Simply the thing I am shall make me live... (William Shakespeare)
After working for nearly five years in a call center, the most financially rewarding job I had and yet the most emotionally-taxing as well, I realized that I am bored. Sure I am part of the more favored department: the training team. And sure I get to visit the famous places in the country and buy the things that I need and I want. But the sad part is I began to realize that I am not growing professionally and personally. It hit me like a curse that courses through my being and manifests itself through an increasing clamor for meaning. The daily routine of work, sleep and a little recreation is like a dagger aimed on my neck. The days seem long and hungry for purpose. More than a vacation, I know I need a new perspective.
I remembered during this time last summer, I spent a four-day breather from work with my colleagues in the previous company that I worked for. After spending a quick one-night stay at gorgeous Plantation Bay, we headed over to bountiful Bohol braving the chill of the approaching rain. By the time the ship landed plus the 30-minute drive from port to hotel, it was already way past lunchtime. Another half hour or so and we are ready to take that ultimate sightseeing tour to several famous tourist destinations in the island. After the trek to Chocolate Hills, we headed over to meet the exotic tarsiers in a tourist spot near the Loboc River. There, we went on a sightseeing tour on board a motor banca. Our tour guide, a twenty-something young man with bronzed skin and sun-bleached hair, provided detailed descriptions of our surroundings. He was conversing in English and minus some grammar blunders; he was in fact very articulate.
According to him, he was the first person in their village to finish high school. The school is several kilometers away and children had to walk for an hour each day back and forth all for the sake of learning. That’d explain why others though would rather prefer staying at home. And that of course led to the low literacy rate in the village.
He said he had 18 brothers who all lived in the same village and that due to poverty; they were not able to get out of the village to seek opportunities in the city. And now with their wives and children, they were stuck on their village by the river which was both their life and bane at the same time.
Luxury was scarce. The village does not have electricity. The only major source of consolation was bathing in the river and basking under the folds of Mother Nature and relishing the scent of the cascading waterfalls and the stroke of sunlight under the green foliage. This is simple life redefined and yet with all honesty, I could not imagine trading places with these people. Here we are, tinkering with our computers and other technological gadgets, oftentimes complaining about the idiosyncrasies of our everyday life, complaining about not having enough and yet for other people from some undisclosed parts of the archipelago, enough would mean having to wake up each day to commune with nature, eat a meager meal each day and laugh and listen to uncertainty softly whispering into their ears.
But yes, until now, as I reminisce, I cannot guess who is happier. When we interact with them, we think they are more blessed for living a simple, uncomplicated life away from the hustle and bustles of our city life. But when you read through their wide-awed eyes, they think that we are so lucky to taste the technologically-driven luxuries of this world.
Are we really more blessed? Am I blessed having to wake up each day to get to my work, spend 8 hours each day for 5 days in front of people? Am I blessed because I know that I don’t have to spend my nights in total darkness, I can buy the things that I want and that I am given the privilege to harness my skills and abilities through extensive education?
Or perhaps they are more blessed - for having the security borne out of ignorance. While here I am, in this big, big world trying to survive through rough times in this economically-challenged country, working my butt out in this call center business and weaving for myself a financially-secure future. Here I am, trying to carve my own niche in this world in order for society to deem me successful. And yet here I am, restless and unfulfilled.
Almost everyday, my supervisor usually calls up to discuss about how we were doing and our performance. Humility aside, this has never been an issue for me especially since I know I work hard at least to deserve the post given to me. But lately I have been feeling especially detached with my job. I guess I was clamoring for something new other than having to stay for eight hours straight muttering those all-too-familiar words that have been my script for a long while.
Yesterday, while trying to ward off my sleepiness, I chatted with an agent about our common friend. She mentioned that Ria’s grandmother has just died battling the same disease she has been fighting through series of chemotherapy with: breast cancer. I immediately called Ria and she started crying uncontrollably. She poured her soul and I was trying to make her feel better. Later during our almost one-hour conversation, she told me about her passion for the art. With death looming on her door, she urged me to pursue my dreams (she knows I love to write, she is a painter) because life is too short to take for granted our dreams (oh, what credibility, those words coming from the mouth of one whose loved one has just died!).
Her words hovered above me like a looming eagle ready to soar. This has been my dilemma for quite a while. Glenn, a dear friend who also works part time in a local newspaper in Bohol, has been prodding me to join the team again or at least submit my articles since time immemorial; but I haven't had the motivation to collect my thoughts and write.
And then came Ria’s words: “You can still train people while you write. You don't have to sacrifice one for the other.”
She was right. Back then, I gave up the opportunity to work in a regional broadcasting company simply because I know this will not make me secure, financially speaking. I have to be practical, philosophy will take me nowhere. So I have made my choice and forgot about my passion for writing. Hearing Ria’s words however made me think otherwise.
She thanked me profusely for making her feel better, for giving her a shoulder to cry on. I was inspired. If only she knew she was the one who made me feel better. I did not only make the difference in her life, she actually did on mine. Before we end, I promised to keep in touch.
Perhaps, that is why I am writing now; to try to get back to the self I once lost, to recollect the dreams that lay barren on my field.
Dreams need only a little boost from its bearer and then the entire universe will conspire to work on it.
I felt the need to write again. I felt the need to be consumed by writing and be myself.
Yes, I will still keep this job but I do not need to detach myself from who I really am. And yes, I am, after all, blessed to have this job to keep me afloat and a dream I can pursue.
And to echo the words of my mentor and friend, Sir Ramir Uytico: “Remember too that you are first a writer, do not forget.”
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