs and buts. I will be the sun to his clouds; I will be rain to his desert. I will be the brightest star in his darkest nights, the moonlight that will lead him back home.
Our enormous shopping bag and Twin A. Photo by CallMeCreation.com
My girls are growing exponentially.
They have already outgrown their new clothes–even if the ones we bought already had been one size bigger–only a few months after we bought them. 🥴 We culled the clothes that no longer fit (and there were a lot) and I realized that we needed to buy new of everything, from underwear to pants.
So went clothes shopping again today.
We just took Grab because my car was stuck in the garage because our neighbor’s other car was behind it and the entire family was out. There was no way I can get it out. Good thing that traffic was light; it only took us 10-15 mins from our apartment to the nearest SM.
Late lunch-early dinner of sukiyaki at Botejyu. I don’t know why they serve kimchi but, ok, if that’s how you roll, then fine. Photo by CallMeCreation.com
I told my mom a few days ago about this constant growth spurts and said, “Oh yes. That stage where children are growing like blow-up balloons.” Her tone was like “glad I’m no longer in your shoes haha.”
My little ladies.
I’m so thankful that I can provide for their needs as a solo parent. I get zero financial help from their dad.
I’m just thankful I survived this year, just like I did in 2021, when I was just holding on. This year was a vast improvement over 2021 but it was still a struggle. I had to confront so much trauma to the point I had to continue taking tranquilizers to stabilize my trauma-induced anxiety. So that I could sleep. Staying weekends by the seaside and by the forest (my hometown) helped adjust my body clock as well. I had so much unpacking to do the entire 2022.
I remember in December 2020, around this time (specifically, I wrote on 26th of December) that I don’t know where I was going, but it’s ok.
It’s ok not to know what’s at the end of the bridge. For me it’s the journey over the bridge that’s most important. Make every little thing count. Enjoy the beauty in the simplest things: Preparing meals for my family. Watching sunsets. Watching the sunlight being filtered by my bedroom curtain while I am tucked between the sheets. Hearing my children’s squeals of laughter. Being by the sea and under the sea. Going up hills and mountains. Walking among flowers in Hitachi. Going to onsens. Taking hours-long train rides to somewhere. Discovering the best teppanyaki in the middle of nowhere in rural Japan. Walking around UP Diliman campus. Petting my cats. Sipping coffee in a coffee shop while I write or watch people. Writing.
Two years after, my words still hold true. I don’t know where I’m going but it’s ok. I am enjoying the simplest things still. I am enjoying the domesticity and at the same time I am still excited by my work: meeting new people, being challenged intellectually, and learning new things everyday. I’m not getting rich but I have more than enough. At least I have a home now and building more permanence for my kids. I am giving them a sense of belonging, like a warm hug that greets you every time you come home from roaming around. So that they will have roots and something to anchor them when they drift away from me someday. Even when I’m gone, they will still have a home and it’s theirs. No one can take that away from them. They will have always somewhere to come home to when they need to hide and lick their wounds and retrace their steps back into the wide world.
I wrote on 27 December that my simple dream was to build a small house or a cottage by the sea.
Anyway, I still hold that dream of living small by the sea. I’ve always wanted to live by the sea or by the mountains (I grew up by the foot of Mt. Makiling so it makes sense). Since I was a child, we always went to the beach at least once a year. My love for the sea is coupled with my interest in snorkeling and now freediving.
I never wanted to live in a big house. I’m a simple provinciana girl who just wants to manage a small but comfortable household; a small homestead growing our own food and keeping a few animals. I want to live sustainably. A cottage by the sea is perfect. I never tire of sunsets by the sea; it’s one of the most beautiful things to witness in life. Staring at the horizon, wondering what’s beyond it. Hearing the splash of water against the shore is calming at night, rocking me to sleep.
I am fulfilling that dream now. It’s not by the sea, though, but it can come later. At least I have checked that one item on my list. One step at a time.
