I’m unemployed, but my body clock is still wired, so I still wake up early. But after breakfast, I walk the Li’l Bastard. I love how I can sleep a couple of hours more before lunchtime, and doze off again for siesta afterwards. Then the drowsy side effect of my ARVs help get me to bed early, earlier than usual even. So I’m truly enjoying my break from work. I may be enjoying it too much. As much as I’m enjoying being a bum, I don’t really want to get used to this.
So this early, barely a week since my unemployed status, I’m keeping myself on my toes, thinking about what career paths I could consider in the next phase of my life. Truth be told, I have a lot of options. Only because I’ve done a whole spectrum of things in the . And in a world that demands a master-of-one, I’ve learned to embrace the jerk-of-all-trades in me. Let’s see, what are my “trades”?
I like telling stories. Okay, let’s qualify that statement. Yes, I may flunk in interpersonal skills, bordering on anti-social, and I’d rather take the non-confrontational communication in the form writing. I tell my stories in a written form. And status quo would declare that I milk this love for the language and stay a writer. Oh heavens if I could couple that with my love for adventure and become a travel writer… I’ve been lucky enough to have met one, and boy, did I envy his job.
I love sex. There, I said it. I love sex. But I doubt if there are any job openings for sex educators. I remember back in college how I loved seeing raids on callboys, macho dancers and toreros. Rather than thinking “Shame on you!”, I’d have “Darn, why can’t I do that?!” running through my head. It just seemed like a logical thing for me. They say do what you love, right? But then that’s the extreme that I may do even without the monetary returns. And that won’t pay the bills.
I am organized. Fine, I was being politically correct. I am almost obsessive-compulsive. I hate clutter, and love having a place for everything and everything in its place. I’ve actually been able to use all that to my advantage when I was doing admin work at a previous job. Files and materials were neat and orderly, saving on both time and space. And the ultimate sign you could make a living out of being OC? When you’re better at organizing other people, than you are at organizing yourself. Hehe.
I like working with my hands. And I’m not talking about sex at all. I have unleashed the inner “er” in me more than a handful of times before. From plumbing, to painting, to building, to gardening. But I would love to use my OC side as well, and do organizing through custom closets. Yes, I have considered taking up carpentry courses at TESDA a while back. And yes, if I were to turn it into a business, it would have to be called Back in the Closet. Interesting…
I have a visual logic. And although I’m a self-learned designer, I have been able to use that in previous tasks, doing brochures, presentations, branding, layouts, websites, cards, and so on. I don’t even remember how I learned to use Photoshop, for heaven’s sake. I’m not sure I’m skilled at it either. I just discover things as I go. But it works. And coming from a design firm with real graphic designers, while I learned a lot, I know I have more to learn.
I love numbers. I do. I love how, with numbers, there’s only a right and a wrong. No subjective, just objective. That’s the logic and the geek in me speaking. Again, this has been something I’ve used before, doing everything from feasibility studies to accounting. Add to that how I’ve been known to be the Excel nerd, oh, heaven. Rows and columns of integers and decimals to sort and sum, all give me pure orgasmic pleasure... Oops, sorry, I got carried away.
So there. I’m overwhelmed, and this is just the tip of the iceberg. As much as I would love to jump on the first job vacancy that comes along, I am unfortunate to have a brain that works this way. So many options, so many factors, so many decisions. And even more unfortunate, even as a self-confessed jerk-of-all-trades, the one thing I don’t believe I’m very good at, is making decisions. Ugh. Wish me luck.
Friday, February 04, 2011
Work It, Jerk
Monday, January 31, 2011
Going Down with the Ship
I’ll have a lot more time for reading. I’ll have a lot more time for sleeping. I won’t exactly have a lot more room in my closet. But I can now stay out all night long if I feel like it. IF I feel like it. That’s still one big if.
It’s official. I’m out of a job. I’m now unemployed.
It was in the last quarter of last year that things began to get fishy at work. Certain people were pulled aside, with whom something serious was discussed. The next thing we knew, that same day was to be their last day. They were to be retrenched.
Nope, I wasn’t exactly heaving sighs of relief. Now that was an absolutely demoralizing thing, even for the rest of us who were spared. And deep inside, no pep talk from management could stop us from wondering when the next cut would be, and who would be the next victim.
During the following months, people began resigning one after the other, and for one reason or another. But I’m pretty sure the uncertain future of the company was a factor.
