Sobered and subdued

Like most people I know, this holiday season was marred by a lot of sorrow. I'm supposed to be going to a party later on tonight, with the requisite bottles of champagne and perhaps a few minutes of watching the ball drop in Times Square. But it's not easy to remain buoyant for the New Year under the circumstances, is it?

I have a friend who was in Phuket when the tsunamis struck. He was with three other companions, and when we didn't hear from him for three days, well, we all feared the worst. We've since heard that he's fine (they're all fine) with only minor cuts and bruises. He has opted to stay in Thailand for a few more days to help as best as he can - mainly by taking pictures of both survivors and corpses for overseas identification. He'd do more, he says, if there was anything more he could do.

His story echoes those of other survivors. He was on a boat on the beach, readying some diving equipment. They noticed that the ocean had receded a lot more than usual - exposing corals and seafloor. It was such a remarkable sight that many grabbed their cameras and took positions on the beach. As they clicked away, the waves began to come back. At first everyone continued clicking as they marveled at the phenomenon. My friend, seeing that the waves were getting too high for comfort, told his companion on the ground to get out of the way if he didn't want to get wet. When my friend turned again, he realized just how dangerous the waves were and so he jumped out of the boat and ran. At this point, people were screaming and children were crying. His companion was already a few yards in front of him.

When the wave hit, he held on to the nearest thing he could hold on to - a tree. Around him he could hear children screaming and crying. He also heard someone shouting something about there being a second wave. And then the water started coming back, but this time it was pulling him in the direction of the sea. He says that was really the scary part... he could see people being swept into the water and out into the ocean. It was the strongest current he had ever felt in his life. He just stared as the water swallowed people. Beside him two blond children were being swept away, screaming for help.

And then a moment of utter silence.

At first he didn't know if he he should climb down, as he remembered someone shouting something about a second wave. But after a while, he decided he couldn't really hold on to the tree much longer. So he scrambled down and ran inland.

After the shock, he says, an intense despair kicked in. He didn't know what had happened to his friends. There was some blood on his leg but he didn't notice any pain. He didn't know what to do. A lot of people wanted to go up the hill, while some just wanted to leave town. For a moment he truly thought that he had survived the end of the world. He felt completely alone.

I can just imagine the kind of emotional upheaval that comes with watching helplessly as people around you die. I can just imagine the trauma and shock of seeing disfigured bodies being spewed out onto the beach, while you sit all alone, starving and uncertain of anything. He says he will always be haunted by the image of people surveying the disaster they had just survived, their faces blank. He says that he could almost hear the turmoil in their minds as they took in the levelled buildings and washed up bodies, wondering if their loved ones had been spared: "Was there anything left to live for?"

I'm sure he'll be okay. He's extremely resilent. But I can't help thinking this has changed him in ways I can't even fathom. This once selfish rich kid ended his email with a quiet thought - that he's merely a tourist, he can choose to wake up from the nightmare. He can leave. For a lot of the locals, home was no longer an option.

Reflecting on that tragedy has also made me reflect upon this year in general. On my blogroll alone, two people have had to come to terms with deaths of loved ones. In my circle of friends, there has been loss and grief as well. And then there are floundering businesses, broken relationships, lost jobs.

In a year that was, as Ramon says, mostly just "blah", it's a little hard to summon the happy memories. They are there, ofcourse. It just seems a little bit more trying to coax a real smile from them today somehow. It seems we've all been sobered and subdued.

There's a better year-end post somewhere in me, I suppose, but it will just have to wait.

And life goes on. Have a good one. Keep the world in your thoughts. And be safe.

Stingy?

UPDATE: I'm happy to say that I can now eat my words. The US upped its pledge to $350 million. Read the story here. I'm sure the world is grateful!

