Be thankful for the hard times

I always believed that hardships can teach a person a lot of things.

I was never ashamed to say that I went through really hard times growing up. I came from a lower-middle-class family, with my parents working so hard to make ends meet. Sometimes, I wonder as to how they were able to do it, or maybe I do know: definitely with blood, sweat and tears.

My parents managed to send me and my two brothers to a private Catholic school, in what my mother would always deem as, “Bayad-utang-bayad-utang”—or that never-ending cycle of loaning money and paying it off in order to loan again.

My cousins who went to the same school were better off, either because both of their parents were working or because they own a small business. In our household, it was only my father who was working then, getting a low-wage government salary. Later on, my mother got a job at the Assessor’s Office of the City Hall, in what they call a “casual” basis (If you don’t know what that is, it is somewhat similar to contractual employment, but may differ in the bureaucratic jargon used). That didn’t really change how things were when you have mouths to feed and needs to fill for meager pay.

I resented our situation when I was younger. I even thought my parents were not working hard enough to give us the best of things. If my Dad finished school he might have gotten a better job. If we have a business then we can have more money. Growing up, I was envious of my classmates and friends who seem to have everything. I often ask why we were having it tougher than most people I know.

I don’t recall ever getting an allowance. Since my school is just within walking distance from our house, I was only given a certain amount of “pocket money” every day, around five to ten pesos—enough to buy me snacks and a small cup of soft drinks. During the worst of times, I’d go to school with no money at all. My mother would make pandesal with whatever spread we had available (like cheese, butter, coco jam or liver spread) and that’s all I have. By lunchtime, I’d wait for my Dad by the school gate as he was the one who brings my food.

If money is needed for usual student expenses like photocopying fees, group contributions, school supplies or the like, then I have nothing to give. I’ll be the one who’d usually “pass” and pay the next day if I could.

It’s not just the money, I don’t have the excess kids my age enjoyed. I only get new things at the beginning of the school year (the good thing was that my Mom always made sure we had good quality—not necessarily expensive—things in school). If lucky, my shoes and uniforms were hand-me-downs from older cousins, so my parents need not spend more for it.

I didn’t get to have the popular toys back in the day or wear branded clothes, except ones sent via Balikbayan Boxes from relatives in the States. It’s somewhat funny now when I remember how we had to strike the TV to make it work (until it eventually conked out for good) or had to tie our refrigerator door so it will shut. We never had a Betamax player (only VHS, but it was a lot later) or a Nintendo Family Computer. I only owned one Barbie doll ever: The Sunsational Malibu Barbie, while my classmates would show off their large collection in rare times we were allowed to bring our toys to school.

There was a time in Grade Six when I was asked to step out of the class during a major exam because I don’t have the exam permit yet. My father was still at the cashier’s office trying to secure it with a promissory note. I had to stay at the library where Dad saw me crying in self-pity. He was able to get the permit, alright, but going back to the classroom while all eyes were looking at me can be very humiliating even for a little girl.

If it weren’t for the full scholarship in High School, I’m pretty sure I would have transferred to a public school. It was truly a blessing, but even if all my tuition including miscellaneous fees were paid for, getting by was still tough.

It wasn’t easy being a scholar as I never felt that we were held in the esteem we deserve. If for anything, the faculty made me feel I had to work for it. Apart from maintaining my grades, I was also expected to do extra work for teachers like checking of test papers, cleaning of rooms, ushering for school events or helping with practically any task assigned even during the weekends. There were moments I feel like I was a lackey running errands for them.

My resentment grew even more during my teenage years. It’s the time I want to fit in, and I can’t since I don’t have the things most of my classmates have. I may have been part of a clique or a barkada, but I don’t have close friends growing up because I was somewhat ashamed of people finding out how tough my circumstance was. I wasn’t given money for the mall or movie (aside from the fact that I wasn’t allowed) that perhaps out of pity, well-meaning friends would chip in for me so I can get to join them.

It didn’t help that there were some teachers who treated me unfairly like it was my fault that I was not as well-off as most students studying in that school. I remember this one time when my class adviser slyly implied that I was the classroom thief.

Stealing in the classroom had become so rampant at that time that my adviser had been throwing insinuating blows my way that had been going on for days. I initially ignored it under the rationale that it wasn’t me who was taking the things and the money anyway. In the long run, shrugging it off was not a good idea, as she might’ve mistaken my lack of reaction for guilt.

One morning in front of the whole class, my teacher asked me when I could pay for the field trip. I don’t recall what my reply was, but I will never forget what she said. She said I shouldn’t give her any more excuses on why I can’t pay because she’s very sure I have “lots of money”.