Again, it was difficult working through all the turmoil. And it wasn’t hard to notice how the management wasn’t even trying to replace those who were leaving. This wasn’t just about thinking positive. It was about whether or not we were blind… or even stupid. Still, some of us stood strong - I’d like to believe I was one of them - keeping focus on the tasks at hand, carrying on carrying on.
And then it happened. Apparently, before New Year, the owners decided that was it. They would cease operations. The ship was going down.
I found out unofficially in the first week of January, having had to be told only because it was detrimental to how we would be dealing with existing and potential accounts. It’s just really beyond me as to why they didn’t just spell it all out the first working day of January. Must our agony be delayed? Will it make it easier? Not at all.
Some people who did know about the pending fate of the company became so different at the time. They were less personable, more uncomfortable, not even being able to look into our eyes. Some made themselves less conspicuous in the office, transferring almost altogether to the other side, the sister company. It was funny, it felt like the captain and his staff abandoned ship, but sadly, leaving some of us behind and in the dark, and taking all the lifeboats along with them.
Finally, the second Monday of January, they made the announcement. It was a brief pep talk, but really, not brief enough. At that point, all I really needed to hear was “We’re closing by so-and-so, and we will need everyone to so-and-so before that.”
Slowly, things became clearer. It was our department, the Creatives, which housed the accounts, writers and designers, that was really getting the brunt. And tenure with the company apparently made you even more of a target. Hmm.
I hate that I understand a bit of the business, admin and human resource side of things. That it’s not that easy to close a company. That it’s odd for people being retrenched to be asked to resign. That thirty-days-notice is an absolute number, either it is or it isn’t. That all this could’ve been handled in a better way.
So for the weeks that followed, we were counting down the days. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t demoralizing for me. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel any negativity. I did, I did. But I hope I kept those feelings to myself successfully. As proudly and professionally as I believe anyone could ever manage to, we trudged along, keeping up the level of service to our clients, all while watching the end of an era approach.
And by Friday, the 28th of January, after one last client meeting, we headed back to the office and three of us colleagues, three of us friends, began cleaning out our drawers. No sadness, really. We knew we did our jobs. In fact, that evening, we had a little reunion, where 10 people, who had at one time or another become colleagues at the company, got together again to catch up, this latest milestone as stimulus. A great night of chatting and drinking in the cool breeze and under the night sky.
It was not a bad year-and-a-half to sum up. It was an opportunity that came, enticing enough to draw me away from a previous job I was in for a good five years. It was an almost alien field to start with, and people from whom I learned a lot.
It was the first place where I really saw how one's HIV-status need not be detrimental to one's career. It was an unusual environment, where I may have unexpectedly just met the best straight guy friend I’ll ever have... nope, no sexual tension at all, just a lot of respect regardless of my seemingly differing sexual orientation and HIV-status, all of which he accepted, and despite which, we clicked and made a great team at that.
So for now, with this turn of events, is it an unknown future for me? Not exactly. Uncertain, maybe, but not bleak at all. It’s not like I’m going to go hungry in a day or two. Fortunately, I’m not the type to live a hand-to-mouth existence. I guess my biggest worry, once again, would be the potentially huge change. I still hate change. But then, as long as it’s something I can even try to handle, as much as I tried with this HIV thing, then bring it on.
For now, I’m just hoping I spare my mom of any worries. I actually just told her the story of what happened yesterday. A bit late, I know, but as usual, I was just handling things by myself as much as I could.
I did keep the hubby in the loop the whole while, and he’s been very supportive, and an ear to rant to, but I still hate how he promises he’d take care of me, no matter what, because he loves me. Sorry, I’m too proud to take any glimmer of charity just like that. But I love the guy and confess that I was touched when he said that. Gah. Cheesy.
Oh, well. I guess, it was all fate. It was written in the cards. Just like the HIV-positive chapter of my life.
If at least, this has kept me on my toes. If at least, it has become a time for me to evaluate exactly what I am capable of doing, what I want to do, and what is available. If at least, it has brought the realization that I’m actually quite fortunate to have options. If at least, this has reminded me how friends should hang in there for each other through thick and thin. If at least, this has taught me to take all the Feng Shui hullabaloo with a grain of salt... quit relying on burning and incense, and just do your job, will you. If at least, this has shown me that going down with the ship ain’t nothing at all to be ashamed of.
Friday, December 24, 2010
Party Party!
