How much of me am I willing to reveal? How much do you want me to?

Just felt like showing off. Hehe.

Effective June 15 (or the day thereafter; earlier I said it was May 31), I’ll not be "Precious from ECCI" anymore.

The people below are the ones I’ll surely miss:

___________________

Raquel Flores, Accounting Department (the first ever person who gave me a warm welcome with her smile; hmm… I really do wonder why she turned blue here… hehe)

Judilyn Aguinaldo, Accounting Department (my "batchmate"… hehe; "Ang ganda ko pala"  -  Judy upon seeing her pic from my digicam)

Vincent Cruz, Project Manager, Technology Business Group (Brilliant!)

Suganya Sreenivas, Administration ("Mommy" to Abenam and to everyone else. Wife to big big boss Sreeni)

from L to R: The backs of Lourdes Lasian & Lhiza Mendoza, Training Business Group; Rex Abrigo, Special Projects

Dave Singh, Manager, Training Business Group (A definite chick magnet. *wink*)

Tina Junio, Sales and Marketing Executive, Technology Business Group (one of the few reasons why I don’t want to leave…)

How can I forget this view?!

______________________

Hmmm…. Now I can’t just go to Landmark to go shopping what with the limited money I’ll have after I leave… Haha.

Yesterday I saw dad browsing the displayed magazines on the magazine stand at SM. How I prayed he was not browsing at FHM magazines! Lo and behold! He was! And then I had to remind myself that he’s still human, after all. Though still…

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I’m resigning effective May 31 and will pursue the life of a full time law student…

___________________

But I still want the job being offered to me as a creative writer! I need money! I don’t want to rely on our business and on daddy. Plus their schedule’s good too. 7am to 3pm.

___________________

It was a good thing that dad and I won’t be pushing through with the Fairview residence/office idea. For one, it’s tooooooooo far. In fact, it’s the place I swore that I would never ever go back to as it was where I spent most of my time during my thesis days. Two, I’m not comfortable with the idea of dealing with Rose just yet. I guess I never would be. Third, again, it’s tooooooo far if I’m talking in reference to Earl. Fourth, yet again, it’s toooooo far. I already have issues with my place in Makati. What more with Fairview?! It’s far too early to toy with the idea that dad would have his osteoarthritis attack in Santa Rosa and I am somewhere in Quezon City, stuck with Commonweath Avenue traffic.

___________________

I can’t wait to play Sim City 4 again tonight and see the "details"!

___________________

While rummaging through mommy’s bags yesterday, memories of how eagerly I would look through her stuff for burger pasalubongs came back… I really miss her so much…

From Joyce’ blog… Mom could afford to see me through only up to my 21st year… I miss you mommy… =’(

_____________

Who Should I Give My Love To?

When you were 1 year old,
she
fed you
and bathed
you. You thanked her by crying all night
long.

When you were 2 years old, she taught
you to
walk. You thanked her by running away
when she
called.

When you were 3 years old, she made all
your
meals with love. You thanked her by
tossing your
plate on the floor.

When you were 4 years old, she gave you
some
crayons. You thanked her by coloring the
dining
room table.

When you were 5 years old, she dressed
you for
the holidays. You thanked her by
plopping into the
nearest pile of mud.

When you were 6 years old, she walked
you to
school. You thanked her by
screaming, "I’M NOT
GOING!"

When you were 7 years old, she bought
you a
baseball. You thanked her by throwing it
through
the next-door-neighbor’s window.

When you were 8 years old, she handed
you an
ice cream. You thanked her by dripping it
all over
your lap.

When you were 9 years old, she paid for
piano
lessons. You thanked her by never even
bothering
to practice.

When you were 10 years old she drove
you all
day,
from soccer to gymnastic to one birthday
party
after another. You thanked her by
jumping out of
the car and never looking back.

When you were 11 years old, she took you
and
your friends to the movies. You thanked
her by
asking to sit in a different row.

When you were 12 years old, she warned
you not
to watch certain TV shows. You thanked
her by
waiting until she left the house.

When you were 13, she suggested a
haircut that
was becoming. You thanked her by telling
her she
had no taste.

When you were 14, she paid for a month
away at
summer camp. You thanked her by
forgetting to
write a single letter.

