Yvette, an Inspiration


I have been chatting with one of my best friends Yvette, who is currently working as a UN volunteer in Sudan. She was my first housemate when I first moved out, and we had some very good times living in the poorly ventilated, rat-infested "chalet" in Quezon City. We spent many nights talking till the wee hours of the morning, staying up till we could no longer wipe the sleep from our eyes. (She actually fell asleep once in the middle of telling her OWN story.)

Yvette has been a source of inspiration for me. She recently went through VERY trying times, been through hell and back, yet she has picked herself up. Not unscathed exactly; burned, definitely; but infinitely stronger and more self-aware. She has finally realized what a fabulous woman she is, and that she deserves to be surrounded only by people who know this as well.

I've been thinking that whatever troubles I may have, Yvette will always be there to support me, to unconditionally take my side, to give solid advice. She also serves as a constant reminder that I can handle whatever life throws at me- the sticks and stones, the heartbreak, the sadness, as well as the blessings. And she inspires to me to handle both the good and the bad with grace, humor, music, and, of course, lots of food.

Good News/Bad News

I've recently had the rather upsetting experience of getting VERY happy (for a few hours), then getting VERY disappointed. Here's what happened.

A few months ago, I emailed Fulbright-US to ask if I could apply for Academic Training after I graduate. This is the official term for getting a job in the US after graduation when you're on a J-1 visa (those issued to what they call exchange visitors/scholars). My friend Alejandra, a Fulbrighter from Costa Rica, had been allowed to stay to work for up to 18 months after graduating. Your academic training has to be a job that is related to your field. (That means a graduate of the J-School can't apply to be a manager at McDonald's.) So, I emailed Fulbright to find out if I could do the same as Ale did.

I hadn't received any reply, but I applied to some media companies anyway. I thought that if they allowed Ale (and Felicity too) to apply for Academic Training, there was no reason I wouldn't be. Anyway, last week while I was in school, my cell phone rang, and the area code of the number being shown was that of New York. I normally don't answer the phone if I don't know the caller, but the area code got me excited. It turns out that it was InStyle magazine calling to tell me they wanted me to join their editorial team. As you could imagine, I jumped up and down for joy when I got the news. The woman who called me said the details of the offer were in an email that they had sent me. So, I rushed home, then excitedly logged on to read about the offer. Aside from a salary, they were going to provide housing, which was a big thing for me considering the job was in very expensive New York. That night, I couldn't sleep from excitement. I was already planning what to do when I got to the Big Apple.

The very next morning, I finally got a response from Fulbright-US. The email said that Fulbright-Philippines does NOT allow their scholars to take Academic Training. I was crushed. I emailed Fulbright-Philippines immediately, but their response just confirmed what had been said earlier. They don't allow it as a rule, and only TWO people had been allowed to take Academic Training since 1948. I was informed of the appeal process, but I didn't try it anymore. InStyle needed an answer in a few days, and it was unrealistic to think that my case would be decided in that span of time.

I had also applied for another New York job at "Wide Angle", an international investigative program aired on PBS (Public Broadcasting Service). And though they also expressed their interest in hiring me, I could no longer be excited since I knew I couldn't work there anyway.

Talk about good news and bad news. The good news got me all excited, but this happiness made the bad news even more of a downer. I have come to terms with my frustration, though. I've adjusted to the idea that I will come home in June. I guess I should take comfort in the thought that I could be hired by other US media companies in the future.

Baby Steps

This has been a very stressful time for me, primarily because I have less than two months of school left and I haven't even finished half of the work that I'm supposed to be doing if I intend to graduate. There is a strong tendency for me to be overwhelmed by my situation, including finishing my mini-thesis, worrying about packing all my stuff and moving again (to another country!), having to go back to work at ABS-CBN, leaving the friends that I've made here, and all the other things involved when one phase of your life is set to end.