***

The US, the richest country in the world, has pledged $35 million in aid to the countries devastated by the tsunamis. The UK has pledged $96M, the European Union $44M, Canada $33M, and Japan $30M. Some other less rich countries have come up with comparable aid contributions, especially if you think in terms of how big the percentage of their contributions are against their gross national revenues (seen that way, they dwarf the US, as a matter of fact).

The Republicans are expected to spend OVER $30M for Bush's inaugaration alone. $35M to keep villages and in some places (like the Maldives), whole countries alive. And nearly the same amount of money for self-indulgent pomp, pageantry, and festive effects for an event that, in the long run, won't matter anyway. It just seems excessive and blatantly insensitive under the circumstances. It just seems wrong.

One UN offical is said to have been quoted as saying that the rich countries are being quite, err, ungenerous with their aid, which the US naturally took as a pointed shot aimed squarely at them. Prompting them to modify their initial pledge of $15M to the $35m that we're seeing now. Which, ofcourse, is not nearly half of what the UK, a country which is obviously much, much smaller than the US (smaller than the US state of Oregon, in fact) is offering.

The US (not counting territories beyond the 50 contiguous states) is 2.5 times the size of Western Europe and has a GDP of $10.99 trillion. Again, just to make this clear, the US, aka the richest country in the world with their $10.99 trillion GDP, is offering $35M in aid. $35 million is exactly 36.4%, or a little over a third, of what the UK, with a GDP of a mere 1.666 trillion is offering.

(And yes, the story isn't that much different if you look at per capita income, for all you economicists. UK Per capita GDP? $27,000. US Per capita GDP? $37,800. UK population living below the poverty line? 17%. US population living below the poverty line? 12%. The US is richer no matter how you slice it.)

So is the US stingy?

Well, There's the fact that the UN asks that rich countries give .7% of their GDP as aid to developing nations. The US, however, gives a noticeably much lower .13%, an amount which it justifies by saying it gives more in food and such - contributions to which it cannot (and does not) attach a specific monetary value.

And then there's the fact that there have been quite a few times where the pledged money doesn't even materialize anyway, the cash fading as fast as the public's interest.

Then there's also this New York Times article to ponder on.

Stingy? I don't know.

Of course, the US doesn't even really need to give anything. It's not under any obligation to help the world. The thing is, in recent years, it sort of has made itself the superpower of Earth - policing nasty terrorist nations, approving loans to poor countries, smoking out dictaors from their hiding holes, etc. It calls itself a world leader, even takes pride in the fact. It wasn't given this role by force, it took the responsibility upon itself.

And as a leader, well. One leads into the battle, but I'd hope one leads out of starvation and certain death as well.

*Country stats from the CIA's World Fact Book.

I, the Heretic

But first, let's go off on a tangent.

I remember watching my dad eat a plate of sausages at a restaurant once. German, Austrian, Polish sausages, lined neatly on a plate. He ate them with so much gusto. You could see the tail-end of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he chewed. But I hated those sausages. I never used to eat sausages. Intestines filled with meat did not at all sound appealing to me.

Until now. Now it is as if I'm drawn to them. Italian sausages with rice, Polish Kielbasas with pasta. The ubiquitous street frankfurter. So many miles away from home and him, so many years away from that memory. Isn't it strange how one can feel more connected to a moment once time and space have contrived to bring you and that moment apart?

***
Turn away. This is blasphemy.
This post will get me hanged.
From a journal entry some time ago

How can I create a seamless belief system with two opposing cores? There is an ocean between "me" and "them". What does it matter if the ocean is me?

For the true believer, everything is an enrichment of faith. For the cynic, everything is a gap, another loophole begging to be questioned. I was fourteen when I recognized the desperation of wanting to believe, but never gaining the necessary conviction.

My so-called faith is the by-product of a previous life dedicated to walking the path of least resistance. It was much easier to say "pray for me" than not to say anything at all, to believe no matter how half-heartedly, than to feel utterly hopeless and helpless. It was much easier to think that there is someone to beg, to cajole, to bargain with, that I had access to a higher being who controlled everything I could not.

