Remembering my days as a reporter
When I was accepted as a reporter/journalist, I knew there was much to learn beyond writing. I had to know what to write, and where to get the information that would go into each news report.
Reporters are assigned to beats. For newbies or greenhorns, it is the police beat where you follow events or happenings in a community with the police as your source.
It's the beat that is supposed to sharpen your instincts and teach you to develop a nose for news. Every reporter has a daily quota - at least one story for attendance since not everyone has the luxury of going back to the office to write there.
If you don't go sniffing around police precincts or develop sources, you're going to be hard-pressed to come up with an article to submit.
Challenging beats
For reasons I never found out, I skipped the police beat. Instead, I was assigned the Elliptical Circle beat, which was comprised of the Departments of Agrarian Reform, Agriculture and Environment and Natural Resources. I'd much rather have the police beat, honestly. Those are almost dead beats. Unless you've cultivated sources, the chances of getting a decent story every day is so small.
Oh, there would be press conferences or briefings sometime in the week, but if you have very little inside knowledge about matters pertaining to agriculture and environment, it can be frustrating.
I survived two months in that beat. And I can't even recall what stories I turned in. Newspapers then have limited space for stories, because ads are given priority. They are, after all, the source of income for a business. So, I never expected my stories to be published daily.
New assignment
Enter the new year and the editor throws me another curve ball. I would be re-assigned to a new beat. Malacañang. Say what? Cover the president? What did I know about that? Worse, those assigned to that beat are veterans. They would eat me alive!
But our publication was a group, and there were three other reporters covering the Palace and they would be my mentors. Guess what? They were wary of me, too. Or perhaps, resentful? I wasn't even six months with the newspaper and I got that post veterans could only dream of or aspire for!
When I later asked my editor why me, he said nonchalantly that other reporters in our roster weren't fit to cover the president. What phrase did he use? Not presidential enough?
So, not only did I have to contend with the veteran reporters in the beat, I had to prove myself to those in the office who got bypassed! Talk about pressure...
Learning on the job
The first thing to get used to when covering the president is that we always had to be dressed up. It doesn't matter if we're just hanging around the Palace, waiting to ambush (interview) government officials and important guests coming to see the president or attending cabinet meetings, it was always smart-casual or semi-formal wear for both men and women.
Otherwise, they won't let you into the Palace. Besides, there were also schedules outside of the premises and since you're tailing the Head of State, you\d better be outfitted decently.
The second thing you learn as a Palace beat reporter is to know how to jostle your way so you are as close to the subject as possible during ambush interviews. Yes, 10 million tape recorders (this was before the era of cellphones) are thrust into the face of subjects, not to mention the boom mics and cameras for TV, so if you stand in the back, it will be difficult to hear what is being said.
No, I was never really out of the loop even as a newbie. I guess I made friends with the right guys. They took me under their wing and guided me so I learned to maneuver my way and get the stories I needed. It would be a sin to be out-scooped of a story when you were there!
Skills to live by
Two invaluable skills I learned during my stay in the Palace was first, to listen and listen well, and second, to transcribe at breakneck speed.
Listening is critical. Especially if you're asking the questions or you want to throw a follow-up. If you only heard it from another reporter, there was the risk you were fed something wrong or lacking. Besides, a crucial part of listening is watching body language. That could be telling, too.
Transcription was equally important. You wanted to be able to quote the subject verbatim so that what ends up on the paper is an exact quote that is undeniable and you had proof to back it up. The thing with covering the Palace is that so many things are happening, one after the other.
So, the drill is to run back to the press working area, transcribe the interview and work on the story. At any given day, we can churn from three to six stories, sometimes more. It's difficult to rely on memory or haphazard notes when working on a piece, so transcripts are best.
But since it is a press corps, the system has always been to divide transcription, and share it with everyone. When it's a long interview or with several subjects, division of labor is necessary. Those who transcribe fastest get the most number of minutes, or questions are divided and assigned.
I didn't want to just rely on others for the transcripts, so I taught myself to transcribe fast, and using heavy typewriters at that! It was a racket in the press room with so many typewriters pounding at the same time, and earphones stuck in ears to block out ambient noise and get everything right.
To this day, I can still transcribe quickly, and have in fact, taken on some transcription jobs online. It was a very valuable skill to learn. As to listening, it wired my brain to remember clearly what transpired during an interview so even if I record such conversations, I can still play it in my head and work with that alone. Of course, transcripts provide accurate quotes so it still is essential.
Besides, I've had boo-boos in interviewing where the recorder messed up or I wasn't able to save it properly. If I didn't know how to listen well, I would be a goner!
Covering the president wasn't all just serious work. We had our share of adventures as well, especially during out-of-town trips. The press corps is always part of the president's advance party. We needed to be at the venue two hours before the event starts. So, we've gotten used to waiting, and waiting, and waiting. Then when things start to roll, we don't stop until everything is done and it's time to head home.
More on my adventures in another article...
Making BCH work for me
With my money tied up somewhere else, when I expected them to be released so I can use them for my expenses, I've had to forego hodling my BCH earnings here and from noise.cash. Sad, I know. But sometimes you just gotta bite the bullet and do what needs doing regardless of how tough it is.
