It’s three in the morning and the weather is damp. I woke up because someone was tapping on my window. I sleepily rub my eyes and unravel my body from my favorite old blanket. The tapping was getting louder so I got out of bed and peered outside. It was Peter Pan. I opened my window and let him in. For some time he was convincing me to go with him to Never Never Land. I was ready but Peterpan said I should fly. “How can I fly?” I asked. He told me to think of happy a thoughts so I can fly. I can’t think of one single moment that I was happy because thinking of eating food is not enough. Tinkerbell was not even around so no pixie dust. He turned away and flew out of my window.
That was obviously a fantasy. It’s something what writers call “literary license” where they have the right to exaggerate things for literary purposes. I didn’t really wake up because of Peter Pan. It was a horrible dream that wakes me up. Some bad dreams lingers even if you’re awake and that makes me crazy.
So I made up a better dream on why I am awake this hour to overwrite such disturbing dream. The dream knocked on my subconscious mind and went all the way to my Memories Cemetery. He visited one particular buried memory that died when I was in highschool. The soul of that memory was disturbed and reappeared like a ghost while I was sleeping. The worst part is, I woke up with a song in my head. It was the song “Nobody but you” by Wonder Girls. It keeps on playing that one liner until now like a broken recorder. It was horrific! Hopefully this new dream that I am weaving through writing will make me feel better and helped buried it again.
Let’s talked about my fabricated dream. First, I will not rubbed my eyes cutely when I hear someone tapping on my window. In reality, with a bolt, I will sit upright like a springed clown inside the box and then I will asked “Ano yun?!”
Second, I will not uncover my body from my favorite blanket due to the fact that I sleep naked. Besides, I’m easily get scared so I might crouch inside the blanket like a fetus inside the placenta.
Third, if the tapping gets louder, I will not got out of bed to see who it was. I will wake my girlfriend and let her see who it was so if it’s a monster, she would be eaten first.
Fourth, if it was really Peter Pan, he couldn’t get inside the window because our windows are made of jalousies. Since everybody knows him, I will tell him to fly around the building and used the fire escape so that I could let him in inside the door. Once inside, I will scold him for disturbing my sleep and why a boy his age was awake this hour.
Fifth, I might think Peter Pan is a broker or a realty state agent who wanted a sale to Never Never Land because in realty, I’m having a hard time sleeping thinking about the house and lot that I’m going to buy through Pag-ibig.
Sixth, my fabricated dream indicates that it took me sometime to think about going with him. If only Peter Pan is a lesbian or if it’s Tiger Lily who approaches me, I might have say yes in an instant.
Seventh, I was ready to go with him and in reality, I do go with a strangers. That’s is one point why I’m always in trouble. I have a habit of taking a candy from a stranger.
Eight, it shows how sad I was for the past few years and I can’t think of one single happy thought so I can fly.
Ninth, no pixie dust and I should stop believing in magic.
Tenth, he left me like hundreds of people who’ll leave and didn’t get the option to stay.
*"Nobody Nobody But You" keeps playing on my head
Showing posts with label LGBT. Show all posts
Showing posts with label LGBT. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Thursday, September 24, 2009
The Business Letter
A couple of days ago, my new supervisor handed me a white envelope. It was weird receiving a letter from a company especially if the letter was addressed to me. I opened the parcel, ripping it on its side. It was a business letter alright - in two pages. The content was formal. It followed the business writing that I learned when I was in high school. I know I should not talk about the grammar or the tenses of how it was written; I am writing this piece because the letter tells me where I am now and how the past six months have gone by.
The letter states that I am now a regular employee. For the first time in my 29 years, I have become a regular employee. The formal dressing, the dizzying bus trips, the tensed feeling of long interviews, the night schedules, the memorization of hundreds of papers, the proper diction, the exam harassments, the tight compliance with company policies, the stressful conversations with the clients and the pressure of hitting my metrics - these are the things that occupied my hyper time. The remaining time and energy left are for sleeping. I became a lousy homemaker, best friend, sister and daughter. Opening this white envelope reveals a lot of thought and issues that I’ve been ignoring for the last six months. As the letter ended, I think about some things that put to an end to an almost perfect job.
It’s the friendship that matters and how I can grow and move inside the company. They say people in your lives come and go. I never realize how fast it will be in this kind of industry.
I made friends during my training days. There were seven of us originally. We ate, we laughed, we smoked, we dreamt and texted each other. As we were distributed to different teams, the text messages became fewer, and soon enough most of them resigned and the only three of us were left. I made friends again with the new team. The closest friend I had was Joanna. We were inseparable until one day she was gone. I was so sad and lonely that I never sit at the last post we spent together. The spam messages were gone and soon enough the work is work and was never fun at all. Two months after, my supervisor sent a goodbye letter. The team was again, distributed to different teams. I was now under this supervisor who is kind of homophobic. I was absent for two days because my partner was very sick. He told me it was not valid because she was not to be considered as an immediate family member. Nakakabadtrip kasi sabi nila call center jobs are for LGBT’s because they don’t discriminate. Technically, she was supposed to be considered as an immediate family member because we were living together as what other married couples do. Kasalan ko ba kung walang legal documents? As I think about it, that supervisor is the one who is homophobic not the company. He is the one to decide about this case and even if I called earlier I was tagged as NCNS (Read as AWOL).