And it was easier to nod yes, than to take a stand. It was easier to let other people wallow in their comfortable bubbles, easier not to ask the questions they don't want to hear in the first place. Besides, I never liked explaining myself. I don't like feeling that I have to.

And for a time, it seemed almost magical. We had intense spiritual retreats that had hardened teen-agers bawling like babies. We felt benevolent with our forgiveness. We felt selfless, saintly. In truth we were so entrenched in doctrine that we became intoxicated by the rituals.

In truth, this so-called faith is a mishmash of beliefs culled from many other religious traditions. I am not even speaking of Christ and whether or not he was real. (That is a whole other jounral entry altogether.) I am merely talking about the men who built the Church decades after his death. After all, the first fathers did not create this religion in a vaccuum. They were human too. And with their humanity comes the traces of Egyptian mythology, druidism, Greco-Roman doctrine, etc.

Do you remember Antioch, the Council of Nicaea, the dead sea scrolls? Upon whose authority does the new testament rest? Our collection of gospels, our set of doctrines, were decided upon by a congregation of men gathered by an ambitious pagan Emperor (Constantinople) whose deathbed conversion is controversial at best.

I don't pretend to know what the truth is. God never wrote anything down. Even Jesus never wrote anything down. All we have are these suppositions of men. Suppositions and decrees that we all know can be overturned. Galileo is but one who has proven the church wrong (and made her look like an ignorant child to boot). The Vatican itself has had to re-think not a few of the assertions it made in less enlightened times. We have proven the fallacies of popes and yet we still call them infallible.

These are not radical new findings by some atheistic archeologist/historian. These are facts -lessons, if you will - gathered from my notes in Religion and Theology classes that were taught by devout and intelligent priests and nuns. This is the undisputed history of our faith.

Our faith. With its history of bloodshed, subordination, tyranny, and self-service. Still, I do recognize that this faith born of blood and chaos is not entirely a bad one. I recognize that this faith has love and peace at the core. I recognize the beauty in a faith that preaches salvation, equality, and tolerance. I recognize the importance of this faith to so many in this world.

And yet, as beautiful as this belief may now be, I must say that I am reluctant to blindly accept the words/decisions of a few men from centuries ago - men who were neither extraorindarily wise nor extraordinarily good, men who had their own biases, men who had their own faults, men who made their own mistakes. Simply put, mere mortals, just as I am.

I don't pretend to know the truth better than they do, but I don't subscribe to the notion that these same men automatically know truth better than I do either. Like most of my friends (products of a fine, fine insitution), I was taught to question everything, never to take anything at face value, to submit everything to the critique of my own mind. Everything, it seems, except this inherited set of dogma, where, by the power of its sanctity, every whispered answer never leads anywhere but back to dogma itself.

Dogma. I am reluctant to accept the apocryphal words of a few men as fundamental, existential truth.

After all, what makes the thoughts and words of these men, whose lives we know next to nothing about, greater than mine that I should follow them without question? Their age? The mystique surrounding them? The era in which they lived? Their deaths? That isn't enough.

Do I still believe in God? At night, sometimes, when I feel helpless and alone, I take out my repertoire of prayers. I can still lose myself in the words. I can still find comfort in the knowledge that so many others have found solace within the soft sanctuary of an Ave Maria.

But I'm no longer sure that these words are directed to anyone other than myself and the space around me. I'm not sure that I'm praying to anyone or anything anymore.

***

I've grown away from this argument since I wrote it. I just put it here it to remind myself of the kind of person I used to be.

After deciding to post this little excerpt from an old diary, I came across this quote in someone's blog, a quote I heard often enough in my childhood: "If you believe and it turns out He doesn't exist, you lose nothing. But if you don't believe and it turns out He does exist, you lose everything".

To that, I can only offer a quote from another mere mortal (my beloved Douglas Adams): "If God is the kind of god who is impressed by that kind of hairsplitting, then I'm not impressed by him."