When you were 15, she came home from
work,
looking for a hug. You thanked her by
having your
bedroom door locked.

When you were 16, she taught you how to
drive
her
car. You thanked her by taking it every
chance you
could.

When you were 17, she was expecting an
important call. You thanked her by being
on the
phone all night.

When you were 18, she cried at your high
school
graduation. You thanked her by staying
out
partying until dawn.

When you were 19, she paid for your
college
tuition, drove you to campus carried your
bags.
You thanked her by saying good-bye
outside the
dorm so you wouldn’t be embarrassed in
front of
your friends.

When you were 20, she asked whether
you were
seeing anyone. You thanked her by
saying, "It’s
none of your business."

When you were 21, she suggested certain
careers
for your future. You thanked her by
saying, "I don’t
want to be like you."

When you were 22, she hugged you at
your
college graduation. You thanked her by
asking
whether she could pay for a trip to

Europe

.

When you were 23, she gave you furniture
for your
first apartment. You thanked her by telling
your
friends it was ugly.

When you were 24, she met your fiance
and asked
about your plans for the future. You
thanked her by
glaring and growling, "Muuhh-ther,
please!"

When you were 25, she helped to pay for
your
wedding, and she cried and told you how
deeply
she loved you. You thanked her by
moving halfway
across the country.

When you were 30, she called with some
advice
on
the baby. You thanked her by telling
her, "Things
are different now."

When you were 40, she called to remind
you of a
relative’s birthday. You thanked her by
saying you
were "really busy right now."

When you were 50, she fell ill and
needed you to
take care of her. You thanked her by
reading about
the burden parents become to their
children.

And then, one day, she quietly died. And
everything you never did came crashing
down like
thunder on YOUR HEART.

_________

__________

If you love your mom, hug her by now..
before she’s gone forever…

As promised, here are my pair of African Lovebirds. They are the source of therapy for me and dad.

If I ever had a line to heaven I swear, I’d call you there…(Introvoys, "Line to Heaven")

_______

Now I am asking myself: "Just how many times did I ever desire to talk or exert an effort to talk to my mom when she was still alive?"

If only there’s a Yahoo Messenger to heaven, I wouldn’t waste any moment in logging in just to be able to talk to mommy.

If only there’s a Yahoo Messenger to heaven, I would always be online for mommy.

If only there’s a Yahoo Messenger to heaven, I would always ask mommy strategies on how to win customers over just like how we always did back in the day when I would call her to ask how I could win over the favor of the judges during my grade school extemporaneous speaking contest.

If only there’s a Yahoo Messenger to heaven…

________________________________________________________________________

[16:25] mptcardenas: Mommy, I’m sorry I was selfish. Please tell me you’re okay. I love you mommy. I really, really miss you…=’(
________________________________________________________________________

Up to the last minute, you were thinking of us…

I asked for an extension and then all of a sudden, time was up.

It caught me by surprise. I was never prepared. And there couldn’t be any more hurtful than having been aware that I never made full use of what really was an extension given to me only because my mom wanted to live longer for dad and me.

The very memory of seeing my mom, in a coma, dropping her last two tears, would forever be a lingering image in my mind.

Mom was unselfish, beating the last beat of her heart even when she already breathed her last. The last beat of her heart was for dad. Her last breath was for me. I’d like to selfishly claim that the last two drops of her tears were for me and dad. She made it a point that I was not alone with an unfeeling nurse in a cold hospital room. She waited for dad. Then she said goodbye.

God knew how much Dad and I wanted her to live longer. It broke me and still breaks me whenever I recall where could we, especially I, have fallen short. There are so many places where to start. There are so many points where I should be blamed; how I refused to take her to the hospital that weekend just because of my selfish reasons, how I fiddled with the idea that I could always put off until tomorrow the priest that mom was waiting for.

Did mom want to be placed in an ICU? Did she want cremation? Did she want to live longer?

Mom was unselfish. Still thinking of dad and me till the very last minute even as I whispered to her "listening ear on a comatose body" to live because she, herself, wanted to, and not because of dad and me.

