Resilience Above All

I was asked once by my closest friends, 'how do you do it? survive each day, thinking of all these things, ('excess baggages', she meant), yet still focus on work the way you do?'. I replied, 'it is exactly my work that keeps me sane and grounded, so that comes first.' The rest follows when I think about how I do help in small ways, to better other people's lives, even just through a mere signature, a decision made firmly when confronted with an issue, a simple 'yes' or 'no' to a request, the sharing of one joke with a colleague, a speech made from my heart in small gatherings of our farmers. This is cliche, but laughter from them makes me feel good about myself, proud to have been given the privilege to serve, and still get paid for it. That's a bonus, really, doing something you love, with all the stress and tension that goes with the territory, and making that your way of life.

I started this journey when I was 19 years old. I wanted to teach after graduation, but I landed a clerical job somewhere which broke my manicured nails. And then I was 'discovered' (like an artista) and given the chance to do so, by my professor when I was taking my MBA after work, (which I did not finish, by the way) who was drawn to me by my hair style. Yes, my hair style. I was wearing my hair cropped short, but with a few strands left long, hanging below my nape. I used to go to class in messed up jeans even when it was not in fashion at that time, with my flat sandals my Mama taught me to wear (excuse the ad, but 'Our Tribe' was the only brand I wore at that time), and some shirt I pulled out of the cabinets from home I did not care about. And topped all with my hair. My professor perhaps found me a wee bit strange that her attention was focused on me, during discussions she would listen to me intently. I also knew she read my case studies, as in read them, because once she told me I was stating my sentences too long, that gramatically, I needed to let go of the hundreds of commas. You can still see the commas up until now, when I write. One day she asked me if I wanted to try teaching. I was ecstatic. I started out with three subjects on Economics. I put my heart into it, until I was given full load thereafter. I enjoyed each minute of teaching, especially so that my students were almost the same age as I was at that time, some were older. Some attempted to court me, the attention I got from them I had a kick out of. 

Then government service beckoned, and the same professor who hired me recommended me for a contractual post. She told me she did not want to lose me, but I needed the raise in income for my family, (at that time, things were getting really bad for my family, we could barely keep it together) so that was her consideration. I got that, even when I was sad to leave my students. I worked for a government agency which made me do field work. My colleagues and I went to the barangays, my first taste of reaching out to the 'masses' as they called it, the farmers. Having been raised 'rich', I did not know how to negotiate myself around the 'tambak' or rice paddies along farm lots, so I always ended up the last one in this trail of civil servants on the way to this long-forgotten barangay somewhere and spread the good news that there is a government that cares for them. My Pierre Cardin soles would be soaked in mud at the end of each day, which made Mama really upset because the branded stuff I had were remnants of our 'rich' lifestyle. I actually did not care about the shoes, I just wanted to do my job well. 

I guess I did, because God led me to this agency where I am now. I got a permanent position after taking these exams which were so stringent that I wondered at that time if I was applying for a cabinet position. I worked my way up the career ladder, as they call it, and told myself, even if I was handed the job of a 'yaya'-in-waiting, a telephone operator, and the errand girl for the bosses, I would give it my best shot. The type of work did not matter to me, as long as my dignity was intact. Oh, there were times I could not take it: once a boss asked me to peel off corn for him for his snack, in front of visitors. Which I did, but I did not mince my words after when I confronted him about it. I told him, I was his secretary, not his slave. I mean, I did not mind the preparation of his coffee, his meals, his medicines, his Coke, his appointments with the barber, the fetching of his clothes from the laundry, the preparation of his dry-cleaned 'barong tagalog', and all that shit. But the peeling of the corn? That got to me. He seemed to have upped his respect for me when I confronted him. I was a bitch long before, so while I regretted some of the words I used during that confrontation, I was thankful I did tell him how I felt, because he turned out to be one of the people who helped me, lifted me up, and loved me like his daughter. I owe this man much of who I am, together with another boss (the higher-ranking one). 

So these experiences, coupled with my Papa's loss, molded me into 'sterner stuff', after losing Papa, eveything miserable that happened to me was just a walk in the park. Well, of course, there are times when I would really feel like I want to die; I made wrong decisions, I took too many risks, I let abuse of other people conquer me, I would blame myself over and over. But my kids,  my friends help me, sometimes I wonder up to when their patience will last for someone whose life is riddled with concerns. I also feel strongly that I was born to face all these, and God has given me the gift of resilience, and intellect to sort things out. 

I am able to 'to do this', yes. Whatever comes my way, I am always ready to face upfront. I learned the hard way that denial that something is 'off' will just make me dig my grave deeper and deeper. I keep my head above the water by fighting the urge to go the other way, which is down, by the gifts of resilience and intellect. I am humbled by the love that my family and friends, for which I never fail to say 'thank you'. I get up each day, force myself to take that first step, then another. Then a day becomes a week, a month, a year. There is no other way than to live this life, beset by cloudy and rainy days, at times thunderstorms, then I get to see the sun rise again, with a rainbow to boot. I hold my head high, because all these? No matter how the dark side views me, these are all of me, complicated, but in the end,  I am worth every inch, a self-respecting, dignified, loving human being.