I do have a penchant for worrying about things all at once, since I figure if I'm stressing out about one thing, I might as well stress out about everything else at the same time. Kind of like getting the most mileage out of the emotional low. However, I am trying not to be so negative because I don't want to waste the little time that I have left here in Columbia, so I revel in little things that make me happy within a day.

One little thing that made me happy yesterday is that I finished a project that I had been working on for school. I made an interactive map for the website of Global Journalist, the magazine that I'm working for as part of my professional project for my final semester (I have the very fancy and rather undeserved title of "Online Director" at the magazine). Click here to see the map that I made. I guess finishing that map made me remember that I came here primarily to learn a lot of stuff, and this was proof that I actually did.

Seeing a Therapist

Part of the student fee that I pay, or rather, Fulbright pays for, includes health care. This covers a lot of services (like earwax removal, wart removal, and other fun stuff), including free sessions with a psychotherapist or a psychiatrist. So I thought, since I'd never used these freebies before, now is as good a time as any to make use of them. In the Philippines, seeing a therapist is not very common. Usually, when I hear of people talking to a professional about their problems, it would be a marriage counselor or some such person. I rarely hear of people going to a therapist for problems as an individual. It takes a lot for a Filipino to admit that she or he needs professional help. Maybe it's because we have a lot of support systems like family and friends, who are expected to help us through all our problems. (We're probably also worried that people will talk behind our backs and call us crazy.)

I tried to book a session last week, but the first session that was available was an hour this afternoon. Apparently, Mizzou students have no problem with seeking professional help. I went to the Student Health Center for my appointment, met my therapist (wow, how American) Dr. Susan, and though there was no couch in her room, there was a very comfortable lounging chair to sit on. We just chatted for an hour about what I'd been thinking about, and Susan was very easy to talk to. The time flew by, and they have a clock right in front of you as a reminder of how much of your hour you have left. (Americans, if anything, are efficient.)

It was a pleasant experience, mostly because a person is forced to listen to you for an hour and they CAN'T complain. I mean, it's great to have friends who are willing to listen to you for hours on end, and in fairness, none of mine have complained one iota about lending an ear. But I can't help but sometimes feel guilty about talking ad nauseam about my problems to them, even if the circumstances justify it. Now, If someone is actually paid to listen to you, they have no choice but to do just that. And they can't really tune you out, pretend to listen, and just nod at appropriate moments, because they have to give you some input at the end of the session to prove that they'd been listening to you all that time.

Now, I understand why a lot of Americans are hooked on therapy. I'm going again next week.

Off-topic

I'm taking a breather from my personal affairs to talk about another person's more interesting life. Tomorrow night, there will be a farewell party for one of the J-School's students, a photojournalism major named Leah Gallo. She's leaving us in the middle of the semester for London because she's been asked by Tim Burton (director of Batman, Edward Scissorhands, Big Fish, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, etc, etc...) to shoot photos on the set of Sweeney Todd. Apparently, Mr. Burton has this tradition of having photos taken to document the filming process, and then compiling them into a book which he then gives as a gift to members of his crew. Leah is the lucky one chosen to shoot the photos for this book.

This is great news for Leah, who's both talented and beautiful. Felicity and I are jealous not just because this is such a wonderful career opportunity for her, but mostly because Sweeney Todd is played by Johnny Depp, whom we both believe to be one of the hottest men (if not THE hottest man) on planet Earth. I mean, it's one thing to be working on the set of a movie starring, let's say... Jack Nicholson; it's totally unbelievable that she'll be seeing Johnny Depp every day for a couple of months!

Haha, so this entry is a good indicator that I'm in much better spirits. If I can be shallow enough to rave about a Hollywood actor (although Johnny Depp is not just any old actor), then you can bet I'm nowhere near being depressed, nor am I in danger of becoming an alcoholic. (Though Fil and I might have a drink or two to drown our envy during the party.)

I'll be fine.