Mom was unselfish. Who would realize that she still managed to leave something for me that I could use for law school this June? Perhaps she was well aware but just silent over the thought that I could not save up until my leave of absence expires this November what with the expenses caused by her illness… And yes, she managed to confirm the message by bringing over my law school classmates during her wake… that I should go back because she knew I want it and for that, she, as well, wanted me to…

Mom was unselfish. Gathering together in one room relatives that developed a lingering friction through the years and silently bridging the gap.

Mom was unselfish. Providing comfort and silent happiness through the pair of lovebirds that are now my dad’s source of therapy.

Mom was unselfish. Reuniting me with my high school classmates and friends with whom I was separated over some childish reasons.

Mom was unselfish. Always on time. Always exact. The amount of money in our hands and the ticking Holy Week clock was enough to provide dad and me the technical comfort in fixing her funeral arrangements.

Mom was unselfish; making her presence felt in a way that I would not be scared.

You were not selfish, mommy. I was the selfish one. I wish you would tell me you are okay. It breaks me knowing that to the last minute you still wanted to live for us even as your frail body was giving you more than enough that you could endure. I love you mommy. I love you.

(For Aurora Villamiel Tierra-Cardenas, September 20, 1943-April 10, 2006, a loving wife, a caring mom)

It really depends on the way we look at it.

Most of us encountered having science and philosophy teachers quizzing us on whether a glass half-filled with liquid is half empty or half full. Guess what? They never really answered the question as we ourselves never did really find out which should be the “correct” response. They just left us in our seats forever wondering if ever there was a norm that we could comfortably hold on to as something that we could definitely believe in because society says it’s rational and therefore, should never be debated on.

Though these things have always been in my subconscious, i.e. the rational relativity and subjectivity of everything, I have never really dwelled much on such ideas enough to make these the everyday unavoidable rice staple of my brain. One night, however, was different. In the middle of being crushed and pushed inside a jampacked bus whose conductor kept on yelling “Maluwag pa! Maluwag pa! (There’s still space! There’s still space!)”, I thought, “How simple could it be? Half empty? Half full? Let’s make an analogy!”

So there I was. Amidst risking the fact that I could embarrass myself by falling face down on the bus’ aisle, I whipped out my mobile phone and furiously sent text messages to friends regarding my “moment of enlightenment”.

Again. It really depends on the way we look at it.

Take the serving of rice being sold in various food establishments for example. Famous fast food chains (with KFC topping my list) that sell a serving of rice, which is usually perceived by everybody as amounting to a “cup”, actually sell a half worth of serving (meaning, half cup of rice) for almost double the price. “Jolly jeeps” in Makati City in the meantime, sell a fast food chain’s definition and description of a “serving of rice” for half its price.

Confused? Compare a certain fast food chain’s P10 worth of a serving of rice (which is actually only a half cup of rice) to a roadside eatery’s P5 full cup of rice. And to think the variety of rice served is more or less the same. I mean, come on, when we buy rice from a fast food chain, do we actually ask the lady at the counter what type of rice they serve and whether or not it is commensurate (Oh I love this word!) to the price? It certainly is the last thing we’re going to think about especially if all we want to do is get our lunchtime hunger over and done with. It’s the rule of economics talking especially when we decidedly risk a huge part of our salaries for a chance to eat at an expensive restaurant with us getting less than our money’s worth for our primary purpose which is to eat. Quality food? Sheesh. Crap. Who knows? Knowing how sneaky some businessmen could be, we never really could tell if we really do get our money’s worth. But we couldn’t care less. We are paying for the ambiance anyway.

How about the rules and regulations in the LRTs and MRTs? I am certainly one of those who practically glorifies the person who invented overhead transits. I most certainly am also one of those who thankfully never encountered being stuck in the middle of EDSA (think between Santolan-Ortigas) and being forced to leave the train and walk all the way back to the nearest station under the searing heat of the mid-day summer sun. But though I perfectly understand that there’s a perfectly valid reason behind the existence of rules, my sensible self just sometimes could not take that the words “railway”, “ridicule”, “rational” and “rules” all start in the letter R.