So excited for the beach

I am so incredibly excited to go to the Philippines this February. Got even more excited when I cam across this guy's blog and his amazing photographs. Take a look at this:



by JAKE VERSOZA - La Union, Philippines

MERRY CHRISTMAS II

Maligayang Pasko!

I tried to call my family in Manila for 2 hours straight and still wasn't able to get through. It was the most frustrating thing. I tried again a little while ago and still nothing. SO, to my family, I didn't forget Christmas. And I got dad's message - strangely enough, it went straight to my voice mailbox. I saw the call because the celphone was in my hand and I was just about to push the redial/answer/call button (I was in the middle of trying to call you when dad's call came), and then it was gone! Arghhh. Stupid phone company. And then I couldn't get through anymore. Ugh.

Anyway, some pictures.

 

And dinner. To start, crispy roast duck. Above is a picture of my absolutely delicious duck just out of the oven. Slow roasted for four hours with a rub of herbs and spices. The finished product? A duck with crackling crispy skin and juicy, succulent flesh. It's the best thing I've ever made, if I do say so myself. And for dessert, homemade strawberry swirl cheesecake... it's my own secret recipe.

   

As for presents, I got my new, toasty-warm, fur-lined winter (snow) boots, which are technically from my parents, since I used their money to get these, hehe. (So thanks mom and dad!) And of course, my favorite gifts of all, books!

The books are from John. The first one is a Gregory Maguire book I've been wanting to buy for awhile now. Basically, it's the Wicked Witch of the West's take on the whole Wizard of Oz story. It's a fun read with a nice amount of meat. Thoughtful without being too overbearing or heavy. The second one is a memoir on living with some of the most underpriveleged people in this world. A nice nod to my quirks. (If you don't already know, I absolutely adore Angelina Jolie.)

He also gave me a CD of the Hitchhiker's Guide TV series (not pictured) which aired in the UK in the 80's. The Hitchhiker universe (and basically everything that Douglas Adams ever touched) is one of my current (and longstanding) obsessions. I implore everyone to read the books, listen to the radio plays, watch the series and keep your eyes peeled for the upcoming movie. The man is a freaking genius. I kid you not.

Happy Christmas!

Update: I also got a bottle of perfume from John's mom just now. Clinique Happy. Veyr light and, well, happy-smelling. Nice.

MERRY CHRISTMAS

M E R R Y C H R I S T M A S!!!

There hasn't been a lot of substantial updating going on here lately, I apologize. I've been defering quite a number of entries to my old-fashioned handwritten journal these past few days. Lots of thoughts and ideas in the process of fermentation right now, and as you know, fermentation is best done in cool, quiet, dark places.

Anyway, as I know I probably won't be writing nice, chunky, meaty posts anytime soon, I shall leave you with this - a sort of review of the year that was, recycled from blogs gone by. Maybe I'll even follow this post up with insights and epiphanies and all the crap my mind is lucky enough to amuse itself with these days. Maybe.

1. What did you do in 2004 that you'd never done before?
Err, let me see. Worked in an office. Became a Real Estate Agent. Cooked a turkey. Became a legal permanent resident of another country. There are really too many things. I guess 2004 has been a year of firsts for me.

2. Did you keep your new years' resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
I don't make new year's resolutions... I make year end evaluations. Yeah, right.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
Hmmm. I don't think so.

4. Did anyone close to you die?
Well, no one actually close to me, no. But some who were very close the people I'm close to.

5. What countries did you visit?
Well, exactly a year ago from today I was in the Caribbean, lounging around in Bahia Principe San Juan, Dominican Republic. After that, it was mostly just domestic trips.

6. What would you like to have in 2005 that you lacked in 2004?
A job that I like.

7. What date from 2004 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?
March 28, I guess. First anniversary.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
I guess that would be overcoming the legal hurdles for permanent residency here in the US.

