It started as a personal battle for self-esteem. I grew tired of looking at the mirror and pity those spindly arms or the thick guitar strings called ribs. I tend to complain how XS is always not so XS and why 28 is the smallest size. I try to ignore comments on how I look high school-ish but deep inside I get frustrated. I was always the thin guy.
I know that once I earned my own money, it would be one of the first things to solve.
I regained proper diet after getting hired and shelved all the board exam/unemployment woes that included me eating only twice a day (I slept late and woke up late, missed breakfast almost everyday). From a bony 110 pounder, I jumped to 118 after the first few months at work. Eating is really the best way the get fat - especially when the only way to prevent sleeping at work is to munch at something.
But 118 is still thin.
So when Gold's had a booth in Rustan's at Katipunan and told me that they had this promo for new members of the then soon-to-be-built Gold's Katipunan, I know I should sign up. The whole April pay went there.
There, after around 9 months and more than 50k of membership fees, trainor fees, supplements, gym clothes, expensive high-protein diet, I am now 142 lbs. It's quite much, I mean how much money I lost. I couldn't imagine my mother knowing this figure but she knows I spend a lot. But hell, some people spend six digits in their trips to Vicky Belo. And I know it's perfectly worth it.
The first months at Gold's were generally about the obsession to become beautiful. Everything that could get large should get large. I immersed myself in bodybuilding books, sites on exercises, studied the whey protein, creatine, multivatamin, arginine, everything. I can enumerate those muscles and the complementing exercise to develop each. I hired a trainer and paid excessively when I got frustrated about my initial gains on working out on my own. I developed a schedule that I strictly followed. I made records of the weights I used each week. I calculated the amount of protein my body needs each day and plan everything I need to eat to ensure I meet the requirement.
Being fit is a change in lifestyle - an expensive lifestyle but definitely satisfying. It's about setting your goals and meeting them. It's about discipline and guilt-free living. It's about looking at every Nutrition Facts and knowing you are healthy. It's about getting better endurance for physical tasks, a clearer mind when you need it and shooing stress away easily during difficult times.
It's not without side effects though. I had to turn down night outs with college friends and office mates in favor of the gym. I had to minimize alcohol consumption. I had to let go soda and junk foods. I had to cut spending on everything else to save up for food (healthy meals are the most expensive!) and supplements.
Sadly, I haven't reached that point where I could say I am satisfied and I don't believe I would ever reach that. Nonetheless, the obsession to become beautiful isn't much of an obsession now. Not that I'm not addicted anymore. I'd say it evolved to an obsession to become stronger - a never-ending battle to lift heavier and pushing my physical strengths to the limits every session and eagerly watching out for the muscle pains the morning after (yes, I love them pains).
I can live like this my whole life.
The Gym Obsession
I Design Plants
Basically, that what I do for a living. I work in a Japanese company that specializes on Engineering, Procurement and Construction (EPC). Back in college, I never thought of the existence of this industry. University then was flooded with flyers of FMCGs, Oil & Gas and IT and those were the type most of us were gunning for. I applied for this job through a single click in Jobstreet out of lazy desperation to find a job right away. I actually never intended to take the exam and pursue the interview process. And if I have to be honest, a huge chunk of the reason I accepted this job is merely because their building is gorgeous.
Well, I never thought that that single click in Jobstreet would mean life for the next nine months. And fortunately, it's not only the building that's gorgeous with this company.
So there, I design plants. Oil Refineries, Gas Processing Plants, Geothermal Plants, Chemical Plants, Pharmaceuticals, Metals Refining - name it, we do it. I am a Process Engineer and I take part in the basic engineering phase of a construction project. I calculate Heat and Material Balances for the whole plant process. I draw PFDs and P&IDs (something like a plant blueprint of the whole process in a plant). I size equipments such as separator drums, columns, heat exchangers, pumps, compressors, turbines and even pipes. I specify design pressure and temperature. It's a very geeky job but heck, after all, I took a very geeky degree in college and I can attest that I am a geek myself.
People in college would say that perhaps only 20% of what we learned back then would be applied come real life. I'd say, with my job, I use no less than 99%. A Process Engineer is what a Chemical Engineering undergraduate is being prepared to be.
It's a daily routine. Commuting by bus and train to work. Monday to Friday, 8am to 5pm except when we render overtime. Corporate setting: dress shirt plus slacks plus leather shoes.
The office setup is, well, Japanese. Tables are joined in such a way that they look like long tables arranged in rows inside a very spacious hall. It's quite hard to describe but it should look something like this: (click!). Although not as stressful-looking as the one in that link. I have my own computer, drawers and piles of papers and binders everywhere. I look like a very typical office guy - like Frank Wheeler in Revolutionary Road.