This year I rediscovered that I could still draw. I wish the circumstances were different, of how I went back to it but…oh well. 🤷♀️
Am I healed? Not yet, I guess. I’m still angry. But I’m healthier in a way that I no longer get triggered (*fingers crossed*). I haven’t cried since February. And I promised myself I never will cry over that person. Ever.
So this year I climbed the ladder. Do I want it? I don’t know. Well, the pay raise was nice but I’m still severely underpaid compared to peers in the same position (thank you, ex-boss, for suppressing me like that). I’m still fighting for it, though. Let’s see how I can push the envelope this coming review.
Let me start off by saying I needed a drink to write this down because this entails eviscerating myself.
I had a long chat over Messenger this afternoon with my friend (friendship dating back when we were 9-10 years old), about family (I know her entire family and their quirks and the generational issues) and how far we have come from where we were 2 years ago. It would be her supposed wedding anniversary tomorrow while it would be my 2nd year as a dumpee.
She told me about how her ex-husband just trashed all the things she has done for him, how she supported him when he had nothing, how she lifted him up because she loved him. However, he said he is happier without her. His insecurities led him to cheating and choosing women who would make him look good because he is superior over them vs my friend who is an overachiever.
I told her, unfortunately, the value you put in all of the things you gave him is not the same value for him–if he valued it at all. That’s how the world works, especially with narcissists, and with her ex-husband, he thought that what she did for him was an obligation and/or he was entitled to it, therefore, has zero value at all.
I told my friend, it’s just like when we adopted this niece (from a cousin) and she lived with us throughout her college life. We treated her like a sister, like a daughter. Then now she talks shit about us, especially on social media. We don’t know what we did to her to earn her hatred but at least she could have just shut up, in deference to how we treated her, right? My older sister said, apparently the value we gave to how we offered her a home and how we made an effort to make her an immediate family to us was zero for her. There are just people who are like that. I’m still hurting over that but what can I do, right?
Just the same with her ex-husband and just the same with my ex.
I remember right after J threw me off the balcony exactly two years ago from tomorrow, I had an interview with a company owner in Thailand he introduced to me. I think we set the interview in early January. That said, my interviewee enjoyed our conversation so much that we had two interview sessions. I took the opportunity to promote J as a good advisor that he should hire. He got so much boost from me—me being stupid, thinking that it was my last act of love towards somebody who I eventually discovered was screwing me over for a very long time, even from the beginning.
What a fool I was.
I thought I had forgiven him. Apparently no.
Because I dreamed about him this morning, but this time, in my dream I was in a quandary about how to kick him out of my house. We just got off the car and he was going ahead of me in some conference we were both supposed to attend. I whispered to a friend that I “still couldn’t do it, you know kicking him out,” but I know I had too because he was already treating me badly and was sucking out my light. The dream ended there.
So my dream was like an allegory of my anger that I still harbor and couldn’t still let go of. I haven’t forgiven him. I don’t want to label this as hate because I don’t want him to have that kind of power over me…because the opposite of love is not hate but indifference. Oh I wish to God that I’m already indifferent but I recognize that it is a long process and it’s not easy.
If I were a horrible, vindictive human being, I could have destroyed him because we move in a world where a good reputation is the most important thing, especially if you’re after contracts and high quality networks. This is very much true if you don’t have much of a track record compared to others in the same space. But I just said to myself, I won’t stoop to that level and just let the universe do its thing. Karma comes back biting your ass, I believe.
Besides, he has already destroyed himself within my network by his own doing, dallying with that ex-reporter girl. He underestimated my network, how far my arms can reach, what my ears can hear. He can no longer use my network even if I chose to be quiet because that’s the most dignified thing to do. I just let the universe do its thing.