The bills don't wait. So we have to find ways to settle them and avoid being penalized for late payments. Thankfully, there's read.cash and noise.cash. From the generosity of everyone, I have been able to pay bills on time.
It would've been great if it was possible to settle these expenses with Bitcoin Cash, but we're not there yet in this country. While many folks are jumping onboard the crypto boat, BCH in particular, adoption by merchants and institutions is still a long way off.
So, while I may be accumulating BCH and getting it to my local wallet, it requires conversion to fiat for me to use it for my needs.
Taking advantage of pumps
The good thing is BCH has been pumping and I have taken advantage of that rise. I am comforted by the fact that I need less BCH converted to pay the same amount from the previous month when its value was 40 percent lower. Wow! Fiat cannot do that.
In the meantime that utility companies are nowhere near adopting crypto as acceptable currency, the only way to get ahead is by accumulating as much as we can, hold these for as long as possible while its value continues its amazing ascent, and then be prudent about spending or using.
Yeah, I really need to set up a separate wallet where I can store even just a fraction of my earnings and build that kitty. I will get to it and commit to saving micro amounts until my other funds are made available.
Getting people onboard
One thing I am very glad about is getting my sister and her husband interested enough to join me in this crypto journey. They're very careful when it comes to money. But I guess the thought that you could actually make money and watch it grow before your very eyes was an exciting prospect for them.
They're quite happy with noise.cash and have been rewarded for their commitment and newfound belief in BCH and cryptocurrency in general. And seeing me be able to use mine to pay bills is enough incentive for them to keep at it and just build their BCH portfolio.
I think they're aiming for 1 BCH and I am just as ecstatic as they are each time they reach milestones.
As my contribution to help in BCH mass adoption, I have also been inviting friends to the noise.cash platform (it's much simpler than read.cash especially for those who don't believe they can write well) and they are loving the experience, too.
Show the bottomline
So it's baby steps, but isn't that how you get an entire community interested? With so many people losing their livelihood or jobs during this pandemic, offering an alternative, albeit one they may not be familiar with, will certainly give people something to be hopeful for.
Knowledge is key. It's very easy to resist or ignore an idea when you know nothing about it. But make it easy to understand, and stress on the bottomline - you can make money, grow it, use it - and it will be music to their ears.
And the best way to convince people that this is real is by showing them that you've been able to use the BCH, at least converting it to fiat, which can eventually be used to pay for anything.
Another strategy would be to provide a comparison with bank deposits. Money in the bank will just sit there and gather dust. What is 0.10% per annum? Yet here is BCH jumping a hundred percent in a month!
Of course it will require some knowhow to make the most of your crypto. But it can be pretty exciting to watch the value of Bitcoin Cash reaching new ATH again and again and again.
So, let the challenge begin. Perhaps get 5 people each month interested in BCH (via noise.cash or read.cash) and let them embark on their own crypto journey on the way to fiat freedom!
Reminiscing my practicum days
In the summer before my fourth year in college, the requirement was to undergo practicum training for two months. Our grade would be based on the evaluation of whoever supervised us in the establishment we were assigned to and that given by our adviser.
As a tourism student, my options were to work with airlines, hotels, resorts, and travel agencies or tour operators. (*Yes, there is a difference between a travel agency and tour operator although one establishment can be both*).
Most of my batchmates wanted what they thought were glamorous gigs: an airline, hotel or resort. I decided I wanted to discover how things work in a travel agency.
Applying for a 'job'
Part of the requirement was to get ourselves taken in by the enterprise we wished to train with. That was quite a challenge. It was pretty much like applying for a 'job'.
A letter of introduction was provided by the college, but it was up to the student to convince the HR or business owner or whoever ran the on-the-job training program to agree to take them in for two months.
Big companies like airlines and hotels do accept practicum students, but with limited slots. I decided to look for a smaller business, where the chances of being accepted were supposedly greater.
It wasn't as easy as I thought it would be. Small businesses have this thinking that having a trainee meant an extra burden for them. While they were not required to pay us, or provide allowances, having a student underfoot wasn't a particularly welcome addition to their responsibilities.
After a day of trudging under the sun, I finally found a relatively new travel agency that was trying to find its niche among established players. The owner, Mamerth Banatin, welcomed me into their fold, and regaled me with stories of how he started the business. Suffice to say, the man took a liking to me (probably because I listened to his non-stop tales).
How I spent my summer
Adam's Express Travel was an hour or so away from my home via commute. Office hours were from 8:00 am to 5:00 pm. Since I would be traveling with the rest of humanity and run smack into rush hour, that meant leaving the house no later than 6:30 am.
And because I hate to be late, I was always early. Sometimes, I was in front of the office a little after 7, and it would still be closed. I remember hanging out in a store nearby or the eatery next door while waiting for someone to arrive. (*I can't remember if they gave me a spare key later (such trust) since I was always first. That way, I could start cleaning up before we opened.*)
Eloisa, the boss' right-hand woman, was my immediate supervisor. I could tell she wasn't thrilled having me around the first few days. So I made it a point to be useful, always offering to do something, even if it meant running errands.
This was in the day when bookings were just starting to be computerized, and most business was done over the phone (landlines). Since the agency was just starting, it was still building a track record and cannot issue plane tickets to passengers directly. That meant going to a big travel and tour company or the airline itself and paying up front before the ticket was issued.