9. What was your biggest failure?
Hah. Employment. I am a failure at getting myself a steady source of income.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
Nothing major. A couple of migraines (genetic), a skin rash (from the next door neighbor's cat), a sprained wrist (snowboarding).

11. What was the best thing you bought?
That's a toss-up between my shearling coat and airconditioner.

12. Whose behavior merited celebration?
Mine? I don't really know how to answer this question. I've been a hermit for so long...

13. Whose behaviour appalled you and made you depressed?
I'd rather not get into this. Why think of depression when... (cue music)... "It's the most wonderful time of the year..."

14. Where did most of your money go?
Rent, food, school, and Manila trip.

15 What did you get really, really, really excited about?
Right now I'm really, really excited about my impending trip to Manila. Oh yeah.

16. What song will always remind you of 2004?
Vindicated by dashboard Confessional. I don't really know why. Just heard it so much, I guess.

17. Compared to this time last year, are you:

i. happier or sadder? Neither. I'm more, err, quietly content. Bit more tame and steady.
ii. thinner or fatter? Same, I think.
iii. richer or poorer? Poorer. Definitely poorer. Ugh.

18. What do you wish you'd done more of?
Writing. And maybe cleaning. Hehe.

19. What do you wish you'd done less of?
Procrastinating.

20. How will you be spending Christmas?
Cozy home-cooked (Wanda-cooked, I should say) dinner. It's going to be a quiet Christmas.

22. Did you fall in love in 2004?
No. Made myself too comfortable in whatever it is you fall into to get up again.

23. How many one-night stands?
None

24. What was your favourite TV program?
Carnivale. Gilmore Girls (because for some reason, this show makes me nostalgic).

25. Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year?
No. I don't do hate.

26. What was the best book you read?
Ah. Tough one. Honestly can't say.

27. What was your greatest musical discovery?
I re-discovered "noize" music and re-realized what a great piece of crap it is. Does that count?

28. What did you want and get?
An editorial job.

29. What did you want and not get?
The RIGHT editorial job.

30. Favorite film of this year?
I honestly can't say. Will have to think about that one some more.

31. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
I turned 23. John took me to see the Broadway production of Little Shop of Horrors. And then he fed me dinner. It was a great birthday.

32. What one thing would have made your year more satisfying?
Publication.

33. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2004?
Tropical chic, secretary-shopgirl, then just bahala na.

34. What kept you sane?
John and my writing.

35. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
Angelina Jolie. And Jude Law. I liked Jude Law this year, for some reason.

36. What political issue stirred you the most?
Augh... Bush.

37. Who did you miss?
Everyone. Kytie.

38. Who was the best new person you met?
Hmm. My boss at the Real Estate Firm.

39. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2004.
Just because you dreamt it doesn't mean it has to come true.

40. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year
"Tonight and the rest of my life..."

The weekend

It's snowing! First snow fall of the season.

Anyway, this weekend was busy, busy, busy. Whew. Just a short update for now. More next time.

We watched Slava's Snow Show at the Union Square Theater. Very nice, kind of surreal. We saw Rachael Ray from the Food Network (Thirty Minute Meals) and she said John's mom is a hottie! Hehe. She's a lot prettier in person. On TV she looks a bit chubby, but in reality she's really svelte. I guess it's true what they say about TV adding on the pounds.

We also went to a wedding yesterday. We missed the actual wedding though, as John had to work that day, but we snuck in just in time for cocktails. Well, cocktails without any cocktail drinks, anyway. The couple is Pakistani, and being Muslim, they didn't serve any alcohol. (BTW, we got them a wine-making kit as a present. Hehe, I hope we don't get in trouble with the bride's parents.) Pictures to follow.

Off to eat some dinner now. I'm starving.

Vermont

So, I paid for my tuition to go back to Goddard in Vermont. For the record, I just have to say that I hate Vermont. Thankfully, this is my last 8 day residency (well, HOPEFULLY, at least!)

