I really don’t know why I wrote this

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I’m just speaking from my heart. Whatever that comes out of this effort, I have no control over.

There are a few times in one’s life when a man comes into contact with that one piece of divine thought that remains elusive all throughout life. What I find funny about it is this – it finds you. No, actually – it’s already found you. Somehow, that desire, that dream, that picture, is already in your heart. You were born into it. You were meant to do it. And when you make choices in your life that seem to diverge from that instinctive feeling, wait a few seconds and something uncomfortable will start to rise up in your chest. Suddenly, there is a squirm in your heart that tells you it’s not right.

It’s weird, because much of your day is spent trying to ignore that voice that tells you to do what is being asked – you’ve got bills to pay, a wife to fuck, a son to raise, a house to finance, a car to fill up and friends to give advice to. And when you’re lying on your bed, tired and weary from all you’ve done, when everything is silent, that voice now starts to challenge you, torment you.

It is not a comforting voice. It is a judge, asking why you have not taken action on the things that really mattered. It is a drill sergeant, contemplating how many hours of sleep you will have to lose as he tells you you’re not doing enough. It is a lover, demanding your constant attention. A philosopher, asking you who are you? What are you doing? Why are you here? What is this for? But rather than surrender to the silence that reveals all of these suppressed voices, you are quick to head to the refrigerator and down a bottle of milk, even at times, a few pills of valium, for you need to stop thinking, to have the energy to get lost in your thoughts the morning after.

Funny enough, this voice was somehow articulated in our classes in kindergarten, all the way up to graduation from college:

What do I want to be when I grow up?

The answer to this question has almost always been something that is not inherent, something that comes from outside, something that is external. Much of it has got to do with this – a job. Work. Labor. Something that you do for more than 8 hours a day, that becomes the centerpiece of your life. If the pinnacle of one’s ambition is in one’s youth, then I have to say that I was dreaming too far out. Because I wanted to be an astronaut. I wanted to walk on the moon. Or did I? Was that actually possible? You have to admire the innocence of kids, if that is the case. They can stare at an occupation and see the nobility, the beauty, the innocence of it. Fireman. Astronaut. Doctor. Lawyer. Scientist. If it is true that childhood truly begins with a clean heart and a clear mind, then there is probably a reason why they gravitate towards these titles: because probably, they remind us of the true nature of the human being – going out of himself for others. A fireman saves lives. An astronaut stretches the bounds of human possibilities. A doctor heals. Makes people whole again. A lawyer defends people. A scientist discovers new things.

Certainly, ACCOUNT EXECUTIVE was nowhere within that list. Nor is corporate communications. Or Communications Manager. Or even Manager for that matter. Medical Transcriptionist. Media buyer. Media planner. Marketing professional. Supply chain manager. For four years in college, I hated explaining to people what my course was. Communications Technology Management. It’s a noun and field of study that is as vague and incoherent as it sounds. It was always like this:

Q: “Ano course mo?”
A: “Communications Technology Management po.”

Q: “Ano yun, computer technology?”
A: “Hindi po, may business, computer science and communications po”

Q: “So it’s a course in business management?”
A: “Yeah, but we’re more focused on the communications part.”

Q: “So you’re training yourself for production work in TV?”
A: “Not really, but we can work in a TV station’s management department.”

Q: “So you’re also good at computer programming? Java, SAP and Graphics Design?”
A: “Well, we’re not being trained to be programmers.”

Q: “So ano magiging trabaho mo?”
A: “Marketing po”

Q: “Oh, e bakit di nalang nila pinangalang marketing yung course mo?”
A: “Kasi po hindi lang siya marketing.”

Q: “Well then, why did you take up a second degree?”
A: “Well, I’d really like to improve my communication skills.”

Q: “But I thought your course already has communication courses?”
A: “Well, I wanted to become a journalist.”

Q: “So you didn’t got trained in journalism in your communication courses?”
A: “That was more on business writing and corporate communications.”

And on and on and on. Something that is unsure of himself. There are people who, by reading this, will start to think, “I don’t want to be constrained by labels.” But if you think about it, labels add some certainty, some ground into one’s life. Some security that at least, you know who you are. That you’re good at something. That you’re doing something that people can understand. But then again, that changes, along with the times. So, to base one’s existence on a title, a job an occupation, is a frequently disappointing pursuit.

I realize the futility of this question. Are you fully grown up when you die? I don’t think so. Are we fully grown up when we’re thirty? Some even say that you’re still a kid during that age. So what we want to be, when we grow up, is something that never ends. Nobody ever becomes fully grown-up. Rather, we grow INTO something. We enter INTO something. Childhood. Adolescence. Puberty. Young Adulthood. Yuppieness. Singleness. Hopeless Romanticism. First Times. Last Time Evers. Marriage. Kids. Mortgages. Divorces. Sickness. Death.

But this voice inside of me, it never changes. And all I know is this: I see myself speaking in front of a crowd. I see myself not being intimidated by those who are there to listen to me. I see them being enthralled by my speech. I see me moving from every corner of the stage to make sure I am heard. Saying something. So is that why I am a teacher today?

Ironically, I’m not sure if the crowd is supposed to understand what I’m saying. I haven’t figured out that part yet.

(to be continued)

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Filed under Free-flowing shit, My so-called fiction

Tags: Freewriting, Pondering in the hope that this will turn out to be goo