In the first two weeks, my tasks were limited to answering phone calls regarding flight inquiries, having documents photocopied next door, some ledger work (entering ticket purchases) or typing vouchers. I guess I proved I can be relied upon to do this even if I was not a regular staff.
Pretty soon, the rest of the staff - mostly sales reps who were out of the office calling on clients - realized that they had someone to do menial tasks for them - ME.
Among their favorite assignment for me was to place a call to airlines, where you would be asked to hold the line forever until some rep took your call and did the booking. It took so long that when you finally got them on the phone, you better be sure to conduct ALL your business - 5 to 6 separate bookings sometimes. I practically memorized all the airline jingles because of that.
Over time, I picked up how they handled such transactions and ventured to go a step further - handle the query and booking myself. Was I being brazen? No. I just learned by observing them and figured I could do that, too.
The most sensitive part of that task was plane fares. Agencies were usually given a net and gross rate, and it was up to the sales people or the office to add mark-ups (that's why ticket prices vary even if it's the same date or flight class).
Pseudo travel agent
As my proficiency improved I was given the go-ahead to handle walk-in clients or calls that had no assigned rep. It was an office account. After clearing with Eloisa or the boss, or some sales agent, I could give a quotation of the fare and even proceed with ticketing.
It had become part of my job to hop from one travel agency to another within the area (Ermita, Manila) to get those tickets. There is a messenger who handles this, but sometimes he's already out on an errand and a new ticket needs to be picked up.
While there are jeepneys plying the route, the traffic would usually be horrible that it was faster walking. Often, I would end up running as well, because the passenger/client was already at the office clicking their heels while waiting for the ticket.
And that is how I learned the streets and side-streets of Ermita and Malate (shortcuts were necessary), and how I improved my walking speed. Everything was always 'RUSH'.
Filipino travelers are a big mystery to me. They decide to buy plane tickets right about when they have to leave so they would be pounding the agency to produce the ticket ASAP because their schedule is tomorrow even when they only booked a flight today.
*It's so much more convenient now because you just go online and do the booking yourself, pay with a card or deposit money in the bank, and voila, the ticket or voucher is either emailed to you or sent via text message.*
Lessons learned
But those days of pounding the pavement, so to speak, taught me a lot. Not just about the business but also people's characters, values, and behavior. I didn't just deal with people in the office, clients in person or over the phone, but those who worked in other agencies and airlines as well.
I knew to pick out the ones who looked more accommodating and could attend to me immediately, and avoid those who were already stressed out because of the mountain of work they had done and still needed to do. They were more likely to snap at me if I so much as squeaked about how I was pressed for time.
A few weeks before my practicum was to end, the boss had me trained in putting together tour packages. A package didn't just include airfare but hotel bookings, local transport and tours.
By then, Eloisa loved me because she could count on me for quite a bit of stuff and I rarely, if ever, complained. I was a gopher yet an aspiring travel agent.
When I completed the training, Mr. Banatin had a standing offer for me to join the agency. After all, I already knew what they did so no training necessary. At that point, he wanted to build a niche as the go-to agency for Medjugorje pilgrimage tours. (*Years after I know he achieved his goal, and the office was no longer a hole-in-the-wall establishment but housed in a swanky building*).
It was an enlightening and productive summer for me. I learned much more than the airline alphabet (alpha, bravo, charlie, delta, echo...) which is how you spelled out everything over the phone when booking a flight.
Could I have been a success in a travel agency? Perhaps. I was a quick study. And I always made it a point to learn as much as I can wherever I am working, and not just stick to what I am assigned to do. The work was interesting and there was much to learn.
But alas, fate had other plans for me. I enjoyed that summer. And the one-point-oh grade I got was more than worth all the hardship and sacrifice.
Every sunset is different
I used to chase sunsets. That was before COVID-19 happened and we were free to move around, go anywhere we pleased.
Some people like capturing sunsets near a body of water - the beach, the sea, a lake. I totally understand, it's more dramatic especially as dusk settles. There is something spectacular as you watch the sun slowly descending with its colors and hues changing. Then from the horizon, a burst of yellow and red that in minutes disappear and the view turns dark.
I love the sunsets there, too. But that's not always accessible for me, a city mouse. The closest to a body of water is Manila Bay, along Roxas Boulevard. That's an hour or so drive from where I am. I had that privilege years ago, when I used to work in that area, and lived there briefly.
So, I chase the sunset where I am. From the highway, as I drive towards it, to a park where there are trees that serve as the horizon, to the nearby university campus where there are open spaces providing unhampered view.
It seems like a foolish pursuit. But I enjoy it, sometimes crave it. There's just something comforting in this exercise that calms my spirit.
I can sit on the grass for an hour watching the sun move down, seemingly inch by inch. Or even crane my neck for minutes until it hurts as I follow its descent until it disappears behind a line of trees. It is a simple pleasure that fills me with joy.
Many people think all sunsets are the same. The blazing yellow orb slowly disappearing from sight, and then gone. But it is not the same. You have to more than look or see.
Sunsets are meant to be watched. You must let it captivate you. Enthrall you. Embrace you. Watching the sun set is always an experience for me. That is why it will always be different.
Yes, the sun can blind you, even when its rays are less harsh towards the end of the day. It's what happens when you stare at it, are transfixed by it, for even just minutes at a time.