A Few Good Men

I've had a long day at school, so I don't have much energy for the entry I so wanted to write today. Instead, I will paste here a note from one of my guy friends that I received PBU (post-breakup). I have very few male friends, so it's always interesting to see what they have to say, especially about matters of the heart. I mean, my girl friends are very attuned to what I feel because of how close I am to them, so they are bound to instinctively say what I need to hear (bless their hearts). They only tell me the blunt truth when I ask for it, and they sugarcoat it even then. My male friends, on the other hand, just tend to say whatever's on their mind. Here is what this friend of mine wrote when I told him about the breakup news.

"Wow. I'm both sad and happy for you.
On one hand, regardless of the civil status, you were, in effect committed to the guy.
On the other, he should've moved heaven and earth to keep you, and now he won't have that chance. Idiot.
In any case, that privilege will be bestowed upon someone else."

I was particularly touched by his note, because my friendship with him is at a rather cerebral level, even as we would speak about personal matters. I highly respect this friend of mine for both his intelligence and his character, and he's actually one of the few remaining men I consider truly decent. He's one reason why despite my recent debacle, I still believe that good men do exist. Which is a good sign, indicating that although I've become even more cynical, I've not become embittered for life. Not just yet.

Panic Attack

As the title of my entry implies, I am undergoing a panic attack. The past few weeks have left me unable to concentrate on my studies, and I feel like the work has just piled up. I'm facing yet another Monday unprepared for what is to be done, with papers that have yet to be written, pictures that have yet to be taken, computer programs yet to be learned. Suddenly, my previously important goal of trying to maintain a 4.0 grade point average is the least of my worries; simply keeping myself afloat seems such an insurmountable task at this point. I know I have to keep myself busy and try to distract myself with what needs to be done, but I haven't recovered enough, emotionally, to do this. Grades just don't seem all that important to me now.

I have learned from past failures (failed relationships, to be precise) that no matter how bleak things seem to be, I will be fine eventually. Right now though, I'm just trying to take things one day at a time. Each day, trying to get some sleep that lasts for more than a couple of hours; forcing myself to get out of bed at below freezing temperatures to go to class; trying to hold back tears in public places; gauging how much anger and how many tears I have left in me. I can't say each day is always better than the one before; some days are simply worse than others. Recovery from these things after all is not linear. I'm trying not to rush myself through this, although I am really getting impatient. I want to feel better RIGHT NOW, get the drama over and done with RIGHT NOW. But, of course that's impossible. As Alanis sang, the only way out is through.

On the plus side, I still have not recovered my appetite. At the very least, this experience, just as similar ones in the past, have the side effect of weight loss. I have been working on losing my holiday weight gain, but I do wish the solution hadn't come at such a cost.

A Few Helpful Suggestions

As I have mentioned in an earlier post, I have been getting a lot of emails, messages, IMs, and whatnot, from friends, all giving their words of support. An interesting aspect of these messages from my friends is the range of suggestions they had in terms of things that I could do to make myself feel better. They range from baby steps that I could take to get through each day, to rather drastic measures that they thought would make me feel... let's just say... instantly gratified. Here are a few examples of these ideas.

• Open a Word document and just type and type whatever comes to mind, while having a glass of wine.
  
• Lift problems to God.
• Get a fabulous haircut.
  
• Ipapatay ang mga salarin.
• Find a new man.
• Think of how miserable their life together will be.
• Immerse self in studies.
• Put on Beyonce's "Irreplaceable" and play in apartment full-blast.
  
• Learn to forgive.
  
• Ipakulam ang mga salarin.
• Believe that karma will bite them in the butt.
  
• Talk to a psychotherapist.
  
• Have random sex with strangers.
• Remember that you are better off without him.
  
• Spit on offending parties when spotted.
• Go to the gym frequently to release happy hormones.
  
• Become an alcoholic (but only until emotional turmoil has ceased).
• Binge on as much chocolate as desired.
• Take sleeping pills and mind-altering drugs as needed.
  