Christmas. It’s here. Just when I turned my head away to focus on the flurry of yearend work, it ambushed me like it was no one’s business. It came faster than the MRT. And I snowballed with it as well. I was dreading it. All the stress, all the traffic, all the hassle... I was just really looking for ward to the break... both the Christmas break and a break from the Christmas rush. But it was not meant to be that easy. Christmas sent its advanced party.
I spent my first Christmas party with Yoga for Life. As usual, yogic stuff is far from the usual. The potluck was mind-boggling, it’s never easy for a meat-eater like me to figure out what he could bring for a vegetarian feast. So as I came from work, I shuffled through the mall and settled for some monggo bread. No meat in that, for sure. Rush, rush, rush. I made it to the venue with time to spare.
Not content with just partying hearty, we started with a short yoga practice. Then just as we got totally calmed down, our Yogi Bear and Babe snapped us out of it. It was time to party! I believe it helped that we went through the World AIDS Day thingy the week before. Dramatic as it was for some, it was an icebreaker for sure. A bonding experience. So for the Christmas party, everyone seemed game.
Game, indeed. Games, in fact. There was Paint Me A Picture. A yoga version of Newspaper Dance. Bring Me for items like a pair of underwear on your head, 5-centavo coins, and condoms, which, ahem, I handily got a prize for. And then of course, probably the most fitting yoga game, Twister. Woohoo for me and the four others who they couldn’t knock down! The energetic night was capped off with some take home gifts and an attack at all the meatless but scrumptious food. Kudos to them who organized it and the sponsors who supported it. This party just set the bar.
By that weekend, another one was lined up. Our work party this time. Not knowing people from our sister company, the tacky cowboy theme, the required production number, and the 3:00 pm start all made me less enthusiastic, honestly. But it was something I wouldn’t be allowed to pass up, but only because I got assigned to be the host... Geez, I know, this is the 2nd year in a row that they’ve gone for this admittedly anti-social host... Oi. So I gathered all the kapal-muks I had, borrowed a cowboy hat from my hubby, practiced a dance, and prepared early, and I was good to go.
With ceremonies like a wish balloon release, a holy mass, and photo ops with our big boss, this was certainly more formal that I’d need. I don’t know what happens, but I get drowned in shame and stage fright, and then I turn into a host. Go figure. I don’t know what exactly it takes, but I watch my words somehow, and just okray away, and voila! So with the exchange gift, variety show, raffle, a couple of shots of something I don’t know, and an abundance of my most favorite food, the party actually wasn’t so bad.
Next on the calendar was a couple of parties and gatherings at the RITM. Now these were the ones I was least enthusiastic about. The record of seemingly soulless partying of recent past. The threat of nega-monsters. Having work. The distance. The sleepover. Having to leave the Lil Bastard behind. I had all the excuses. Even the attempt at making it “in memory of Papi” couldn’t get me to go. A no is a no. Sorry.
Instead, we had gotten into putting together a little gathering of our own. A gathering of my pozzie posse. I don’t know why I seem to get myself into it every time, but I was secretariat again. I’m not exactly the kunsentidor of the group, maybe the matriarch, at least. Fine, so I disseminated the invites. It was my pozzie family, "plus plus". "Plus plus" because in the past year, some of them have managed to get hitched or have their own pozzie babies that not everyone knew yet. So it was a celebration of a year since the original group first got together, pre-Christmas, and was going to be a reunion-slash-inventory. Hehe.
As a group that began with us northerners, it was but befitting that it once again come home to the north. So it was set, meet at the local mall at 6:00 pm. I had gotten confirmations, but didn’t really have a good picture until people started trickling in. Me and BFF GreenFrog, Trese with adopted kiddos Pozzieboy and ThisHeartIsStillBeating, O and his hubby, my grandson APositivePointOfView, W, BFF’s latest kiddo, another fellow northerner RecordBreaker, BruskoBoi, and two of my own kiddos. We were far from being complete, but 14 was an achievement, I must say.
It was a good mix. Some of us who’ve been years old with HIV, and some newbies. I really believe it helps to be exposed to others in the same situation but in a normal setting. And normal it was. Dinner at a Japanese restaurant, and videoke after. Not everyone was a singer, but singing was not the only thing there was to do. There was dancing, joking around, catching up, chatting on. I was so happy, that I wanted to be seated at a vantage point where I could see how everyone was having fun. This may just be the start of a yearly gig for us.