Living up with being multinational, the employees are also multinational. Lots of English speaking to do everyday. I currently work with Japanese but there are also Vietnamese, Britons, Indians, Pakistanis, Arabs, Americans and Koreans in the office. And we Filipinos are being treated equally there. A Japanese colleague actually told another officemate that he looks up on me, saying that I do work efficiently. It was one very humbling experience.
I guess I am just proud of what I'm doing. It's very technical and umm, very intelligent. I learn a lot. A great ton of learning- everyday. It's also very significant. I mean, we are a company that builds other companies and eventually, we build nations. It's very satisfying and I'm just very happy that I chose this path. I cannot imagine myself to be in a completely different industry. If I am to shift companies, I'd still choose working in EPC as a Process Engineer. But for now, I am staying.
Morning Habit
My alarm goes off at 4:30AM everyday. Then I hit the snooze button and I wake around 10 to 30 minutes later. After that, I'd do push-ups, crunches and some stretching to wake up myself more. I'd sweat a little and the shower won't be that cold like it's supposed to be. 15 minutes.
Closet. Pretty much what I'd wear for that day is already planned and I just have to blindingly insert my body parts into those holes and smooth them fit. 10 minutes. The longest part of the morning is devoted to styling my hair, taking 15 minutes at least (so much time for something that never achieves much attention as it wishes it should). Then breakfast and toothbrush and socks and shoes. 10 minutes. I leave house at 6:10AM.
Actually, more like 6:15AM. Those 5 minutes meant big as it almost seals the fact that I am running late. Again. Unless I'm lucky I had a reckless jeepney driver who'd cut it by 10 minutes, I'd spend the first 30 minutes of my morning travel silently cursing innocent people.
The MRT ride from Quezon Ave. to Magallanes is a different story. The train runs exactly 25 minutes. Between packed bodies, my morning shower just lost half of its after-effects. I rarely get a seat but whenever I can, I pray to thank God for such a wonderful morning.
I'd catch some sleep. Yes, I am good at sleeping while standing or standing while sleeping. If I won't, I'd stare at people, make stories out of how they look. Stereotyping. Hundreds of people riding inside the whole train system collectively and simultaneously silent. That should be a world record.
At least once a month, the MRT train system would break down leaving hundreds of us stranded with the next trains packed more than twice the normal packing of late Filipinos. Those mornings, my brain can only process two words: FUCK MRT. Like an electronic marquee: FUCK MRT FUCK MRT FUCK MRT drifting from right to left.
I'd walk 6 minutes (I timed it before) from Magallanes station to the bus stop. The bus would then take me to Alabang (around 20 km) in just 15 minutes. Unless some dumb driver crashed his truck in the middle of the highway during rush hour instead of say, lunch (which usually happens considering the general recklessness of Filipino drivers), this part of my morning commute is the best. Speedy, smooth and generally traffic-free Skyway. The buses fly here. No stops. No delays.
Then I'd ride the company shuttle that would take me to the office comfortably in 5 minutes - normally twice a week. The other days, I miss it. During those unlucky days, I'm one of the many bulls of South Station, Alabang who would fight for his life just to get onto one jeepney. The morning rush hour is worst in Alabang. The rest of the ride would involve my eyes constantly shifting from my phone's clock to the traffic lights and the road at front.
I'd get off at Madrigal Business Park. 2 minutes before late. Run as if I'm running for my life. Run Leo Run. My legs would ache and temples would soak wet with sweat. I'd run faster, seeing some people ahead of me, funny also running. The palm tress, the smooth 10-story building, the automatic sliding doors, the pretty receptionist. The morning shower now totally lost its after-effects, I'd tap my ID on the scanner: 30 seconds before late. Yes!
My total morning habit (preps and travel time) is 2 hours and 45 minutes plus/minus 15 minutes. After I received two memos because of my excessive tardiness, I have reduced chances of morning races to once a week. I think I deserve that pat in the back.
No, I don't record time when I go home from office.
Failure
Please send me the rejection email now. Please dry out the remaining drops of hope that water my doubt and yet I'm quite sure this is completely pointless.
There are two types of failures. One is called failing short - that is, not achieving the ultimate goal but the result is still far above the standards, like failing to get a perfect score in an exam but still, a high score. The other one is simply called failing. There are no grey areas. The standard is a thin red line that separates success and failure. That is what is happening to me right now. I just failed, simply failed.
When you assess failure, you live back the days, the hours, the minutes when you were preparing and actually doing that something.
You remember your long sleeves, the clean waxed hair, the shiny leather shoes, the grey pants. You feel again the soft office chair, the long table, the windows. You see them again, four, five, six people in a panel. You hear them ask and you hear yourself answer. You're back in your interview and how from a stiff question-answer type, you managed to turn things around and make it a simple conversation. You actually enjoyed your stay in that room and wished you could have talked longer with the managers, supervisors, vice-presidents. You had a very good time. You think you impressed them and you go back home positive and happy.