But the peace it brings is inexplicable. A calm settles in my soul. There is a tinge of sadness when the spectacle is over. But the thought that it will happen again in the morrow soothes my spirit.
At the rate life happens, each day seems like a race. Chasing dreams, pursuing goals, meeting deadlines. Sunsets signal that day is ending, there is more to be done, but it need not be now. Tomorrow the sun shall rise again, a new day, another chance, more opportunities.
When the sun sets, it is telling us to rest. Take respite. Look back on our day. Be content or be challenged. But it asks for a pause.
The pandemic taught us to savor life, beyond jobs, money, and possessions. Or at least, it is trying to teach us what is most important. Humanity. Humility. Faithfulness. Gratitude.
It's like chasing sunsets. We can never truly capture it in our hands. We can only see it, experience it, treasure it in our memory. Next to the setting sun, we are but a speck in this universe. There is very little greatness in us. So we must keep the faith, do as much as we can to live life meaningfully, and then be grateful.
I have to get ready to chase my sunsets again.
#Originalphotos
What's wrong with being single?
Single-blessedness. It's not for everyone. Women, especially, have it bad when they remain single. That means NOT married. In these very modern times, not having a significant other falls very much in the category of being single.
Here's the thing: Being single is as much about fate as it is a choice. This is true for both women and men. Although men don't get as much grief as the ladies do if they remain unattached.
As heartbreaking as it may sound, some women just aren't meant to find the ONE that they end up walking down the aisle or signing a piece of paper with to signify they are together, therefore no longer single.
Serving a purpose
It's fate. There are women whose purpose in life is to care for parents, or siblings or whoever else in their family. Some find themselves with child or children, who bring them enough joy that having a husband is no longer a wish, dream, or goal.
Some are severely traumatized by an experience with a partner that they end up never wanting to go through a relationship again.
In a society where roles of men and women are traditional to the point of archaic - he is the provider, she is the homemaker and responsible for child rearing - an unattached female must steel herself often for the inevitable question: 'When are you getting married?'
Getting together with family and relatives can be so uncomfortable because aunts, even uncles, and grandparents will be asking the same thing over and over again: 'Are you married already?'
It can be so exasperating having to answer the same question that you often end up replying tartly. Yes, you can laugh about it, but it does rankle when it keeps happening every reunion or get-together or chance meeting.
A good comeback when asked 'Why are you still single?' is "Why not?"
Empowered women
Being single is not just about the freedom to do as you please without having to think of another person's opinion or feelings when you make a decision. It's not only about coming and going without having to ask anyone for permission or informing someone where you want to go or what you want to do.
I once read that a question to ask when considering marriage is whether you can stand to wake up beside the same person the rest of your life, seeing that same face as you open your eyes every morning, and being okay with it.
With women more empowered these days, singlehood is as prevalent as marriage. Why not, especially when many unions end up being broken somewhere down the line anyway.
Today, women are able to build careers, explore their skills, get better educated, run their own businesses, manage their own money and society has come to embrace this as a fact.
In the past, settling down in their early 20s was the norm. So before they can even begin to know who they are and what they can be capable of, it is being a wife, mother, and homemaker that defines their existence.
And there is nothing wrong with that. There are members of the female species precisely built or born to be wives and mothers. And they enjoy it, take pride in it, revel in it.
Ultimate goal
In the same way, more women now are realizing that being married does not, and will not, define who they are. They can be just as fulfilled having a job, pursuing a career, and giving of themselves to countless people not related to them by blood or law.
It takes a special kind of woman to choose single-blessedness. She must be confident enough to walk into a room filled with couples, or brave enough to stand before family and well-meaning friends and declare 'I am happy and content being single.'
A single woman can do so much good, contribute to her community, and spread joy and love just as a wife or mother can. It is a decision to live life to the fullest despite having no partner or husband.
Yes, it would have crossed her mind how she will get by when she grows old and is alone. And while there might be moments in her single life where she might feel lonely, there, too are rewards when she can enjoy the solitude, bask in her success, and give herself a pat in the back because she's made it so far even as an unattached female.
Does singlehood make a woman less of one? Is not striving to live as a compassionate, respectful, kind and decent human being the goal we all need to aspire for and achieve?
Sometimes, it is fate that dictates your eventual status in life. In the end, it is what you choose to do regardless of your status that matters and gives significance to your life.
Finding my 3rd wind
For the past several weeks, my prayer has been to let me get back to writing. While it is I that will do the writing, I need to pray for it because it's not as simple as sitting down in front of the computer, or typing on my phone. Noise.cash was a jump-off. I was introduced to the platform and since it didn't require overly long posts, I was okay with that.
I was doing good, had picked up my stride, and managed one to four posts daily. But it is not merely writing or posting photos. Engagement is integral. I had to connect with other users. Otherwise, giving out free tips, and receiving them would be difficult.
In the course of posting and hunting for posts to like and share tips with, I would come upon posts of links to read.cash. Ahhh, the longer version of noise.cash. In other words, some serious writing.
Still I was unsure whether to sign up or not. To go or not to go. I would read articles occasionally, those promoted by fellow Noisers, and in the site itself. I continued to pray for guidance.