Just this past Wednesday, Yoga for Life went for an unplanned part two. There was a mix-up at the venue, which left us without one, so definitely, yoga practice was out. I was ready to head on home, but they thought we could make do with what we had. My favorite doctor advocate played host to all of us, twelve thereabouts, feasting on pizza, brownies and chocolates, and stopping for an educational yoga video.
The highlight of the evening was all the sex talk. With all us gay guys at our soon-to-be-wed Yogi Babe’s fingertips, there was no reason to be shy about anything, not even sex and all. We were curious about her, she was curious about us. Hehe. The taboo, with all of the laughing, giggling and roughhousing, really turned it into a Christmas party part two for us, and bridal shower part two, a gay version, for her. I’m glad I didn’t miss this one.
So there, deny as I may that I’m not ready for Christmas, the party-party mode has certainly taken its toll. A good one at that.
So let me take this opportunity to greet each and everyone a Merry Christmas! Party hard, party safe, party on, and just PAR-TAY!
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Bus Buddy
An ordinary weekday morning. I hopped on a bus on my way to work, all seats were taken. I stood in the aisle. I took a seat that became available at the rearmost of the bus. I was followed by others who had just gotten on.
And then, of course, as buses are somehow the root of some worldly desires for me, it got weird.
A guy took one of the other seats in the six-man row I was in. My peripheral vision was teasing me. Was he looking at me? I’m oddly visually challenged. I’m far-sighted. So I can’t really scout out guys who are seated too near. Or I just don’t really want to seem too obvious. Hmm.
As people got off along the way, I was able to transfer to the two-seater just ahead. I still felt like I was being watched. It was just him left in the row behind me. He was oddly leaning forward foregoing comfort for something else. But a lady was seated across from me, which may have been stopping him from making a move. Or I was just being too presumptuous.
We had reached Shaw Boulevard, and I felt him gathering his things. He slid over to the aisle. I felt his hand on my headrest. I heard a piece of paper. Then a couple of taps. I was intrigued but remained unobvious, both to him and the lady seated across. He got up and headed up front to get off. I tried looking out the window to see if he’d give one last glance, but didn’t spot him.
So what was that? Was he indeed trying to show interest? I remembered the sound of paper I heard. I ran my hand up the headrest and took a piece of paper slipped into it. It was a bus ticket. Today’s date, the fare, the origin and the destination. At the back, a name and mobile number was scribbled.
I had all the options in the world. I could have thrown it away. But then, of course, I’m a pleaser. I had a chance to make someone happy. How could I just ignore the guy? A guy who did not shove my face into his crotch on the first bus ride for a change? So yes… I sent a text message to the number.
And then the exchange began. He was relieved that I noticed the little message he left in the bus. Naman! I’m not that dense. With that, we became text mates. We’d text daily, at least mere good mornings or what not. This went on for a number of weeks. Maybe a month.
One Saturday morning, I was on my usual mall routine with my mom. At the hardware section, while looking at rechargeable lamps, my eyes caught a glimpse of someone. A guy. Tall, dark and neat, built with a little bit extra. We just stared at each other, short of saying “You look familiar,” “Where do I know you from,” and “Is that you?“ It was him. We didn’t talk or anything. We just texted.
At some point during that text conversations, I realized how ridiculous it was for us to be relying on chance to see one another. So I suggested that we plan out the next time we’d bump into each other. He agreed.
August crept in. And upon establishing the common point of our respective daily commutes, we agreed to meet and share rush hours. I arrived at the bus stop first, he came in a bit. Must’ve been funny seeing two grown men who couldn’t wipe the smiles off their faces.
We hailed a bus that would run our common route. We took seats beside each other. Sometime during the trip, he took my hand and held it the rest of the way, not even minding if other people would see. Cool. It was really nice having a hand to hold through traffic. There was a movie playing on the bus, too. Vic Sotto and Rosanna Roces. Basta Ikaw, Nanginginig Pa. Oy, is this a sign from the heavens? Not really. We were really without the kilig of it all because we were giggling at how ridiculous the movie was. He tapped my leg before getting off at his stop.
The next day, same thing. We rode together. Same bus line. No Pinoy movie this time, which we giggled about again. Again he had my hand firmly in his. Rush hour again. Traffic again. He got to his stop again, and tapped my leg. As he stood up he looked at me, sort of waiting for me to say something or wanting to say something himself. I’m sure I had a confused look on my face. He leaned in and gave me a smack on the lips. And then he turned and trudged to the front of the bus to get off, not even looking back.