And then I waited.
It has been two weeks. At this moment, I shouldn't be worrying about my status since the past four interviews were more than two weeks apart. Yes, four - the last one was the last and final, end stage. If I pass, I get hired. In that stage, there were only two of us, as judged by the number of evaluation forms each member of the panel held. I should be quite proud - from hundreds of resumes down to the last two. But after a whirlpool of boredom and self-satisfaction, I found out that the other guy was hired.
Where does that put me?
So I assessed my failure. I tried to look where in that seemingly perfect setting I failed. However, it becomes most frustrating when you can't point out where. It is frustrating because as a part of moving on, you try not to repeat the things that made you fail and make yourself a better person next time. But since you can't, what will you do?
I try to think I was just not the better person that morning. That even though the payback is heavy, I just failed short - the other, more consoling type of failure. That I was at my best, but my best was not better than the other guy's best.
I try to look at it that way - the slightly more positive way. Even though at the back of my mind, the many other ways tell me, I still failed.
What
There are some things that are left unsaid. Things that cannot be precisely described by any combination of words. Things that we contain inside, sturdily walled by the simple fact that it, fascinatingly and yet at the same time, sadly, cannot be expressed. Things that lurk on the inside for so long, sometimes we forget, only to surface, unknowingly, one day, one night, like some chronic disease.
I'm being very random lately. Perhaps because I have the most abundant amount of* time I have ever had. I get to think of stuff that I always tend to un-think of. Before, the only time I get to think of these ideas is whenever I ride the jeepney, blindingly staring anywhere stare-able. But now, I get to write them down. At the moment, I have seven ideas for a short story. I know where to start, I have the plot outlines, but I just can't manage the urge to start writing. I always think I have something else to do, the chore will hang over a moment, and then I'm back to contemplating how to start.
Maybe this is the after-effect of terribly multi-tasking several works before. I can't focus on a single task. Even when I watch a movie, something else will swoosh past my mind and then I lose my concentration. At the moment, I am actually amazed that I have written this long without the usual swooshing. Pouring what I think about, thinking of maybe I need to get back my writing skills again. The back of my mind telling me that it's a shame I'm using the words 'get' and 'think' a lot of times already.
I need my old, writing self back. I will start tonight.
What A Life
It is hard to appreciate life these days. Everyone kept on reciting on me that I should enjoy the bliss of unemployment. I think I missed that bliss. Where was that supposed to be.
You know the feeling when you wake up, the sun is already too high and you only know it because sweat is already crawling down your forehead. You swear for a moment because you broke again your promise to wake up early (but how is that possible when you felt the bed only by 5AM and the sun is peeking). And then, your back just aches to touch the mattress again but you shouldn't because it's already 1PM and seriously, you still have a day.
Oh wallaby wullala, I still have another day. The knitting of eyelashes making every corner soporific and blurry in a cinematic kind of way. My head feels zombie, my muscles too lazy. Every single waking up becomes more and more painful because I have nothing to look forward to.
I don't have a future.
Maybe this is God's way of getting back at me because I prayed too hard for the success of that UP Fair concert and my magna cum laude.
(Oh I forgot to inform, I graduated last April 24. BS Chemical Engineering from UP Diliman, magna cum laude. I'm hell proud of it. I haven't made a post about it, skipped three months from blogging. It subsided now though. I'm already on that stage thinking, what was that for? It seemed like the Latin words don't even matter. I wasted my wishes.)
Going back, so God thought, 'Jesus this guy should stop bugging me. OK OK here is what you want.' And then the swish of the wand and oohlala. And now that I'm looking for a job: 'Oh I'm God and I should be fair so no no no, no for you.'
I mean seriously, what to give. I'd kill modesty and say, hell, I have one of the best profiles around. These corpo guys ditch me like some medio. My resume don't even get past the paper-screening! I think so, because I don't get the call for interview.
It's more painful because I know I had plans. I planned to have my own TV by now in my room so I can watch FIFA World Cup without having to excuse my sister who's watching Agua Bendita. I planned to have a decent hair color because fish pin bones are sticking out my scalp. I planned to have the courage to ask whoever girl I like to a date because finally I have money to treat her on a date. And of course, I have more serious plans than those.
I need a future. Call me.
YESTHURSDAY (the long story before the night)
The biggest night of my whole life happened on February 11, 2009.
(Let me dive into cheesy drama mood just this one time)
A few weeks back, I was sitting on the Grandstand while my fellow orgmates busy themselves for the photoshoot for CE week. I can still remember how the Sunken Garden looked like that sunset. It was dry, stiff and brownish. And huge. It was hard to take in its size. And that how in a matter of weeks, we were about to fill it with people.