As I am folding back the business letter, putting it inside the white envelope again, I think about what I am going to do if I decided to resign because this is the thing, it is easier to leave because you have an option to stay.
The letter states that I am now a regular employee. For the first time in my 29 years, I have become a regular employee. The formal dressing, the dizzying bus trips, the tensed feeling of long interviews, the night schedules, the memorization of hundreds of papers, the proper diction, the exam harassments, the tight compliance with company policies, the stressful conversations with the clients and the pressure of hitting my metrics - these are the things that occupied my hyper time. The remaining time and energy left are for sleeping. I became a lousy homemaker, best friend, sister and daughter. Opening this white envelope reveals a lot of thought and issues that I’ve been ignoring for the last six months. As the letter ended, I think about some things that put to an end to an almost perfect job.
It’s the friendship that matters and how I can grow and move inside the company. They say people in your lives come and go. I never realize how fast it will be in this kind of industry.
I made friends during my training days. There were seven of us originally. We ate, we laughed, we smoked, we dreamt and texted each other. As we were distributed to different teams, the text messages became fewer, and soon enough most of them resigned and the only three of us were left. I made friends again with the new team. The closest friend I had was Joanna. We were inseparable until one day she was gone. I was so sad and lonely that I never sit at the last post we spent together. The spam messages were gone and soon enough the work is work and was never fun at all. Two months after, my supervisor sent a goodbye letter. The team was again, distributed to different teams. I was now under this supervisor who is kind of homophobic. I was absent for two days because my partner was very sick. He told me it was not valid because she was not to be considered as an immediate family member. Nakakabadtrip kasi sabi nila call center jobs are for LGBT’s because they don’t discriminate. Technically, she was supposed to be considered as an immediate family member because we were living together as what other married couples do. Kasalan ko ba kung walang legal documents? As I think about it, that supervisor is the one who is homophobic not the company. He is the one to decide about this case and even if I called earlier I was tagged as NCNS (Read as AWOL).
As I am folding back the business letter, putting it inside the white envelope again, I think about what I am going to do if I decided to resign because this is the thing, it is easier to leave because you have an option to stay.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Pills 2
THIS IS ANOTHER OLD BLOG ENTRY DATED 2008
I remember, when my father and my aunt found out that I’m a lesbian, they brought me to a psychiatrist at Makati Medical Center. They thought, like the Catholic Church, that this is a problem. This is unacceptable. This is unholy and this is insanity.
I was brought in early in the morning, mid week, three years ago. The halls smelled of alcohol, medicines, gloves and syringe. The eerie feeling of suffering bodies and lost souls fills the air. The familiarity of the place creeps in. I remember how I spent month after month and year after year in this hospital. I remember my grandparents in this place. I remember death. Death is not a good feeling to associate with what they want me to do here. Not now. It was never calming.
The doctor was a lady in her forties. That’s what I thought, judging by the way she chose her clothes. The room was decorated with a lot of effort. From wallpapers to her carpet, even the furniture that was chosen creates an image of serenity. Clients who are confused and unnerved by instinct will seek something to make them feel relaxed, comfortable and occupied. I am one of the clients. I did the room searching and choose the aquarium with a big fat fish making a “clug-clug” sound over the playful painting to just at least occupy my mind and lessen the tension that was building up.
The doctor’s first question was, “Why are you here?”
And I said, “I don’t know.”
“How can I be of help?” she asked.
I replied again, “I don’t know.”
And these two questions and my similar response goes on and on for 10 minutes. The doctor gave up and let my aunt in.
My aunt told the doctor carefully, “She’s been drinking everyday and the alcohol makes her so loud and uncontrollable that it bothers the neighbors”
Who was the meddling neighbor anyway? I thought, ano to, pauso?
Is it because of my voice when I started singing “I Will Survive” over the videoke at midnight? Wait ‘til I found out who you are and I’ll make it sure that YOU WILL BE BOTHERED!
“And I think that it all started when my mother died.” My aunt continued. “You see doctor, she lived with her after her parents separation and I think she can’t stand the pain, is there anything you can do?” she asked.
“Is this all true?” the lady doctor asked with a narrowing eyes.
“I don’t know”, was all I can say.
“And there’s one more, she has a girlfriend. She’s actually having a relationship with a girl…”, my aunt adds.
“Is this true?”, asked the doctor.
Of all the I-don’t-knows that came out of my mouth, this is the only confirmation she gets for the whole session.
“Yes, I am a lesbian.”
The doctor said to my aunt and my father that I do have a problem that needs to be taken care of or maybe she only wanted the consultation money. She looked at her calendar and scheduled me for another session. She began prescribing me a pill as small as a chocolate chip with a smiley face on the box as if trying to tell me that it will make me happy as soon as I take it and I will be lesbian-free.