Wait... what just happened? But no more confusion, I had a smirk on my face by this time.
I got a text message from him shortly.
“Ingatz”
“Ikaw rin. Hmp nanggugulat ka. Hahaha.”
“Hahaha… Nakuha ko ba sa bilis?”
“Oo. Kung Pinoy movie yun, dapat sasampalin pa kita. Hahaha.”
“Hehehe… Sige di na nga maulit.”
“Oo. Di na mauulit na magugulat ako.”
“Hahaha… So laging ready ka na?”
“O baka ikaw na magulat. Sige. Ingat ka ha.”
The next day, same thing. Without the movie. And without the smack. He didn’t even hold my hand. I felt he was teasing me. So I took initiative and grabbed his hand. Hmp, akala mo makakatakas ka ha. So there. We were officially bus buddies, and this was our daily routine. I felt like I had a date every single day. I did, sort of.
Okay, fine, we haven’t always been that patweetums. I think there’ve been three occasions that he holds my hand and leads it towards his crotch for me to feel his erection through his slacks. But that’s the farthest we’ve gone. Nope, he still hasn’t shoved my face into his pubes. But he’s managed to keep me curious as to what’s down there. Wholesome, but naughty.
As of this writing we’re still on it... our daily date. I think in almost a month, we’ve missed just three or four days, but I liked how the days we missed together aren’t a big deal. Because on days we were together, the least we’d be is just napping in the bus holding hands. Nice.
Basically, we're barely past being acquiantances. I don't know his surname. Not even his real name. I don't know what he does, nor does he know what I do. And no, I haven't told him the virally significant secret that I hide. Not like he'll catch anything by holding my hand.
So there, now you know my bus buddy. We’re not a couple. No commitment. No I-love-yous. Just something comfortable. And major-major safe. A huge ego boost, for me, at least. Nice. Really nice. And naughty too sometimes.
Isn’t life great? And aren’t buses too?
Friday, July 23, 2010
Too Much
Now, work is no question. I do need to make a living. So around half the hours of five days of every week is dedicated to work, inclusive of lunch breaks and daily commutes. That leaves 12 hours each from Mondays to Fridays, plus entire weekends to do everything else.
It may sound like enough time, but I’ve come to realize it’s not. Right now, I’ll be humble enough to say that I'm taking on... too much.
This entire week has been heavy. It started Sunday night, when I had to go out late to meet a pozzie friend. He was to hand over pasalubongs for BFF and myself, as he had gone abroad recently. It sounded simple enough. I left the house around 9:30 pm, unusual, because I’d usually already be in bed or at least in my room by that time.
But considering it wasn’t often that he was in the Metro, I gave the proposal a nod. We met at a little coffee shop, and he treated me to some coffee. And we went on, and on, and on. Before we knew it, it was almost midnight. The load of a busy weekend, the going past my bedtime, my Efavirenz, and thoughts of the coming Monday were heavily creeping in.
I mean, don’t get me wrong. I seriously had a great time hanging out, dishing out the dirt, catching up, and getting cruised by the late night boys, but my body clock could not tick for much long. So he headed off, as I battled my way back home. Not even the boys in the dark who were checking me out could stop me, seriously. It was that bad. So with that, it was going to be a sleepy start to the week.
Monday. Work as usual. Usual, until I was reminded that one of my poz kiddos, ImNotDyingImLiving, was scheduled to leave the next day. So BFF and I got planning to at least take him out to dinner one last time before he left. It was going to be another long day. But I wasn’t going to let the last chance to see him pass.
BFF and I showed up at his place, where my favorite doctor-advocate showed up with our Yoga for Life yogi followed. It was a perfectly tight little group. We had dinner, after which we strolled around cruising the local hot boys. Hmm, I seem to be doing a lot of cruising lately. Must be the weather. And with that, sans any boohoo moments, we hugged ImNotDyingImLiving goodbye one last time and wished him care and luck on his trip. Sigh. One less pozzie in the Philippines? Sort of.
Hehe. BFF and I headed home together, to my place actually, so he could get his pasalubong. More catching up, plus a bit of cruising, and I took him out to the highway where he could catch a cab. A big hug, and I was off, home and into bed.
Okay, it was a Monday and I already owed two fractions-of-a-day’s worth of sleep. So Tuesday night, I made sure I slept early. Or earlier rather. Still only got seven hours of sleep.