It wasn’t what she said, it was more how she said it. I was young and maybe lacking discernment, coupled it with the fact that I was thrown off and too shocked to say anything. A concerned classmate pulled me aside and told me that our adviser was obviously hinting something malicious. That’s when it all became clear to me that I have all the right to be offended with her underhanded comment because even other people noticed I was being singled out.

I came home for lunch that day and my parents sensed that there’s something bothering me, so I told them what happened. Furious, they rushed to the principal’s office that very afternoon and lashed out on my class adviser who, of course, denied everything. I got my vindication weeks later when rumors spread that they finally caught the one responsible and that someone belongs to another class.

I never got an apology from my adviser. Maybe she thought she doesn’t owe me anything because after all, I was going to that school for free. And to this day, I don’t attend school reunions as I don’t want to cross paths with that teacher again. Heaven help me—I might not have the self-restraint to remain civil. I would highly likely remind her of what she did to me and slam her for it.

The tough times went on for years and only slightly improved when I reached college. At that time, my older brother was already working so it eased the situation a little. Nonetheless, it was pretty clear that there are still so many material things my parents couldn’t afford to give me even if they wanted to.

It was only when I got older when I realized that even with all those things I went through, that I’m luckier than most people. I was bitterly busy comparing myself to people who’re obviously from a higher social class and have more than me, forgetting that there are still those who were having it worse. I mean, I didn’t have to go and beg for money; I still eat square meals a day; I didn’t have to stop school; I didn’t have to work or be of servitude so I can send myself to school.

I know I said that I thought my parents didn’t give their best for us, but I was so wrong. They gave us the best they can and I was just too young to understand their sacrifices back then. I still tear up when I remember seeing my mother borrowing money from a coworker just so I can pay for a school requirement already due. Or how my dad would leave his office before lunchtime so that he could bring my baon to school and he never missed a day. Only God knows how they managed to do that all those years.   

I have seen people who went through low points end up bitter, selfish and spiteful because they feel life has been unfair to them. The truth is, hard times teach us a very valuable lesson: Gratitude.

This may not be a rags-to-riches story, because I’m anything but wealthy, but it’s worth saying how important those experiences were for me. When you come out of a tough time, it will humble you in ways you can never explain. It taught me resilience and made me so much stronger in handling problems knowing that there will be better days. It made me thankful for the things that I can now afford even if there are still a lot of things that I can’t.  I mean, when I look back on how I was then and compared to how I am now, I sure have come a long way.

Philippines vs. Bullies

I hate bullies. I was bullied as a kid that even now that I’m older I still find myself gritting my teeth when I’m reminded of it. And I always regret the fact that I pretty much allowed them to push me around.

Now my heart breaks for my country as China bullies us over a long-standing territorial dispute.

Nothing’s really new. We all watched helplessly as China continues to build structures on islands and waters belonging to the Philippines. We bemoan how Chinese coast guard and maritime militia shoo away Filipino fishermen and media in our own sovereign waters.

Then just last week, we heard about the news of a Chinese fishing vessel abandoning a sinking Philippine fishing boat after hitting it at Reed (Recto) Bank.

This thing about China’s high-handed tactic in claiming our territorial seas and their blatant disregard of an arbitrary tribunal decision is truly maddening. However, the lack of assertion of our rights from the present administration, despite the fact that PCA (Permanent Court of Arbitration) backs us up, fuels my ire even more.

President Duterte, who indirectly caused the death of thousands from his drug crackdown, the very person who cursed Pope Francis and former US president Barrack Obama, the ballsy leader who called the European Union ‘stupid’, the same one who threatened war on Canada over the waste dispute, the leader who had no qualms alienating anyone who disagrees or questions him, appears to be all too scared to sever ties with China.

Adding insult to injury, after more than a week of the Reed Bank incident, the president downplayed what happened as a “little maritime accident”. His apologists were also quick to add that the collision was more of a ‘graze’ than a direct, deliberate hit.

When asked why they left the Filipino fishermen, they said that the Chinese fled the scene because they were afraid to be “besieged” by other Filipino vessels.

If that wasn’t absurd enough, presidential spokesperson Panelo discounted his kababayan’s account of what happened. According to him, there were "circumstances that give doubt to the version" of the Filipino fishermen. The Duterte supporters used this reasoning too when commenting on social media posts about the incident.

Truly, my heart goes out to the Filipino fishermen because their own government and people doubted them.