It's pretty and all that, if you're a tourist and you go to the touristy places. BUT. Imagine living in the middle of nowhere for 8 days. Seriously.

I am paying good money to exile myself to a really dinky town with nothing in it. No cinemas, no malls, no nothing. All the town has is a gas station - which also serves as a coffeeshop/mini grocery, ONE stoplight, 3 very small book shops (its only salvation, in my opinion), and two tiny bed-and-breakfasts - both of which I have heard rumors of but have never actually seen. (Side note on the bnb's, I found one on the internet. It only has 3 rooms, which is probably why I never saw it before!) And if that's not enough, the campus is located in the outskirts of this nothing, bordering on absolute vacuity.

In the winter, it's just snow as far as the eye can see. We get six foot drifts on a regular basis. The temperature drops to below 0 Fahrenheit on a regular basis (That's almost -18 Celsius!). And since everything is covered in ice, we fall and slip on just about everything on a regular basis. And let's not forget about the wind chill factor, which makes you feel like it's much colder than it actually already is.

And to top it all off, all the friends I made in previous semesters are all graduating, so they'll only be there for the first 2-3 days. Since I've practically lost my socialization skills during these last 6 months, I will be mute throughout this residency. Hello, lonersville.

I will take pictures so you can feel my pain.

UPDATE: Whoop dee doo. Turns out, there are 2 new (albeit tiny) restaurants in Plainfield! And one just got its liquor license! One is a little pizzeria (seats about 12 but can maybe fit 20 if you really pack them in) and the other is a "fine dining place" (seats about 20 but can accomodate around 5 more at the bar). Oh yeah. Woohoo.

Big Fish

I was watching Big Fish on HBO today and I don't know if I'm tha last one to notice, but in the scene where Ewan McGregor is parachuting down to what appears to be a variety show in a Korean military base, there's a shot of a guy holding a puppet, and the conversation the guy has with his puppet is actually in tagalog. Haha. They were talking about sweat and stuff.

That's all. Well, I'm off to get my new glasses!

Randomness

If you were to ask someone from the office to pick three words that best describe me it would be these. It makes me see just how strangely I translate to US soil.

Uptight. (Also, much too serious.)

I am, I guess. In a funny way, people's perceptions of me have skewed to become this: uptight and serious. I guess it's because this is the most serious I've ever been in my whole life. And that seriousness is all they have on which to base their opinions of the kind of person that I am.

No one here has ever seen me chug beer at 4 in the afternoon. (No one here has ever seen me chug beer, period.) No one here has ever seen me laugh like I'm having an epileptic seizure, or cut class because of a hangover, or steal street signs, or goof off on anything. And even though I smile a lot, I know they can see the distance I've put between them and me. They don't know me, or where I've come from, or what it took for me to get here. And I really can't be bothered to enlighten them, because honestly, I just don't see the point.

All they see is this incredible aura of, well, seriousness. Probably beause I am serious. And worried. I've never been this serious or worried before. Ever. I mean, I'm trying to live life on my terms and chase the dream and all that, but I know that I also need to reconcile my ideals with the more mundane things, like paying my rent, income, financial independence, retirement, etc - issues that I'm only really facing for the first time.


Introverted. (Also, quiet and pensive.)

I have a hunch that the reason I don't seem to talk very much here is because people here don't seem to talk about very much.

They have made such an art of "small talk". It's such a mastered craft here that it has become their staple. Their conversations all seem to be extended bits of small talk occasionally punctuated by rants and raves -- monologues, if you will -- that make them seem to believe that they are in deep conversation with another. In point of fact, this supposed "other", having blocked the first talker out, is already neck-deep in a monologue of his own (whether secretly or openly).

Leaving both participants to flop ignorantly in half conversations with no one but their own selves.


Asian chick.