Wednesday, of course, was Yoga for Life day. I was running late, literally running, so I was heaving to begin with. Add to that an extremely intense yoga session. Hell, almost every inch of my shirt was dripping wet. It was a good workout, but a real “work” out. Whew. Five of us had dinner after, which meant another late night out. I think I got home just before 11:00 pm, and with a cool down and a cold shower, I must’ve been asleep by midnight. Again, I got less than my forty winks.
Thursday, I made sure I went straight home. I was in bed by 10:00 pm. Ugh, my first complete 8 hours of sleep for the week. I swear, I was sleeping till the very last minute before my alarm woke me up. It was gooooooooood. But I could use more rest.
And throughout the week, tiring as it already was, the pending weekend was already haunting me. Saturday was to be saturated day. Running buddy was calling for an early run. Grocery with mom mid-morning. Yoga for Life in the afternoon. A foursome bloggers birthday bash of ToiletThoughts, OdinHood, WanderingCommuter and ClosetGeek in the evening. And another dinner invite to be one half of a pair of dates of my favorite doctor-advocate. Oh, and a last minute addition, a family lunch thing. Hoooooo-kay.
I could actually do everything. Really, I could. But geez, this was just not a good week to be dumped with so much. There is actually such a thing as too much. And this... this was just too much.
So I decided to let some things go. I begged off from running... I’d be too drained too early in the morning. Grocery can wait. The rest, I either want or need to do. The family lunch would be the last chance I’ll get to see my uncle and his family for a while. Of course, I want to Yoga for Life... I’m getting used to having it twice a week already.
The evening is surely booked. I want to do the birthday bash, because they’re all my friends, and it’s not often that ClosetGeek is in town. I want to do the dinner, too, because I’m sure I’ll get a hug there. Haha. Though I still have to figure out how I’ll be in both places at once. Geez!
So there. It was just too much. It ain’t the HIV. Not at all. It’s just me managing my priorities. It’s just me making sure of what exactly I can do, I want to do and I need to do. It’s just me being human. It’s just me knowing when to say it’s too much.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
My Oh-My-Gulay July
This month of July has been absolutely... ohhh, what’s the word?!
Ghastly? Well, maybe not that negative.
Unexpected? I did know it was coming.
Overwhelming? Yes, yes, that sounds more like it.
Well it started off at my old office, where I successfully stunned everyone with the prospect of my leaving the company after almost 5 years of service. Of course no one knew of the complete story as to why I was leaving. I just summed it up as "an opportunity presenting itself".
I got asked to rethink my decision, but my mind was more or less already made up. I did think about the situation, though. But more than rethinking my decision to move, I just found myself thinking if there was any reason not to.
Of course, no one seemed to take my plan to move seriously. No one wanted to receive all the work I was turning over, and everyone who thought they were my bosses were still trying to dump more work and new projects onto my lap, seemingly oblivious of the fact that I was soon leaving. Was I flattered that they weren’t letting me go that easily? Not really. More like it was starting to piss me off.
July 15th, I woke up and went through my usual routine, but this time taking a different route to a different place. I prepared myself for a new life. New people... well, not really new... these are people I’ve been able to work with since last year. A new place... I was to become an avid MRTer, and an official Makati boy. A new job... definitely. I had no idea what to expect.
Getting there to spend my first official day was amazing. I already had a desk waiting, a laptop, and even business cards. It seemed like they had sealed my fate already, but I was cool with it. But I sort of noticed that the heavens were taunting me.
Certainly, I knew it was going to be a longer journey to Makati than Ortigas. But with the rain and all, it was like all the pros and cons of moving were presenting themselves to me early on. But for my first three days, I’ve been able to survive. I’ve been braving the jungle of people on the MRT every morning, battling the elements successfully with my health intact.
I still get to work early, aiming to maximize the morning person in me. The rest of the day is usually spent behind a desk writing, my fingers and my brain going through their paces. Thursday afternoon, though, I found myself attending to some official business in the Manila area for a change. I was game.
For lunches, I still bring ulam from home, and just buy rice at the canteen... basically just like before. Difference now is that almost everyone eats around the dining table at the office... aww... parang family. I can’t always relate to topics at the table though, which touch everything from movies and restaurants, to nightlife and alcohol. But hey, it wouldn’t be me if I wasn’t aloof, right? So bring it on!
Physically, work is still tiring... more because of it being a longer trip to and from. But it’s been tolerable. I know my body is pooped, but I find that my mind and my spirit are alive and kicking.