It's time
Finally, I got a mental push. Time to register. Perhaps there was no need to publish immediately. I could explore, get the lay of the land, comment here and there, just to familiarize myself.
Then one morning, even before I could open my eyes, there were words stringing in my head. Insistent words that kept going on and on in my sleep-fogged brain. It was the first line of my introduction post. Before I could do anything else, even say my morning prayers, I grabbed my phone and started the article.
Funny how the words just flowed. When I thought I was done, more would come. While I had not totally stopped writing, it was always subject-specific. There were topics assigned to me that I needed to work on. What I missed was writing about things that I cared about, knew of, or wanted to share.
My apprehension was whether I could find my voice, my real voice, again. That the introductory article was completed in no time told me I was ready. Maybe not full-blown ready, but I could do it.
I was hesitant to hit the PUBLISH button. I couldn't find the right lead image, so I ended up taking one, however haphazard. I must've re-read the article 10 times before I finally hit PUBLISH.
There, it was done!
The boost
It was agonizing to wait for someone to read it. I used noise.cash to get some eyes on it. My friends and fellow users did not disappoint. Now earning some BCH for it made it even more nerve-wracking. Going around the communities, I am aware not all posts are given tips or rewards. If I only got $0.01, I would be ecstatic.
I got a few views. Perhaps a comment or two. And that made my heart sing! An hour or so after, I receive a notification and it said Random Rewarder upvoted my article. Hooray!!!
Can't remember how much, but it didn't matter. I got a tip! And another, and another, and more that my head was spinning, and my eyes were rolling in delight. All I could think was "I did it!"
I also want to give a shoutout to @deedum, who was first to upvote my Intro article. I will forever be grateful for the encouragement.
The pride is not just in receiving the rewards, but more in being able to push myself to write again. To get back on the saddle, find my groove.
I've never taken for granted that the ability to write is a gift. And the best way to show my gratitude is to use it, and use it well. And while I can muster enough confidence (and courage) to write, I still need the occasional push. Readers are good encouragers, but God is still the one I look toward to lead me, to guide me. After all, I still see myself as an instrument and the writing, a tool.
A great week
It has been a thrilling week and my read.cash journey has been very encouraging. The BCH isn't anything to sneeze at either. So, I am most grateful to Random Rewarder for keeping me inspired.
Thanks also to those who've dropped a comment or two, and left words of wisdom and advice on how to do even better here in the platform.
What is important is being able to jump-start my writing again. I am running it around my head how to effectively promote BCH awareness in my community. I've seen others do it, and actually convince people to not only acquire or accumulate BCH but to accept it as payment like fiat.
The first step I've taken is to introduce it to my sister and her husband. They've since joined noise.cash and are extremely happy with their earnings. Seeing how BCH's value has doubled since they started in noise, they see the potential of it becoming a savings instrument, other than a functional currency. Now, their goal is to accumulate 1 BCH...
There's a world of possibilities opening up for me. Focus is needed. And determination. Wouldn't want to waste opportunities and chances.
In memory of a dear friend
The last time I waved goodbye to her was on the way to a funeral. She had attended the mass before we left the funeral home to bury my youngest sister. Her coming was a surprise, and I was scrambling to find her a seat in one of the vehicles so she could come to the cemetery with us.
But she declined. I knew she arrived in a cab because she was alone. There was so much to do and think I couldn't really give her my full attention, but she waved me off. She understood and didn't want to be a bother.
When I look back, I remember she didn't look well that last time. But I didn't pay attention.
I feel guilty, too, because just a few hours earlier, she came to the wake with her son and stayed on until the wee-hours. I could hardly keep my eyes open from exhaustion, but it had been so long since we had seen each other. So, she wanted to talk, and talk, and talk.
Little did I know it would be the last long chat we would have.
Final message
I will always feel guilty for not replying to her last text message. She greeted me on Christmas. I have her number but somehow, her name didn't register that time. I ignored it, while trying to figure out who it might have come from. Stupid me, I should have just replied and asked.
It was only much, much later when I finally discerned it was her. By then, it was too late.
I'm trying to remember now if I had greeted her on her birthday. She was born November 29, one day before a holiday, so it was impossible to miss. Since knowing her, I have never failed to greet her, whether through a phone call, a visit, or much later, through text messages.
It was like a pact - that I would never forget to say Happy Birthday. I hope I did, however belated it was.
In our last conversation, she told me of her medical issues. She had a heart problem. It was being managed, and her last doctor's appointment cleared her, although she had to continue with her maintenance medications.
I was surprised to find out that her doctor was from the hospital nearby, a 5-minute drive from my house. I chided her for not telling me so I could have gone with her or at least seen her when she was waiting her turn.
Through walks and bus rides
She is one of my dearest friends, someone I met long ago at work, became close to, and developed a tight bond with. I think that friendship was cemented during our walks to the bus stop from the office, the shared bus rides until she got off first.
My best memory of our time together was when I gave her a coloring book and crayons for her birthday. She was in her 30s then. An artist who didn't pursue art, I thought she could use some relaxation time by coloring.
We colored together on that birthday I gave her the gift. Slumped on the floor in her living room, we got busy. It was so much fun - making sure not to go beyond the lines, coloring in one direction only, and picking really outrageous colors for the page to stand out.