This is always the problem about the pill. It always promises you something. You and the people around you believe.
I swallow the tiny pill and waited for it to work. I expected it to weave a happy thought that could run for a day. Maybe it would make me loose my interest in girls, but instead, it made me high and nauseous.
In the middle of my shift, while talking to an old American lady who was desperately buying Suzzane Summer’s gaucho pants in amber, size S/M, which at that time was sold out, the “anti-lesbian” pill kicked in. I immediately finished my call, ran to the comfort room, dashed to the nearest cubicle and clumsily locked the vandalized door. I almost kneel at the dirty tiles and then puked all the food that I ate during break time. This particular pill wrapped on a decorated smiley face box with a promise of making you happy and lesbian-free made me sick for the rest of the day. I wasn’t able to finish my shift. The nurse sent me home to take a rest. The pill broke my aunt’s heart because it didn’t cure the fact that I am a lesbian. It robbed my father’s wallet because it cost 4,000 pesos. It made me so unhappy because I disappointed them by not taking it anymore and made me ditch the next session. The pill ruined my dignity at the office because the nurse thought that I was pregnant and the news flies to different departments.
I remember, when my father and my aunt found out that I’m a lesbian, they brought me to a psychiatrist at Makati Medical Center. They thought, like the Catholic Church, that this is a problem. This is unacceptable. This is unholy and this is insanity.
I was brought in early in the morning, mid week, three years ago. The halls smelled of alcohol, medicines, gloves and syringe. The eerie feeling of suffering bodies and lost souls fills the air. The familiarity of the place creeps in. I remember how I spent month after month and year after year in this hospital. I remember my grandparents in this place. I remember death. Death is not a good feeling to associate with what they want me to do here. Not now. It was never calming.
The doctor was a lady in her forties. That’s what I thought, judging by the way she chose her clothes. The room was decorated with a lot of effort. From wallpapers to her carpet, even the furniture that was chosen creates an image of serenity. Clients who are confused and unnerved by instinct will seek something to make them feel relaxed, comfortable and occupied. I am one of the clients. I did the room searching and choose the aquarium with a big fat fish making a “clug-clug” sound over the playful painting to just at least occupy my mind and lessen the tension that was building up.
The doctor’s first question was, “Why are you here?”
And I said, “I don’t know.”
“How can I be of help?” she asked.
I replied again, “I don’t know.”
And these two questions and my similar response goes on and on for 10 minutes. The doctor gave up and let my aunt in.
My aunt told the doctor carefully, “She’s been drinking everyday and the alcohol makes her so loud and uncontrollable that it bothers the neighbors”
Who was the meddling neighbor anyway? I thought, ano to, pauso?
Is it because of my voice when I started singing “I Will Survive” over the videoke at midnight? Wait ‘til I found out who you are and I’ll make it sure that YOU WILL BE BOTHERED!
“And I think that it all started when my mother died.” My aunt continued. “You see doctor, she lived with her after her parents separation and I think she can’t stand the pain, is there anything you can do?” she asked.
“Is this all true?” the lady doctor asked with a narrowing eyes.
“I don’t know”, was all I can say.
“And there’s one more, she has a girlfriend. She’s actually having a relationship with a girl…”, my aunt adds.
“Is this true?”, asked the doctor.
Of all the I-don’t-knows that came out of my mouth, this is the only confirmation she gets for the whole session.
“Yes, I am a lesbian.”
The doctor said to my aunt and my father that I do have a problem that needs to be taken care of or maybe she only wanted the consultation money. She looked at her calendar and scheduled me for another session. She began prescribing me a pill as small as a chocolate chip with a smiley face on the box as if trying to tell me that it will make me happy as soon as I take it and I will be lesbian-free.
This is always the problem about the pill. It always promises you something. You and the people around you believe.
I swallow the tiny pill and waited for it to work. I expected it to weave a happy thought that could run for a day. Maybe it would make me loose my interest in girls, but instead, it made me high and nauseous.
In the middle of my shift, while talking to an old American lady who was desperately buying Suzzane Summer’s gaucho pants in amber, size S/M, which at that time was sold out, the “anti-lesbian” pill kicked in. I immediately finished my call, ran to the comfort room, dashed to the nearest cubicle and clumsily locked the vandalized door. I almost kneel at the dirty tiles and then puked all the food that I ate during break time. This particular pill wrapped on a decorated smiley face box with a promise of making you happy and lesbian-free made me sick for the rest of the day. I wasn’t able to finish my shift. The nurse sent me home to take a rest. The pill broke my aunt’s heart because it didn’t cure the fact that I am a lesbian. It robbed my father’s wallet because it cost 4,000 pesos. It made me so unhappy because I disappointed them by not taking it anymore and made me ditch the next session. The pill ruined my dignity at the office because the nurse thought that I was pregnant and the news flies to different departments.
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