Some of these suggestions are more attractive to me than others, so I have yet to decide exactly which ones I'll take. Obviously, I can't do all of the above, though I'll definitely try some of them. The rest will have to remain fantasies to indulge in. I am still very open to other suggestions, though; so shoot me a note if there's anything else that's been missed out.

The Five Stages of Grief

Another one bites the dust. So, step right up to another round of... "The Five Stages of Grief".

I'm out of Denial, and I'm definitely over Bargaining. I'm at the part that is supposed to be the most fun- Anger. However, I was never really good at Anger. Having suppressed it for most of my life, I don't know exactly how to express it properly. Usually, when I'm really mad, I just end up crying/bawling in frustration, and raising my voice as I tell a friend the story behind my rage. The only thing that instantly gave me release back home was the Primal Scream which results in a sore throat (pleasantly accompanied by a lighter feeling). But since I have no car around here to do that in privacy, any attempt at doing this in my apartment could result in a frantic 911 call from a neighbor and my subsequent deportation.

I wish I could throw things around, bash plates on the ground, punch a hole in the the wall, or do something destructive and physical that would immediately release some of the negative energy pervading me. But, I'm too practical for that. I would think too much of the literal cost of the damage ("But this is Corelle and I won't be able to afford another set on my student allowance.").

I also wish I could go up to people who had hurt me, say every word in my dictionary of foul language (which is rather comprehensive and I have to say, pretty impressive), and try to hurt them with words. But that's rather coarse, and causes enduring damage as well. Not my cup of tea.

Then there's the sticks-and-stones approach. In my fantasies, I accidentally see the people who had hurt me, and proceed to give them a stiff uppercut, preferably resulting in a couple of lost teeth. BUT... Although I am physically strong enough to do this, I am not violent enough for it. If violence prevents me from eating meat, it will certainly stop me from hitting people.

So, there seems to be very little recourse for me.

There is an obscure story about me that I will disclose, although it is REALLY embarrassing. REALLY. It will give you an idea of just how badly I deal with anger. Years and a lifetime ago, I had a fight with my then-boyfriend Gambie during a student conference in Japan, because he kept hanging out with this six-foot German girl despite my protestations. I told him that the time they spent together was bothering me (hmmmm... deja vu?), and he refused to cut their time together. After a heated exchange, I burst out in tears (as usual) and went out of the cottage where we had our little tiff.

I was furious at him and his refusal to listen to me. So... what did I do? I was so mad that I went deep into the woods behind the cottage for some privacy, and... DANCED (while crying!!!) to the tune of Madonna's "Express Yourself", music provided by moi. And I was serious about it. I sang "Don't go for second best baby, PUT YOUR LOVE TO THE TEST!" at the top of my lungs. "Second best is never enough, you'll do much better baby ON YOUR OWN!", I sang as I sobbed. And if I remember correctly, I was dancing a mutant form of the running man. (Well, I was obviously temporarily insane and not to be held accountable for this.)

The point is, many years have passed since then and I still have not found a good way to release my anger. In my younger years, Madonna and a few bad moves helped me do it. Even that, although really humiliating, was far more effective than anything else I've tried in recent history. All I've done in the immediate past is recount what I went through to a friend, and then another one, and another one, until they get sick of hearing about what made me so mad.

Maybe I just can't do Anger right. Or at least I can't do it at will. Don't get me wrong, Anger does strike me, very strongly at that... as I tell my story to a friend and my body involuntarily starts to shake; or as I lie in bed and a wave of impotent rage comes over me and brings hot, angry tears to my eyes.

So for now, I deal with Anger in a protracted manner; by making it dissipate each time I bore yet another person with the details of my personal drama, by organizing my thoughts into this blog. Anger is just too tiring. I do wish I could get rid of it in one dramatic burst, instead of having to be surprised by it little by little at the most inopportune of moments.

Come on, Anger, go away. I can't wait to get into Depression.