I was a fixture in their home, so I knew her sister, her mother, their lifelong househelper.
Then life happened.
We both left the company we worked in. She got into retail, which she was very good at, and rose through the ranks. Needless to say, the busyness of life prevented us from spending as much time together as we used to.
But there would be occasions when we would see each other during her very late lunch breaks, and we would talk like it was just yesterday when we last saw each other, not months or even years.
She was many years older than myself. But we clicked, and connected, and I was often her confidante.
Marriage, baptism, death
I remember receiving a phone call to tell me she was getting married. She was in her mid 40s, I think. I didn't even know there was someone to marry. But I was thrilled for her, even though apprehensive because the man was many years her junior.
Then I panicked because I ended up helping organize that wedding. I was planner, chauffer, girl Friday, and everything rolled into one. But how could I say no to someone whom I held dear?
Her honeymoon baby was a boy. I was ecstatic when she gave birth because of her advanced age. Of course, I was a godmother.
After giving birth, and the baptism, we rarely got to see each other. Here and there, we would. But there was never enough time to sit down and talk like we used to. She had a family, a job, and I had my life, too.
Still, we stayed in touch. If only during November 29 when I would greet her. It would be followed by a chat to ask how each was doing.
I didn't tell her about my sister's passing. Somehow, she learned of it, and so it was a huge surprise when her head popped through the door at the wake. I wish our last time together was not in such an ominous place.
I was among the first her husband called after her passing. But at the time, I was taking care of my ailing father, who needed to be confined again. And there is the superstition that it was bad to attend wakes when you're tending to the sick. Something to do with bad chi.
The news of her sudden death deflated me. It made me more miserable that I could not see her for the last time. I console myself with the thought that my memory of her would be that of a smiling friend, the talkative friend that she always was.
I still grieve for her. For the missed chances to be together, to chat. But I will always be grateful for the privilege of being her friend. And humbled that she chose me to be hers, and that she found me worthy to have been part of her life.
The truth behind my first paid writing work
"Come see me in my office" sounds ominous even when delivered pleasantly. It's especially nerve-wracking to the ears of a 9th grader without a history of ever being summoned by a teacher.
But when a teacher asks you to come see her, you go, no questions asked. It didn't help to calm my nerves that she wasn't in the faculty room when I finally stepped inside. And other teachers who knew me also had this look wondering why I was there.
Thankfully, it wasn't long before Ms. Hermosa arrived. Her memory will forever be etched in my mind. She's diminutive - maybe four feet five inches tall - graying hair, even when she wasn't THAT old, held in a messy bun, brown skin, very thick glasses, and a cheery smile on her face.
Upon seeing me she hurried towards her desk and motioned for me to come closer. She pulled open her drawer and extracted a teacher's publication with a red cover. Right now, that's all that I remember of that. She said, "I have good news for you." I think my face registered something else so she pulled out a sheet of paper that marked a page in the magazine.
Surprise!
And voila! It opened to a story - my story - which was submitted as a final requirement for her English creative writing class which I took the previous semester. Oh wow! My first published work.
Then she was instructing me to go over to the publication office to get my honorarium. In my head I was thinking "And I get paid, too?"
I should've been ecstatic and jumping for joy with this news. I heard Ms. Hermosa say she submitted what she thought were the best stories from our class to the publication. And they accepted mine and I think one other student's.
Of course it was exhilarating news! Imagine some class requirement ended up being published. But here was my dilemma - that story was a farce. Or at least, it didn't exactly comply with the instructions given.
That look of pride she gave me as she handed the publication and address shook my knees even more. Should I tell her the truth?
So why did her good news eat me alive instead of make me joyous?
Caught in a bind
The instructions for that final requirement was to make a storybook based on something that was REAL. We had to find someone with a disability - blind, crippled, deaf - and use their circumstance for our story suitable for a young audience.
That meant interviewing who was any of that, asking them to relate their story then turning it into my project.
Other than writing the story, we had to do the illustration ourselves. Those were the days when everything was done by hand, no computers, no fancy tools. Just pencil, and coloring materials, plus a sketchbook to serve as our storybook.
We did have a neighbor who was a polio victim. But he was way, way older than myself and quite reticent, too. I was also extremely, painfully shy. How do I go about asking someone something so personal - how did it happen and how he coped with the disability?
But it was a requirement I could not NOT submit. It would make up the bulk of my final grade. And I did not want to fail. So saying the dog ate my work was just not going to cut it!
I psyched myself for days. But I never got the nerve to go ask that neighbor about his story that I could turn into my book.
Creativity at its finest
Grasping at straws because my deadline was looming, it finally hit me. What if I just made up a story? Teacher wasn't going to go out of her way to verify details, so it would not matter if I just invented a story.
Inspiration and deadline pushed me to work hard, burning the midnight oil to complete it on time. What I do remember from that time was how easy making up the story was for me. The words just flowed. And while drawing wasn't my strong suit, somehow I managed to illustrate it just right.
My hands were shaking when I turned over the project. And I prayed so hard to pass and not be caught with my "lie". Pass I did, and with flying colors.
I went to the publication, collected my honorarium of 150 pesos (a huge amount for me) and remember walking out the premises staring at the magazine and feeling the weight of the money in my bag.
I did good, even if I technically did not follow instructions. My heart swelled with pride.
