The Unreachable Star

A Palanca award is like an Oscar to the Filipino writer - it sticks to the winner's name. It announces to writers' circles that this particular writer has arrived. It opens doors to great projects and probably even leads to a book or a movie in the future.

Probably, the only Palanca I'll ever receive in my lifetime is the Palanca letter from my mother, which I got when I attended the Days with the Lord retreat while in law school. Every year, I download the contest rules, toy with the idea of joining, and then decide not to. It's Palanca season once again and I actually could have found the time to write, except I have not been in the right mood to do so for the past decade.

Perhaps I have made this writer's block get in the way, and have not found enough ways to be in touch with my creative side. My writer-friends say that they submit entries to the Palancas even if they don't win, as it is good exercise to prepare and polish one or several pieces of writing. I wish them all the best.

I am too lazy, uninspired, and scared to take the plunge. Until then I will remain unknown and unskilled, happy to keep my blogs and journals, and safe from the threat of failure.

Self-Diagnosis: An Exercise in Futility

Last week, I took an online test to determine if I had autism. I really did. I learned from someone with Asperger's Syndrome that such a test was available online, and had always wondered if I had A.S. or something similar. As if it would explain everything that was wrong with me.

My friends in the know would probably laugh this off as another one of my silly ideas. But hey, last Thursday, I had reason to believe that I might be autistic.

Case in point. I helped prepare PowerPoint slides for our scripture study in the parish. Two weeks ago, I was able to set up the LCD projector, although I did not have much time to do it, so the screen was cut off at the bottom. The text was readable and comprehensible enough, so I let it go. I was happy to listen to the lessons in Greek and Paul's Letter to the Galatians.

Last Thursday, however, I got stuck in traffic (story of my life last week) and arrived late. I had mere seconds to set up the presentation. I was confronted with the following problems: the screen was placed at an angle that required the projector to be placed similarly from a particular angle, which it was not. Now, I count visual art, geometry and physics as some of my weaknesses, and no way in the world could I make the projector work properly given that angle and the milliseconds to go before bible class had to start.

Next, the Sanyo projector actually had a loose cable that unplugged it at the slightest movement. Did I mention that I had to find the right angle for the whole picture to appear on screen? Every time it got unplugged, therefore, it decided that it had to cool down for a few minutes, and then restart. Every single time. And it happened almost five times, to my growing dismay, irritation, and frustration.

When the thing finally worked, the screen was cut in half. I could only read "atians" instead of "Galatians" from the title. I had a stiff neck because the screen image was tilted. And I was operating the clicker as Fr. Steve went on to start without the LCD. Nobody could appreciate the text on screen anymore. Fr. Steve was right; we had handouts and we didn't need the LCD. Technology only slowed us down and made life more complicated.

What made it even worse was that the lesson about faith and salvation was so difficult for me to grasp, and I could not follow it. I had a frown for an hour, which caused me a headache. I lacked sleep, I had a long day at work, and I traveled for two hours to get home, so all these things affected my mood.

I was not happy. I kept thinking, Oh no, all the nuns and my Bible Study classmates must think I'm a moron for not being able to make this work. One nun, God bless her, approached me afterwards and said she understood my difficulty, and it was not my fault. The projector had to be set up permanently. The table we were using was not suited for the purpose. She was right; for it could not even fit both the MacBook and the projector. She offered to help. I wanted to hug her.

So I thought I was not normal for insisting that we still use the projector; and I was not normal for being distracted and irritated that the screen was partially hidden from view; and I was not normal for being so worried about what my classmates thought instead of listening to the theological points raised at class.

But then I flunked the test. Miserably. I did not have A.S., according to my computer screen. Well, that figures. A person with A.S., usually possessing superior or even better I.Q., could make something as simple as a PowerPoint presentation work properly. And I with my normal IQ, low AQ and EQ, just had to deal with life with more patience and perseverance.

My office mate suggested taking an online test for OCD (Gee, thanks Twix!). I found out that OCD and OCPD were two separate things. I didn't seem to fit any category. But what do I know? Maybe what I need, really, is professional help (Tina, you can say I told you so). Someone who can tell me what's wrong with me, and help make it right.