I could trace the whole thing to Plansem last April, 2009. I suggested to the group that we continue the UP Fair Schizofairnia series again as the Financial Project for the next school year. CE's morale was on the downward slope (failing projects, declining member participation, etc) and bringing back the project that catapulted it to the heights many years back could make a shift of path. I could bet anything that by that time, no one really believed in me. The CE fund was dwindling low then, it was completely impossible even just to make it to the bidding process.
July 2009. I submitted to Kenneth (VP for Finance) a long letter of how I plan to achieve the project. It was a long research, a long set of fundraisers (I won't go into describing each) that should end with a six-digit fund by November 2009. Of course that should have made him take another look at the prospect of Schizo 4.
The whole idea crumbled down when USC announced that the bidding is set for the last week of August. It went even heavier when we learned that bid amounts average on Php 300,000 and 30% of bids should be submitted a week after the bidding day. The first thing I thought was abandon ship. It was practically impossible.
I won't go into the details of the miracle but somewhere along the way, we had the money for the 30% down. The planning was long and tiring. We had this Excel sheet of the planned bid amounts for each night with continuous editions by Kenneth and me so as to ensure we win. We tried to contact fraternities, sororities, other organizations who have handled fairs before. No solid agreement was made. We dove into the bidding process alone and we won three nights: Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. Long set of reasons ends with choosing Thursday.
It was a make-or-break point for CE. A very very big risk. On one hand, we will not only amass a six-digit bank account (and the six digits doesn't just start with 1) but also boost the spirit among members and place the org back again to the top. On the other hand, we were risking dissolution of the whole organization and people carrying debts even after graduation.
I think it was the first week of October. I formed the team by simply picking who I thought had the potential of being part of it, no long interviews. Many declined thinking of the weight of the project. I myself thought I must be crazy that I am heading this project risking my very graduation. But there they were: Ryan and Carla for Programs, Charm and Ana for Logistics, Jio and Honey for Finance and Sales.
The brainstorms were long and agonizing. The themes we thought of were (1) youth participation in the elections, (2) an ambitious reunion of broken bands (think Eraserheads, Rivermaya), (3) a back-to-UP concert of all bands who came from UP (Parokya ni Edgar, Kamikazee, etc) and (4) a revival of the late 90's era. The last one appealed to most of us.
The IC reserved a day in the Plansem for the second semester for us. We listed down bands to contact, marketing lists, promotional plans, fund raising attempts etc etc. Over the sembreak, I drafted the marketing letters and delegated stuff to people. We contacted AdCore to cover publicity and Pi Sigma Fraternity for security and logistical manpower although the whole core was still within CE. The project was already working on its way. Around November, I convinced Hanna to become my co-head despite the tire she incurred from the last sem's EA. The payoff was that I had to join BACBACAN cheerdance - my first and only cheerdance competition. Hahaha.
Eventually, stuff rolled over. Bands confirmed. UP Underground volunteered to take a share of the Programs. Sponsors slowly came. That was early January. So slow we had this point that we were running in negative money. Six digits payments broken down between days. I was all awake every night figuring out how to pay this and that. I can say my most depressing days of college. It all seemed like the project is all hell bound to fail. All big fund-raising attempts before that failed. We had no money to use. It was hard taking in that I will be the reason of everybody's doomed future. And that I won't even graduate because of depression.
Then there were bands backing out because of schedule conflicts. And delayed posters. And media sponsors delinquency (they aired our ads too late). And people's academics. Yes, we tend to forget that we are still students. I had my fair share of flunked quizzes and missed problem sets and innumerable absences and cutting classes. But, I don't know. The project dissolved in my veins it became really tiring to do school work. My thesis mates can attest to that.
Well, it turned out, we managed. It would be embarrassing to dwell on the steps along the way. Let me just say that we had dedicated team members. A little extra push on everyone can take the group a long long way. The method of using orgs as ticket sellers boosted inflows big time as the team was already very busy in itself preparing for the night. Practically, we had no time setting up selling booths. Add to the fact that the UP Administration delayed the approval of the Fair. Translate: all forms of publicity within the university's building were barred.
Then came the week before the night. We were throwing five-digit cash like jeepney fares. Because of this project, I had the habit of belittling projects that range only in 5 digits. For Yesthursday, the costs went beyond... (name the price). I think my Mom almost fainted when she peeked at the Finance Excel sheet. She was really worried that I was handling a project this big.
To conclude, the days before turned out to be very very exciting. The problems were gone: payments made, little mishaps like backed out bands accepted, long to-do lists and each point quickly erased. Of course, I was still very very nervous but the excitement went beyond that. It was a climactic, an exponential way up culminating on February 11. We has last minute problems with band contracts but hell, those remaining days, I was so giddy and proud. "This is it."
This post is already long. I'm breaking it into two. Part two about what happened on the night itself and the nights after.