To state my point, take my gorgeously arranged colorful balloon bouquet I received from my boyfriend as a Valentine’s gift for example. These balloons are of not the ordinary round shape. The balloons I got were in the shapes of flowers and hearts. Upon reaching the Central LRT station as I have to take the train on my way home, the lady guard stopped me in my tracks and said I could not enter the station unless I remove the air out of the balloons I was holding. Knowing that I did certainly not look like a terrorist ready to use the balloons as a weapon of mass destruction and that for this particular reason the lady guard was just doing her job, I, like a retreating soldier who’s unwilling to surrender her dignity and pride just yet, painstakingly trudged instead what seemed like a mile towards the jeepney stop. Of course I was unwilling to remove the air from the balloons with the fun shapes. I, for one, don’t have an air pump at home. I’m not willing as well to abuse my poor lungs in bringing back the shape of my balloons. But seriously though, if such were the case everywhere, then the world might as well prohibit balloons and canned goods in the market if only to prevent terrorists from using these to blow up everybody. Then again, I’m a rational person and I definitely could understand the essence of rules.

Then there’s the lovebug and its Filipino creator that outsmarted the security firewalls that Pentagon was and still is boasting about. Virus creators for me are nothing but pathetic fools who, sooner or later, one way or another, would have to swallow an overdose of their own bitter pill as they watch their “high tech” gadgets succumb to their creations.

Also, how would I forget? The Meebo! Meebo.com plays host to a number of chat messengers such as YM (Yahoo Messenger) and MSN’s Windows Messenger (I think this is for Hotmail users, never tried it though.). This website enables users to chat without having to download first the messenger software. I got introduced to this website by the uber-sneaky superiors of mine who themselves say that “chatting” is prohibited in the office but just as well are often caught happily chatting away.

What’s more even more curious in the company I’m working for right now is the fact that the Chikka Messenger is not allowed despite us being responsible for Chikka Asia’s CMMI Level-5 certification. I once raised this issue to one of our consultants. I mentioned that since Chikka is an internet software that enables free sending of SMS, this should be allowed. This would cut the cost of having to call clients and colleagues for something that’s not really that important or urgent. And for the response? “Employees are not allowed usage as this (online “texting”) is gonna be the only thing they will be doing all day.” Okay, fair enough as a reason. But how come I see a number of computers with Chikka softwares successfully installed and up and running? Not that I’m sour graping…

And then there’s my source of inspiration: the bus conductor. My everyday commuting experience tells me that if it was not for the mandatory issuance of ticket to passengers, bus drivers and conductors, sans the pretending-to-be-asleep-passengers-just-to-escape-paying and the others who take the advantage of a “free” ride, could actually make a lot of money. Unlike ships and planes that have a minimum-maximum capacity for obvious safety purposes, buses and its drivers and conductors are almost always glad to welcome the harried passenger who’s more than willing to squeeze himself in if only to arrive to his destination on time even if there’s barely enough space to breathe or scratch one’s shin.

Notice how these conductors and drivers always aggressively say there’s still so much space on their buses? Beware. The naïve type would probably hop on and end up either with an actual sitting space (Good then!) or a space. That’s it, nothing more, nothing less. And even before the poor thing could strut her butt back to the bus door and hurl profanities to the “lying” drivers and conductors, she would suddenly find herself being pushed further back to the end of the bus with a company of fools like her who have no choice but to accept their miserable fate of coming from a tiring and stressful day at work wearing three-inch stilettos as the bus quickly rolls away from the bus stop and takes a sharp turn to the highway.

From all these points of analogy, I guess everything really boils down on how we treat and react on certain situations. If you can’t beat ‘em, might as well join ‘em, as they say. This is as equally as good in meaning as what our general manager once said, “Don’t bite the hand that feeds you”.

If going with the flow isn’t one’s thing, then albeit the risk of sounding like an activist or a feminist, do whatever you want, react however you desire. We can’t really please anybody or force anyone to be as pessimist or as optimist as we are about certain things or ideas. It is pretty much in the same way as not being able to force Allah’s worshippers to eat pig or convincing conservative Roman Catholic cardinals that since God gave us the ability to analyze ideas and the freedom to choose, then He’s more than welcome to be questioned regarding his so-called omni-present power.

If a full non-biased acceptance of differences of perspectives isn’t really going to be the “in” thing for the next thousand years, then the next best thing is to say that the water level in the glass has reached 50%.