I even managed to attend a blogger birthday bash Friday night after work, despite just claiming it was tiring. I didn’t even have to force myself to go! Of course, I again was my old aloof self, and still managed to leave an imprint of my ass on the couch. Woohoo! I was still up and about at midnight, no thanks of course to my ARVs, and that one glass of vodka I mistakenly downed thinking it was an innocent glass of soda. Happy birthday, by the way, to OdinHood, WanderingCommuter and ToiletThoughts!
Saturday was spent grocery shopping, as usual, and just lazing around and recharging, while on Sunday, I managed to squeeze in lunch in Megamall with a new fellow-pozzie friend. I’ve really been unusually busy, huh?
It’s Monday again tomorrow – back to work – but I’m not exactly dreading going to work. That’s a good sign. So gotta go beddy-bye in a bit.
So there, that’s been my past week... and my month so far. Like I said, overwhelming. The month is far from over, but I do expect the rest of it to follow suit. Oh-my-gulay July!
Monday, July 06, 2009
The HIV Card
It’s been more than a year now. More than a year since finding out I was HIV-positive. A year and four months to be exact. A year and four months since discovering my secret. My new powers. I’m like one of the Xmen now. A mutant trying to protect the world and fighting for acceptance. Like Gambit... with an HIV card... sort of.
Change. For someone like me, it’s scary. And frankly, this HIV thing has been the biggest and most shocking change in my life... ever. Now I won’t readily say that I’m getting the hang of this change thing, but lately, having been faced with another prospect for change, I went for it.
Having been with the company I’m currently with for so long, I’d certainly fallen into a comfort zone. The same place, the same people, the same culture for five whole years. But I took a leap of faith. I turned in my resignation letter. It’s time for a career change.
Rather than have any rumors circulating around the workplace, I kept my plans to myself and took the initiative to make sure it was our HR-in-charge who found out my plans first.
She, of course, didn’t let me go without a short chat. I shared with her the opportunity that had presented itself to me which had triggered my move. And in trying to be as honest as I could, it wasn’t far from my mind at the time that I might just have to play my HIV card.
Certainly, I did not have to tell her about it. But frankly, it was this advocacy that was the most compelling reason to move. It was this supposedly wretched virus that steered me onto this new direction and which was fate’s instrument of choice to enable me to encounter the people behind Positivism.
A few minutes after that chat with the HR-in-charge, I got a call from the owner of the company, a lady already in her 70s. She was surprised, and wanted me over so we could talk. And so we did. Over dinner, I was touched to realize she didn’t want to let me go that easily. I was shocked, honestly... and speechless. But I was ready to whip out my HIV card... if I needed to. Fortunately, the evening ended with her final request for me to just give it some thought. I did not have to play my HIV card to her either.
Certainly, this move I’ll be making will be a leap of faith in all aspects.
First, it will be a huge change in terms of my job description. A total shift from left to right brain. I’d like to think that I’m enough of a creative person to be able to do this new job. Yeah, I may have been doing some creative stuff for the company I’m leaving, but they were never really part of my job description.
Can you imagine what a heartbreaker it is to do something you’re asked to do, and then hear these same people say you can’t be commended for what you do because it’s not part of your job? It’s an enigma, isn’t it? Then they wonder why you no longer do it after that.
Second, it will be a huge change of environment. I’m talking about people. This group of people I’ve been working with, some of whom for almost five years, isn’t something that’s easy to turn my back on. Again, it’s a terrifying change. I’m gonna be with new people... well, relatively new, considering I’ve been working on Positivism with some of them for the past six months... which means new relationships. That’s scary, right? Or am I just paranoid?
One major difference will be that this new group of people knows that I’m HIV-positive. It’ll be one less secret I’ll need to hide. And starting off on an honest note will always be a good thing. I’ve actually been prepared to get asked whether my HIV thing will ever be a problem. Well, if I take good care of my health, I know it shouldn’t be. But I think more importantly than HIV being a problem for me, I would rather ask back whether my HIV will ever be a problem for them... which, ideally, it shouldn’t. So again, my HIV card is safe.
The HIV card isn’t something I can actually use indiscriminately. I certainly won’t be asking for any special treatment or anything because of my HIV status. If at this new job, I just happen to screw up, then I am the one that screws up. I can’t blame HIV for it. Wish me luck.