In the meantime, I vowed to go to class extra early next week, and employ other people to set up the projector. Yes, I have not let that frustration go yet. (Perfectionism: there it is. The answer to the question.)

I'm. Too Lazy for My Blog.

Too lazy for my blog, so lazy, it hurts.

Time was when I wanted to document everything I did so I could share it with my readers. All five of them. But then Facebook and Twitter came and I turned to microblogging. Excuses, excuses.

This year is whizzing by so fast that I've hardly had time to pause and reflect. It's been one project, meeting, activity, and errand after another. My friends have not seen me since before Christmas.

But that was my whole game plan for 2010. I wanted to pursue my dreams, finish old projects, and excel in my jobs. All three and a half of them. And so far, so good. It's been an exciting three weeks.

I will be back to the blogging world once my world settles a bit. With midterm exams coming for my students, good luck with that.

Just Say No

I'm like a two-year old with my new favorite word: No. 

I say "No" now even to good things from good people to make up for all the "No's" I should have said since I learned how to say "Yes".

It has surprised some people that I can say No. Yes, I can. I just chose not to before because I thought that was the right thing to do. In saying No now, I'm saying Yes to myself.

I am not talking about drugs, alcohol, or any of those heavy stuff that I have

and will always say No to. Well, alcohol probably to a certain extent, is okay. But this is not about the Seven Deadly Sins or anything like that. This is also not about work. Of course at work, as long as it's part of the penumbra of my job description, I should do it. I don't mind.

These No's I'm now saying refer to the mundane things that people take for granted. I'm now saying Yes to my heart, to my soul, to my conscience, and it means more time to think, 

to breathe, to rest, and to sleep.  

For the longest time I have been a people-pleaser, and it did not help that I had the stuff to pull it off. And it 

amazes me now that supposedly shy people can really be pushy when 

demanding me to do things. "You do it; you're good at it." I have come to hate those words.

But before, I thought it was my God-given duty to play the piano, to sing, to write, to speak, to listen, to organize, to entertain, to pay, to type, to call, to text, to lead, to 

understand, to give, to wait, etc. I also thought it was the most loving thing to do.

So I feel guilty when I say No. I really do. I feel bad. I berate myself. I wonder if I'm worth anything at all, just because I said No.

Lately I've noticed how other people say No without even explaining why, and how 

they get away with it. I want to be able to do that. It's been done to me countless times. "You do it Ella, because nobody else will."

That's not true. Nobody else will do it because I've been asked, expected, or required to do it. And I've always tried to give my best when I say Yes.

I will end by re-posting something that I uploaded to my Facebook account. The PostSecret entry says it all.

The Impatient Patient

On Easter Monday, my officemate and friend dragged me to the Pain & Rehab clinic in Megamall. I still wanted to make excuses not to go, but I could no longer ignore the pain.

After consulting a doctor and going through initial therapy, I confirmed what my Goggle research had revealed a week and a half ago: I had Tennis Elbow. Yes, you read that right, and no, I didn't take up a new sport.

I had been working out with a personal trainer in the gym since middle of last year. After several months of workout, however, I stopped for around six weeks due to the year-end planning schedule at work and the long Christmas break that the government imposed last December. When I returned to the gym last January, my trainer told me I was back to zero as my muscles had already forgotten the strength of yesteryear. I remembered that she led me to use the machines during that session (I added this to absolve her of any negligence). Afterwards, I felt muscle pain for several days, but thought nothing of it as I had gone through that before.

I noticed, however, "recurring pain on the outside of the upper forearm just below the bend of [my] elbow", as accurately described on the website I linked above . Thinking it would go away, I traveled to Cebu, Bohol, Davao, and Tagum, oftentimes lugging around my heavy office laptop bag containing a recently-purchased extended battery, which I woefully found out also meant extended weight. I blogged about that trip here. A couple of weeks later, I went to Bacolod for the IBP National Convention, and thought nothing about lifting heavy suitcases and boxes. On the second night of that trip, I could hardly move my right arm and preferred to stay in the Planta Hotel Centro (this gets five stars, when I get to write a review) rather than explore the Food Trip city I was in.