In the end, President Duterte stands by China and refuses to send military ships because, as he said, the Philippines is not ready for a nuclear war.  Sure, they can say that this is a ‘calculated statement’ from the president and that its mere intention was to calm the people as the tensions are getting high. But we can’t help but lament over the lack of grit on our part and how the entire situation is mishandled. The government’s passive approach is a clear signal to China that we are pushovers that can be shushed.

A rational Filipino would never suggest declaring war against China. A thinking Filipino would only say that we need a tougher stance over the dispute once and for all. Standing up to China doesn’t necessarily lead to war. Vietnam, for example, is also at odds with China for the same reason, yet they continue on even if the rest of the countries within the region are keeping their heads down.

If the Philippines is not ready for war, I’m sure as hell that China isn’t too. They have so much to lose if that happens. Their geopolitical and economic interests will be at risk so all these talks of a possible nuclear war are obviously meant to scare the common Filipinos to submission and silence.

I may not understand a lot about EEZ, the difference between territorial or sovereign waters—or maybe international maritime laws and arbitration—but there’s one thing I know for sure as a Filipino: We are being bullied, and so far they are succeeding.

The most painful of it all is not only that we are being bullied by China, this administration also bullies its own people. After a closed-door meeting with Sec. Piñol, the boat captain of the sunken vessel changed his statement and is now saying he’s not sure if the Chinese vessel deliberately hit them. Whatever happened? Your guess is as good as mine. I don’t blame the fishermen if they changed their statement. I really don’t.

We need a leader who can strengthen our national sovereignty, not someone who abuse words like 'bilateral relations' to justify an inaction. I hope the next president of this country will have the balls to defend the Filipino people and its territory and not just a filthy caballero machismo.

Cubicle noise pollution

"Avoid loud and aggressive people, they are vexations to the spirit."

— “Desiderata”

Our office has an open workspace in what you can call a co-working environment. There’re about five to six workstations in one bay, enough to fit the dual-monitor desktop, CPU tower and an Avaya IP phone, separated only by partitions measuring about 15-18 inches. Because of this, any noise emanating from a source within a few meters can be heard clearly by anybody within a certain radius.

Noisy coworkers are getting less easy to tolerate for me these days. While the thought crossed my head many times, I deduced that my dwindling patience for them is not because I’m getting old or I’m manifesting symptoms of anxiety, but more because of their lack of common courtesy.

I don’t think they realize that the noise they create can be very stressful for someone who’s just trying to get his or her work done. Their blathering is loud enough that even if you try to drown the noise by wearing earphones, you’ll hear them anyway. You’d think that modulate is a word that’s either alien or omitted in their vocabulary; no deadpan stares or even judging glares would make them lower the volume a notch. If for anything, perhaps they interpret these disapproving gaze for amusement or admiration because the more you look at them, the louder they get.

I always thought that we should all behave a certain way in the office. After all, we’re no longer in school, so we have to conduct ourselves professionally. This includes not talking loudly (especially in vernacular) or engaging in banal chatter. Nobody is asking them for absolute silence, just none of the excessive chit-chat that can already cause disruption to others who are working.

It baffles me how one person can produce noise equivalent to ten people. Imagine multiplying that to two more talking at the same time and volume. The resulting aggravation multiplies logarithmically as well.

I guess for most of them, talking in an obtrusive volume gives them the illusion of importance. But we all know the truth—empty vessels make the most noise. I think they are simply desperate for attention and they don’t care if they get it through notoriety.

By nature, humans are more attuned to man-made sounds which make ignoring noisy officemates nearly impossible. Loud chatter draws the attention away from the task at hand because it ruins one’s focus. Tell me—how can you reply to a business e-mail when you can hear them talking about what happened to last night’s teleserye?

As they are colleagues within the same pay grade, I can’t just tell them to pipe down. People, in general—don’t like being told what to do especially by someone of the same rank. Besides, some of these human bullhorns can’t tell the difference between another person asking them politely from being confrontational (they’d always think it’s the latter). On the other hand, it’s hard not be passive-aggressive when they have pressed all the wrong buttons already. In the end, most of us affected had no choice but to take the high road and ignore it altogether than be seen as the suck-up killjoy office whiner.

What’s frustrating is how we can’t count on their direct superiors to call their attention as they are sometimes the instigators. Reporting it during FGDs and townhall meetings proved to be futile too.

Frankly, I don’t see this issue getting resolved anytime soon because it’s more of an issue on employee behavior than effective enforcement of office rules and work etiquette. If the loud talker doesn’t see anything wrong with what he or she is doing, they’d simply think there’s nothing to change or adjust.

I suddenly thought about how we were in school as little kids—the embarrassment of seeing your name written on the blackboard under “Noisy” for everyone to see—is enough to shut you up.