More than any professional advancement, with this move, I look forward to my personal growth. More focus, less spreading myself too thin. It will also be a chance to make Positivism and my advocacy a greater part of my life. As it stood, Positivism was something outside of my fulltime job. Working with people who know fully about my status and my advocacy will be a big change. It will still be an HIV card, but I will have that card laid out on the table, so to speak.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Hell Week
With the party and all, I enjoyed last weekend. A lot.
But that being said, you know how after something extremely good happens, there’s nowhere else to go but down? Well, I think that’s what happened to me, as last weekend’s extreme joy ushered in one hell of a week.
I trekked to work Monday morning, recharged and ready to start the week. When I got to the office, early as usual, I was greeted by a handful of visitors seated in the waiting area. Odd... why were there visitors so early in the morning? And then I remembered they had posted an ad in the papers that weekend announcing job vacancies in our company. Today was recruitment day.
It was half an hour before our hours of operation, but fine... as the person up front, I started preparing the application forms and examination papers for the job applicants. I’m not sure how long I turned my back, but the next thing I knew, all twenty seats in the waiting area were occupied, and more people had come in the door.
At that point, I started panicking. I packed as many people as I could into every available chair, as well as the conference room, but still that wasn’t enough. I was overwhelmed. And I was going to be overwhelmed... alone.
So I got thinking, the quicker they got through the application process, the quicker they would leave. I gave out application forms, conducted tests, checked and scored them, and forwarded them for interview, but I just could not do it fast enough alone. It’s like I was running... on a treadmill... getting nowhere. And while I was doing all that, more applicants just kept on pouring in.
At some point, I broke down. I didn’t know who needed what anymore. And I’d like to think I’m a pretty organized guy. But having to do all that, plus having to answer the phones, plus having to issue supplies, plus having to disburse cash, plus having to do everything else that I do... plus having to endure all those eyes staring as I panicked... I just lost it. It was absolutely inhuman. I wanted to cry. I wanted to faint.
I don’t know how attractive an ad they had put out, or if there are just that many people looking for the same job, or if we were the only job opening in the Metro or what... but it was insane. Would it have not been more practical to ask applicants to e-mail their applications and select and schedule them from there?
I was so busy that I didn’t have time to check my e-mail. I didn’t have time get online. I didn’t have time to check the incoming messages on my phone. I didn’t have time to take a snack. I didn’t have time to take a decent lunch. I didn’t even have time to pee, for heaven’s sakes!
If I wasn’t convinced before how badly stress could affect my physical well-being, I am now. I felt nauseous, had a headache, was coughing, was sniffling and developed back pain like I was doing more than a desk job. Trust me, I was just a fever, vomiting, and diarrhea short of all the Influenza A H1N1 symptoms.
Even my brain felt like it was on dimmers. Everything was just a blur. I sort of remember some of my colleagues coming to my desk to give me more things to do, but that’s it. I don’t recall what each of them said nor what I did. I must’ve looked like a deer in headlights.
At the end of the day, which actually went an hour past my regular working hours, the last applicant finally left. Finally, finally, finally. I had gone through almost a hundred applicants... and I was beat. I was both physically and mentally drained. It was miraculous that I could even manage to smile. But I was in a daze. I felt like I was on ARVs already. I felt like I had put in a week’s worth of work. But nooooo... this was just Monday.
Monday’s applicants were enough actually to fill up the six vacancies available. Yep, just six out of a hundred. But I was still told to entertain applicants on the days that followed. Sure, the days that followed weren’t as bad as the first, but by that time, Monday had already taken its toll on me and my body, so it wasn’t any easier.
Recharging just wasn’t as easy as plugging me into an outlet. Sleeping the full eight hours every night didn’t do it for me. I know sex is supposed to be an effective method to release stress, but being in an over a month-long drought, it didn’t seem like an option. I even had to beg the Hotbox team to postpone the Positivism meeting to next week because I was afraid I’d fall unconscious if I had much more of a load to take on. By Thursday, I got the permission from management to turn away applicants. Finally.
Yeah, sure, it was going to be a long weekend ahead, thanks to Friday being a national holiday in the Philippines, but still, it would take every minute of those three days to de-brief and de-stress, assuming of course that I had that luxury. I do have responsibilities at home, too, ya know.
So there, that should explain why I’ve been out of the loop for the past week. I’m assuming... and hoping... that it doesn’t turn out to just be the start of a Hell Month. If that happens, naku, Lord, kunin mo na ako. So for now, I declare... Hell Week is over.