No, I never had the courage to tell Ms. Hermosa the truth. I don't know if it would've mattered. It was a creative writing class anyway. And I was just being that, creative.
She has since passed on. And when I think of her, I will always remember that story, her guidance and most importantly, her belief in my ability to write.
Punctual: Familiar with the word?
I rarely hear the word punctual being used nowadays. Does that mean people don't respect time? Yes, there's a 'new normal' but time hasn't changed. It's still 24 hours to make up a day.
My paternal grandfather was a very strict man. Since we lived in a compound, he was always around. Aside from watching over all his plants (he had a terrific green thumb!) because we kids loved playing with them, one of the things I remember most about him was being a stickler for time.
He wasn't just punctual or on time. Lolo had to be there way ahead of time. If they had to leave for somewhere at 8 o'clock, you can bet he's ready by 7:15! To avoid his wrath, if you were going with him, you had to scurry and get ready way ahead of time, too.
That was my earliest exposure to punctuality. My dad naturally picked up the habit. My mom? Well, it's like she grew up in another planet. You can tell her today what time you need to leave tomorrow, yet she'd still be late getting ready. And when she is, there has never been an occasion when she didn't have to go back to the house for one thing or another.
Incentive to be early
So, the 'being ahead of time' stuck with me. When I was going to school, especially when we only had to commute ( getting picked up by a school bus was a hassle) I remember being first or second when the school gates opened.
In high school, the habit became ingrained even more. I joined the Cadet Corps training and that demanded punctuality! I certainly didn't want to do additional push-ups and sit-ups because I was late.
And because 20 to 50 push-ups was not something I looked forward to, I also learned to run fast!
By the time I was in college, there were very few instances when I made it to class 'just in the nick of time'. That was usually because my next class was a building and several floors away from the first class. If I could choose a schedule that didn't require running to get to class, I always did. Even if it meant having an extra hour break.
As far as I can remember, I was always waiting outside of the classroom at least 15 minutes before the set time. That way I could a) have my choice of seats if it was free seating; b) rest and fan myself after beads of sweat trickled down my back; and c) have time to check any work that needed to be passed without having to rummage through my bag to bring it out.
Never late
This habit carried on until I started working. Always ahead of time. And I have never ever, to my recollection, been screamed at with "You're late!"
Here's the thing: I try to be punctual as much as possible because I value time. That's why we make schedules, so that we're there by the appointed time. I would rather be waiting for whoever I am meeting with rather than having to looked flushed and sweaty because of rushing and embarrassment for being late.
Besides, I respect time, mine and other people's. Their time, like mine, is valuable. And the best way to show that respect is to be there at the time we said we would be there.
Have I ever been stood up? Yes. And it was very, very annoying. Have I ever had to wait for an hour or more for someone? Oh yeah! By then I'd have gone to the bathroom to pee so many times for drinking too much liquid while waiting.
It's no fun, if ever you've had to wait forever for someone, when you agreed to meet at a certain time.
Little respect for time
Nowadays, I am appalled at my nephews and niece who show so little respect for time. Because they all attend online classes, they think it's okay to just wake up, and without even combing their hair or washing their faces, sit in front of the computer and start class.
It's very disappointing how even when you drill it into them, they still don't get the value of time, and being ON TIME.
Here's the thing: time is something you can never get back. Yeah you can turn back the hands of a clock, but not the time lost. There's this saying you can make up for lost time. Not really. Because the time that went by is gone. There may never be another opportunity or instance the same as the one you missed all because you did not respect time.
So, let's take stock of things. We don't know how much time we have on this planet. We must make the time we have count. Not necessarily for grand or dramatic things, just everyday things. More importantly, let us give time the respect it deserves. We just may be surprised at what we get out of it.
The 4 o'clock of my childhood
I grew up in a middle-class neighborhood where everyone knew everyone else. There were several children in my age bracket so my sisters and I were never lacking in playmates. In those days when playtime meant going outdoors, I knew, even without a clock or watch to tell me, that it was 4 o'clock.
It started with kids from one household who would be making the rounds around the subdivision, calling out to other children that it was time to come out and play. The in-thing those days was a bicycle. So most everyone of us had a bike that we would ride around the street like a parade. Those who didn't have one would borrow from another to have their turn.
There were mini-races, or careening down a small rough hill to get from one side of the neighborhood to the other, or playing cops and robbers so we could chase each other on bicycles.
After bikes, skateboards became the in-thing. But since this was relatively more dangerous that the two-wheelers only those with terrific balance and aptitude could show-off their skills.
To take a break, we would park our bikes (more like lay them on the street) and sit on the curb or gutters and tell stories. When once a small space was made available to us, it became a sort-of clubhouse, with an overgrown aratilis (Kerson) tree, whose sweet fruits the size of tiny cherries, we would pick and eat straight away.
It was not unheard of for one mom or house helper to call out an invitation for free snacks. It was never anything fancy, just the usual banana-que or kamote-que (saba banana or sweet potato dipped in brown sugar and fried then skewered in a barbecue stick), maybe a sandwich or cookies. And because what was more important was to have fun and play, we kids were not picky eaters.
We formed a club one summer, as most children did back then. What it was for, no one was really clear about. Eventually, this fizzled out and no one cared.