The pain was too much that it was an effort to pour water from a pitcher. I rested my arm for a day but felt that the pain was just in hiding. I tried to live with it. During Holy Week, I challenged myself to do a Martha Stewart and cleaned out the laundry basket, cooked tomato and tuyo pasta, wiped Pledge on my wooden dresser, applied Kiwi polish to all my office shoes, replaced our bathroom shower curtains and hooks, exterminated all dust bunnies from under my bed, collected stuff to give away from my closet, sterilized sponges and sinks and ovens, descaled the electric water kettle, sorted out the hangers, and stopped only when it was time to go to church.

The result of my superwoman ambitions was a pain on my elbow that made me wince or yelp every time I tried to open a door or lift my arm. So I did go to that dreaded checkup, and I was told to "avoid gripping" or "anything that causes pain" for four to six weeks. I was given a 45-minute therapy program that I had to go to three times a week. I gulped. Not only was I impatient when it came to repeated activities, I also hated waiting in line, and that clinic had some serious lines after office hours.

The doctor explained that tendons don't heal easily due to poor blood circulation. I humored him and my kind therapist and agreed to come back "as often as I could", but inwardly I just planned to apply the anti-inflammatory gel prescribed and to do the exercises taught me.

Now I'm realizing that I grip a lot on a daily basis. I have to make a conscious effort to open jars using my left hand, to ask for help when opening the gate, to avoid cooking and laundry (two of my favorite chores!), and to sling my bag on my left shoulder. A friend, who had gone through worse pain, encouraged me that going through therapy was good for me.

I hope I don't become too stubborn so that my elbow would heal. And I hope to apply the lessons I am learning to other areas that need healing. You know what I mean.

Naulanan vs. Nagpaulan Atbp. Kwento

Assuming I have non-Filipino speaking readers, my apologies but this entry has to be in Filipino.  The meaning would simply be lost if I attempt to translate it.  Anyway this will be very short.

Nilalagnat ako.  Na naman.  Matigas kasi ang ulo ko.  Palaging bilin ng Tatay ko na huwag na huwag akong magpapaulan.  Kasi raw, magkakasakit ako.

Ang katwiran ko naman, bakit yung mga batang naliligo sa ulan, nagkakasakit ba sila pagkatapos?  May kaibigan nga akong hindi Pilipino, sa bansa raw nila walang ganung konsepto.  Kaya hindi siya takot maulanan.  Pero dahil Pilipino raw ako, papayungan niya ako. 

Sa maraming dahilan, sakitin ako pag tag-ulan.  Sipon, ubo, sakit ng ulo, trangkaso.  Pero hindi naman ako laging nauulanan.  Hawa-hawa lang siguro.  Baka kulang sa tulog.  Baka kulang sa vitamin C.  Baka kulang sa TLC.  Baka kulang sa pansin.

Kahapon, puyat at pagod ako, at late sa pupuntahan, kaya pagkatapos kong iparada ang sasakyan, hindi na ako nagdala ng payong.  Nakalimutan kong malayu-layo pala ang lakad.  Hindi ko napansing maulap.  Ganun talaga pag nagmamadali.  Sa dami ng dala ko, may naiwan pa rin ako.

Pagkalipas ng dalawang oras, hindi na ako makalabas.  Isang oras na raw umuulan at baha na sa kalyeng pinaradahan ko.  Maraming taong naghihintay sa may pinto nung building ng gym.  Nagtanong ako sa mamang guard kung pwedeng manghiram ng payong.  E medyo pagod siguro si bosing, nasungitan ako.  "Wala kaming payong", sabi niya.

"Wala kaming payong", sabi rin nung babaeng guard na katabi niya, kahit hindi ko naman siya tinatanong.  

Tumayu-tayo pa rin ako sa lobby at naghintay na tumila ang ulan.  Meron pa kasi akong isang pupuntahan.  At inis na inis ako sa sarili ko kung bakit iniwan ko ang dalawang jacket at dalawang payong ko sa kotse.  

Ilang minuto na, sige pa rin ang buhos ng ulan.  Yung tipong puti na ang kapaligiran sa lakas niya.  Tumatalsik kaya naglalampaso na ang janitor ng building para hindi madulas ang mga tao.  Tumataas na rin ang tubig.