This shouldn't bother me, but it somehow does. I actually do sometimes mind being referred to as Asian. I have nothing against being Asian per se, it's just I can't help think that it seems to be another box for me to be put in. In Manila, I was part of the majority, my ethnicity was mainstream, and since it was so mainstream, it blended into the background. It wasn't important. Here, I'm suddenly exotic. My asian-ness is called to the fore. I'm categorized by it, defined by it, it's suddenly a huge part of who I am. At least to everyone else.

I guess the problem is I've never really defined myself as Asian. I mean, obviously on one level I've always known I was Asian, but it's not something I've thought of in depth. I've never really thought of what it means to be Asian in the same way that I've thought of what it means to be Filipino. Or a girl. Or an aspiring writer. Or even an Atenean. I just never thought about it as an integral part of my being, and now suddenly, that label is the one that's continuously shoved in my face.

***
Yes, only these three. None of the adjectives I'd pick to describe myself even came up. That saddens me somehow.

Stoner Animal!

People, meet Alvin, Simon, and Theodore's party cousin.




****

"I love deadlines. I love the whooshing noise they make as they go by." Douglas Adams

I'm not a particularly organized person. Actually, that's not completely true. I do have a very loose kind of mental organization, but it's something which I'm not sure anyone else can understand. I honestly don't think I completely understand it myself.

As you can probably deduce, this aforementioned "loose kind of mental organization" doesn't really apply to deadlines. I'm a buddha level master-procrastinator to the nth degree. That's not to say that deadlines are of no use to me though, because they are. I love jotting them down on calendars. I love writing them in date books. And I have often been firmly convinced that whatever it is I'm working on will be done by the deadline. It seldom ever happens, but I am always firmly convinced all the same.

It's not that I'm lazy (although I sort of am, truth be told) or that I don't want to write. It's just that a lot of external factors come into play in the process of writing. It's not like math, where the numbers are already there and all you have to do is play with them. It's not like making a report, or doing a presentation, where the basic thing, the thing to be reported or presented, actually already exists. You are guaranteed that if you plug away at it long enough, you will eventually find your one perfect numerical answer. Or if you research hard enough, you will eventually have all the facts you need for your report. It's a linear kind of thing. Work equals results.

Sadly, there are no such guarantees in writing. Inspiration doesn't automatically mean a good story. Hard Work doesn't automatically mean a good story. Talent doesn't even automatically mean a good story. The fact that a story, by its very nature, will eventually have to be read by others (and judged by others, because let's face it, we do write for an audeience after all), means that there's always an element somewhere that's out of your hands.

And naturally, we want to write as good a story as we can. The thing is, sometimes it feels that a deadline just has no place in the labyrinth of possibilities inherent in a story-in-progress. Or in the the lack of any shred of possibility thereof.

When you're coming up empty, a deadline won't magically make the thoughts come out of thin air. And when you're wrestling with overgrown plot twists, a deadline won't automatically untangle the knots. You just have to work through it, and working through it, boy and girls, can take a hell of A LOT of time.

***
I think writing, at least fiction writing, is best represented by that moment when writer comes face to face with a blank sheet of paper. That's really what it is, isn't it? Facing that blank sheet of paper and filling it up with pieces of yourself in the most coherent, most satisfying, most beautiful way possible. Creating a story. Making it all up. There are no real guidelines, no patterns, no formulas to follow. There is only your imagination and the need to fill the space in the best way that you can.

And sometimes, there's just nothing to fill it up with. Try as you might. Even if you squeeze every single agonizing suicidal memory from your brain. Even after wrestling with all your demons. Day in and day out. Even after staring at that single sheet of paper (which has now suddenly become the biggest source of your self-doubt) all day, for a frighteningly substantial number of days. Just complete nothing. It happens. But that's another story.

Writing is a little like pulling a rabbit out of a hat, I guess. Or making water into wine. Or, dare I say it, falling in love. It's a bit of a mysterious, magical, unexplainable process. And you can't really put a deadline on that, can you?