Into our teens, we progressed from biking and horsing around to playing badminton, table tennis, and volleyball. It was more structured play and even those who weren't athletic participated, just for the fun of it. And we could play until way past midnight for round two (after dinner).
Everyone's favorite game
But one game we never outgrew was 'patintero.' This is a team game, made up of two groups, played on the street with lines drawn to divide the play area into boxed sectors. The object was for the 'It' team to prevent the opposing team from crossing one end of the street and back by tagging members as they crossed each sector guarded by a member of the 'It' team.
The game required cunning, stealth, and timing to outwit each other. If one team member manages to go through the entire play area and back to the starting point without anyone being tagged, they win. If the 'It' team tags one of the opponents, even with the slightest touch, they win.
Shouts of 'homing!' would ring out as one member after another managed to reach the end and be on his way back to the starting line. This was a very boisterous game, with kids taunting each other good-naturedly.
It was one fun activity that even brought out the parents to be spectators and cheering squads. With more than a dozen kids playing, the play area could sometimes be 25 meters long. Everyone would be sweaty and panting from all the excitement.
Did we always have the same teams? No. That's why we were all good friends. Team work was important regardless of who you were playing with.
Then and now
Being children, we did have our petty fights. But these were few and far between. No one wanted to be holed up inside the house while everyone else was outside playing.
It's unfortunate that kids of today have no similar experience to remember or have memories of. All they know are gadgets and computers and online games or social media.
I guess the young of many years ago didn't have much time to fight or have huge disagreements because we were using up all our energy for play. We could run, jump, scream and shout and it was okay because we had a huge playground with open spaces.
We didn't stress out because there were bashers or stalkers or people who hated us because they envied what we posted. We simply enjoyed our childhood. There was school, and playmates, and games and sports, and secret meetings. Everything was real, not virtual.
Sure there were some kids who could be a bit more malicious or mischievous than others, but never downright evil or bad. We were raised to be respectful, even if we could enter each others' homes freely. And our parents always knew who we were playing with, so they didn't worry as much about our whereabouts.
These days parents worry even when their children are just inside the house, because they're glued to gadgets and computers and never really know who they're interacting with or what they're unearthing in the Internet.
How I wish the kids of today have their own lasting childhood memories that is just as exciting as we had then.
I will never trade my childhood for any gadget or online game available now. I loved how it was then. I appreciated the freedom it gave me, and the connections I built that were real and often, lasting.
*P.S. I would have wanted to post photographs to help visualize what I've been talking about. Unfortunately, to get real good images will take a bit more work and permissions. So, I leave it to your imagination to picture what I've related here. Perhaps, I can soon find the opportunity to take my own photos and add them here later.*
Writing and BCH brought me here
At 11 or 12 I discovered I could get lost in a sea of words that I put down on paper. That was many moons ago, but that started my love affair with writing.
It was probably my 17th summer when I went into a writing frenzy - short stories, poems, even songs! I had progressed from pen and paper to typewriter. Some of those stuff I managed to keep and rummage through today just to reminisce.
I was 24 when I learned I could earn a living out of writing. It was kismet. I had just quit my admin job when a former coworker called to say there was an opening in the publication company she used to work in. I should apply for a position.
With nothing to lose and unaware of what I was getting into, I went, took the test, passed, and sat down for an interview.
The question "why do you want to be a reporter" caught me off guard but I must've said something right because I ended up reporting for work on the first day of November.
As it was All Saints Day, the first thing I ever wrote about was a situationer in a cemetery that was wrapped up along with other ASD stories that year.
Thus began my journey as a writer. Covering the news was punishing but rewarding. It opened up many opportunities for unexpected adventures (I scaled mountains and sailed rough seas, promise!) In college, I had set my sights on travel so I got myself a Tourism degree. Two contractual jobs with international conventions and a year doing international exhibition work never gave me that opportunity. Being a journalist did.
There was much to learn and even more to experience. In the process of coverage and writing news stories I learned feature writing was what interested me more, and I had a knack for it.
Fortunately, my editor at that time supported this growing interest. On top of my news assignments, he allowed me to explore and develop my feature writing skills. That was a whole lot of fun and an eye opener.
I've since taken a hiatus from writing. I blogged for a few years and enjoyed that tremendously. I still do freelance writing. Doing it full-time can be exhausting especially when writing about the same things over and over again.
I never thought of monetizing what I put out there in the world wide web. Thanks to my introduction to crypto, and with platforms like noise.cash and read.cash to enable me to do that, I'm willing to give writing a go again. Find joy in words again. Share my thoughts, again.
And honestly, Bitcoin Cash... BCH can get you excited to do those things. It can certainly help pay the bills some, and then it's the smarter alternative to saving money. Banks? Blah! It doesn't make our money grow.
But with patience and perseverance, BCH can make the future look more rosy. And it's a huge plus that the vision is to make it a utility currency.
Other than accumulating BCH, and growing it, it's time to contribute in raising awareness about it. Make people see it as money, not just the kind they're used to, but one that can be even more valuable in the years to come.
As I get lost in a sea of words once more, I look forward to making new connections with people from everywhere, thanks to the Internet. Writing provides that opportunity, too.
I was raised to love reading and books. Who knew it would lead to something equally fulfilling?
#originalphotos
@zolabundance2