At umandar ang tigas ng ulo ko.  Naisip ko, ulan lang iyan.  Hindi dapat matakot sa ulan.

Kaya, hindi ako nagpaulan.  Passive iyon e, parang wala kang kinalaman at basta nangyari na lang.

Ang tawag dun sa ginawa ko, sumugod sa ulan. May determinasyon.  May purpose.  Palaban.  Pasugod.  Maliit na tuwalya lang ang tinakip ko sa bumbunan ko.

Basa ako hanggang medyas.  Buti waterproof ang bag ko.  Dri-fit ang suot ko.  Pero, basang sisiw ako pagdating sa kotse.  Ang masaklap, hinabol pa ako ng parking attendant at siningil ng trenta pesos.  Binuksan ko ang bintana at naulanan ang loob ng kotse.

Pagdating ko sa kainan, umorder ako ng mainit na calamansi juice.  Kasi parang masarap yun para sa nararamdaman ko, maginaw na hindi ko maintindihan.

Ang masaklap, paggising ko kaninang umaga, masakit ang ulo ko, may ubo na ako, at nangangati ang lalamunan ko.  Hindi yata't totoo, na magkakasakit na ako?  Kung ganon, kasalanan ko ba ito?

Pumunta ako sa Ateneo kasi may prayer workshop para dun sa retreat na sinalihan ko.  Okey naman ako maghapon, andun ang simptomas pero pwedeng hindi pansinin.

Pag-uwi ko sa gabi, sabi ko sa Nanay ko parang mainit.  Katapat ko ang bentilador.  Kapapatay lang ng aircon.  Tiningnan niya ako sa mata tapos hinawakan sa braso, tapos sa leeg.  

Pagkatapos noon, narinig ko ang sentensya na naniniwala lang ako kapag nanggaling sa ina, "Anak, mainit ka.  Nilalagnat ka."

Mainit ako.  Nilalagnat.  Maysakit.  At hindi yata ito nangyari lang sa akin basta.  Parang... kasalanan ko ito.  

O, mabigat na salita naman ang kasalanan.  Wala naman akong nilabag sa Sampung Utos.  Siguro mas tama kung sasabihin ko na lang na may kinalaman ako sa pagkakasakit ko.  

Pero totoo nga ba iyon, na kapag nauulanan ang tao, nagkakasakit?

Paano kung hindi siya naulanan, kundi nagpaulan?  Ano'ng tawag dun?

Tsk tsk.  Baka... katangahan.

Matutulog na nga ako.  Sakit ng ulo at katawan ko eh.  Atbp.

Just So You Know

Ella is currently out on a two-week trip. Her irregularly-updated column will be back whenever she finds the fortunate combination of time, inspiration, and Internet access.

Please pray for our safe travel and for a smooth, tangle-free conference. Thanks!

Fewer Words; More Meaning

I've been accused of keeping another blog where I lived a different life. Sometimes that's true, except both are fed to my Multiply site.

I did some Haiku practice, or whatever this is. It’s been years since freshman English class.

1. Oh my no means yes;

The lightning should have warned you.

Believe what you must.

2. You step on damp grass,

Walking away forever.

I watch you leave me.

3. Breath of your release,

The night wind blows you away.

I have words unsaid.

4. Another you next time.

He will listen; he will stay:

Then I must be there.

The Excuse for Not Writing Here

I started this blog thinking I needed another outlet for my idle mind, but shortly afterwards I started on a project that involved traveling and writing. I realized I could not write about what I did, because almost all the experiences I went through had to go to the website I was helping to build, and my blogs could only catch the leftovers, so to speak.

I used to be a voracious reader, but after entering law school where we were made to read reams of photocopied material every week, I had little energy left to devote to bedtime reading.

My mom, a piano teacher, is sensitive to noise and hardly listens to the radio. She says after listening the whole day to all sorts of sounds from her students, her ears needed to rest. Papa would be the one to play records (before) and CD's of his favorite classical tunes. About the only time Mama listens to the radio is when she irons clothes on Sundays.

So now that I have to write for a living, I'm finding it hard to write for leisure.

That's my excuse.