I was used and I realize now that was from the very beginning. I took it hook, line, and sinker. I believed what I wanted to believe and ignored the red flags. He used baits like “Will you give me a home?” schtick so that I would give him everything that I had, believing he really wanted to be with me. I accepted him for what he was and when he was at his lowest, I tried to give him the world, with all that I had. I supported him with everything—moral, financial, professional…
I recognize and experience that relationships sour and breakups happen. But what I found unacceptable to me were the deceit and the lies. The way he treated me especially in the end. And what makes this healing difficult is that I am trying to live my life quietly but things still come unraveling to me even until February-March this year, about 14-15 months after the breakup. Like, what the fuck?! What did I do to deserve this?! He just kept throwing all these curve balls on purpose. Typical narc.
All I did was to love unconditionally, but loved the wrong person. Very wrong person. Now I don’t have anything left to give to anybody and I don’t think I have the energy and love left. I realized that love is not infinite.
So healing is not linear. You go take one step forward, two steps back many times in the course of this wretched stage. At the same time you are forced to “adult”. If I were still a theater actress now, I know I would be able to bring more depth and gravity to the characters I will play because I finally know now how it is to die and come back from the dead. Well, for me that’s how the past two years felt like. I died and come back from the dead several times.
Through this past two years, I learned how invaluable professional therapy is. Not just the woo woo group therapy (those New Agey things). You know, grief messes you up and chemically, your body changes and it short-circuits you. As my doctor said, it’s trauma and left unaddressed, the short-circuiting continues. Long Covid didn’t help either. Depression and anxiety are not trivial. It’s not a sign of being weak and/or lack of faith in God. Some people are predisposed to it due to heredity, environment, and/or it’s just how they tick. I realized that I’m an empath and I absorb the slings and arrows of everything and everyone around me–that’s why I have the double whammy. Artists (even not good artists like me) are prone to such things—the twin evil named depression and anxiety. That’s where we get our mojo. That’s why I could draw better when I was down and out. I could write the most heartfelt piece when I hurt. We draw our power from our gut and as a consequence we expose our innards only to get bruised more.
J may not understand what I went through and would think that I had just been melodramatic if he only knew (so that’s why it was really better for me to be scarce and disappear), but that again boils down to how differently we valued the relationship and one another. To him, I was just a tool and a means for him to reach his goals, one step at a time; for me, he was my world—at that time. So again, he would never understand.
So in summary, the past two years had been a long difficult process. It was walking through fire barefoot. It was like having an odontectomy but local anesthesia does not work (and yes, this literally happens to me). It was like battling with a Balrog in the depths of Moria, dying and coming back as a white Maiar, bleached by pain and death.
But bouncing back as a more powerful wizard.
I have found my inner strength and a new-found love for myself. I had found my voice again.
I may not be shiny and effervescent like those big-boobed women who go bar-hopping and post their night life on social media to prove that they have attractive, “meaningful” lives. I am also not a high-powered woman executive that command thousands of people with a snap of her fingers.
I am just me.
I can be charming if I wanted to be. I am intelligent and there are no dull conversations with me, if I wanted to. But most importantly, I can offer a warm home with lots of love and care, where someone can belong and grow roots. Because anywhere with me is home—that’s the best I can give to anyone.
And J just doesn’t appreciate that. He is the wrong person.
Soon, I would just wake up and say, “Who was he again?” That’s the best indication of indifference I hope to achieve.
I’m on a mission to fix broken things, saving things worth saving.
Like for example my printer. It was working the entire year after I bought it in December 2020 and the black cartridge became shot because of the printing job I did last Friday. 72 pages of complaint/petition. I went to Greenhills this afternoon to have it fixed and et voila! It was clogged with cars. Like inflation didn’t climb to its highest level in 14 years and people are still shopping like there’s no tomorrow.
People on a shopping galore. Photo by CallMeCreation.com
Greenhills gives me the chills. I’m always reminded of my #$%$#%^&*(* ex because we were often there to have his laptop or mini-PC fixed. Or to buy his Gundams. Or to meet for the weekend so he can drop off his laundry at my apartment—never I get invited over that condo we leased together. Probably the slut was already sleeping over there. Then I remember the time I went to Greenhills to order the girls’ new PCs and I was supposed to go to his condo to bring him some stuff and I was thinking of spending the night there. Then he got unreasonably angry because I was going there when he clearly said he won’t be there because he was supposedly meeting somebody in Megamall or something.