Agh. This is going to be a long, hard road, dearies. A long, hard road indeed.

The trouble

The trouble with being broke...

I like the hours in Real Estate, I like our office, I like the whole matching and searching for properties, I like the set-up, heck I even like Real Estate in particular. But I am not good at shmoozing up to people to get them to buy/rent from me. As one of my ex-potential clients said, I am a snob pretending to be friendly. I am not a people person. At least not when it involves people I really don't like. And it shows. I have already had 3 major disappointments in the last couple of weeks, not to mention a dozen minor ones: deals that didn't make it to the table, applications that got denied, clients who just flaked out. And all around me people are snapping up the commission checks. Left and right, man. Left and right. I feel like such a loser.

I know it's only been a month, but people, you don't understand. The market here in New York is different from anywhere else. Here something rents out in a month, max, or else it probably isn't worth renting out at all. Here sales close in 3 months, tops. People start looking for apartments three weeks before they have to move. Any earlier and it's just pointless because whatever they saw will probably be off the market by the time they need it.

And yes, here, if you don't close anything within a month, it's probably best to find another source of income.

This guy Sean, for example. He came in 2 weeks after me and he's already sitting on 4 applications, all ready to go. We were marketing the same properties. We both got calls, and we both showed. But he got the callbacks and I didn't. He works less hours than me as well, by the way.

And then there's Val. She came in around the same time I did and she has already earned 6k from last month alone. I've spent whole days in the office, working my fingers to the bone, watching people work, asking for advice. I've pleaded and begged for special training from various top producers, even from one of our general partners. I'm doing everything I was told, acting on all the little tips they've sent my way. So I know it's not because of the properties, or my advertising, or anything else. I just can't close a deal. It's like there's a secret ingredient in their make-up that I just don't have in mine. Maybe I'm just not a salesperson.

The other thing is if you ask any of our top people in the company how long it took for them to close their first deal, the answer is pretty much the same. Less than a week. Usually in 2 days. I've been here over a month and I've closed squat. If you've got it, you've got it, and it doesn't look like I do.

It sucks when you give it your darndest best and you still fall short. It's a little depressing, actually.

But. Before you give me the hang in there lecture, the try and try speech, and the don't give up spiel, stop. STOP. I mean, WTF? This isn't my passion. This isn't my one true dream, my calling in life. This was an experiment. And the experiment did not go according to plan. That's all. Better I learned this now than 25 years down the line, my Real Estate card still in my wallet, jaded and bitter, dejectedly waking up to ask myself, "What the hell did I do with my life?" Life is too short for that.

So don't worry. While I'm not as rash as to give up, period, as soon as this, I'm also open-minded enough to admit that this just might be one of those things best left to other people. I mean let's face it. This doesn't look like it's going to be a source of happiness for me. (All it's brought me so far is disappointment, depression, and a creeping self-doubt.) I'm still going to try to make it work, of course, but I also have to consider the idea that I may just really suck at this sales/rental thing. That, horror of horrors, sometimes even when you put your mind to something, it just doesn't work out the way you want.

Sadly, there comes a time when people just have to be realistic about their own abilities. I can't just sit and stubbornly wait here for things to look up without a shadow of a paycheck in sight. Not while I'm eating food (grocery bill), living in an apartment (rent,) and going to school (tuition). Yes, money is an issue. And if it's not coming in this way, then I really ought to find another source from which to get it, right? Eekk... good gawd, did that just come from me? (FYI, 9 people have already left the company since I started there. Their all smart people, just not "sales-y".)

So well, I'm going to be scrounging around for temporary part-time jobs in the meantime. I can't really get anything more permanent with the Manila trip looming in the horizon. I'm still posting and showing apartments though, and who knows, I might close something sometime, but as I've said, I can't be financially dependent indefinitely.

So wish me luck. I might finally be growing up.