That was…that tore me apart.
So Greenhills is still a sore point with me, two years after.
I’m still fixing myself, getting back my self-esteem and confidence. Trying to forgive myself for letting myself be used in so many ways. Trying to forgive myself for ignoring red flags that this person is horrible.
No person has broken me more than him. Not even the girls’ dad.
I don’t want to encounter J ever again. Ever.
Part of fixing myself is trying to get back in shape. I got stalled during my holiday because I got sick. Then I lazy because…I was I was dealing with a storm and a roller coaster of emotions.
Because I was off from my workouts for a week, I got bloated again. Now I wonder if I could still fit in my dresses that I was thinking of wearing for the cocktails event in Singapore that our company is sponsoring.
Which reminds me that I should look at new clothes to bring to Singapore when I go to Makati on Tuesday for a meeting.
Still on the topic of fixing, I am fixing our lives (after the hiccup with J) by building our future, which includes my new tiny house. While I was in Greenhills, I saw the new area where the furniture and home decor stalls relocated. I checked out some lighting fixtures and…
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Photo by CallMeCreation.com
For some reason I want to hang this in my bathroom. The store owner said this was really meant for a bedroom but people had been telling her they were going to install it in their bathrooms, too. She just couldn’t get why. I don’t understand it either but it looks just right for a ridiculously decked out bathroom.
And the funny thing here is my bathroom is just condo-sized.
There is more space beyond that annoying post and beam that we could not move. My contractor said he will just disguise the post by making concrete shelves.Photo byCallMeCreation.com
To make this more over-the-top, the bathroom door is hardwood–the former bedroom door.
Then I saw this, which was prettier and cheaper than the ones from Ikea.
I’d like this to hang over the dining table. Photo by CallMeCreation.com
I just need to send these photos over to my contractor. I think he will have a heart attack when he sees the chandelier. HAHAHAHAHAHA!
And finally, I am trying to fix the broken water system of my hometown.
We arrived at the office of the water utility before 10 am. I didn’t tell the people here that I was bringing along the local broadcast network with me to document the entire thing as a payback for snubbing their invitation to guest on their show because they wanted answers why we are so fucked up.
I also didn’t tell the company that I was bringing the GM of the water district—the government-owned company that was part of the JV and part regulator (yeah, the set-up is messy and I will try to get to the bottom of this).
Only when we were seated did I tell them that the crew I had with me were part of the local broadcasting station.
Long story short—they don’t have any disaster SOPs in place, to capex plans, no systems in place. NOTHING. No record of improvements on infra, NOTHING. Except for this newly constructed office, which I learned was built at the height of the pandemic. Sneakily.
New office of the water utility. Photo by CallMeeCreation.com
I could no longer recount what I said and what others had said because it triggers me so much. My sister, who is a climate change disaster mitigation and adoption expert, asked questions that they could not answer—very important points that every utility and local governments must address.
The GM and the community relations manager (the husband and wife tandem) couldn’t say anything. They knew they were fucked. And it’s all being recorded.
It will be aired tomorrow. Then I will share the broadcast to anyone who would care.
They didn’t know what hit them.
I’ve been in this business for long time and I wouldn’t survive it if I haven’t learned how to be crafty, sharp, and always on my toes. Journalism is a mind game. My guide has been the 48 Laws of Power, which has taught me how to handle people and how to approach people who are higher in stature than me. I have to be two steps ahead of my interviewee and of the principal characters in the stories I am pursuing.
This is why I like strategy games.
In the meantime, I need to rid myself of bad jujus because some heavy work load is ahead of me this week. I’m scheduled to present to the commercial team on Thursday, showdown with a conglomerate (that is part of the water JV of my hometown) on Wednesday, and meeting on Tuesday.
Sigh. *pat on my back*
Everything will be all right. I’m doing good. —> I need to assure myself or else I will crumble with stress.
