Gotta have the "F"

I thought I would never see the end of my continuing saga. My relationship with my future self is not really going well. I have this notion that how you envision yourself days, weeks, months or years from now affects how you live out your present life. I know this thought may seem esoteric and totally the opposite of what actually happens, i.e., the present affects the future and not the other way around. But perhaps it is my way of harnessing the benefits of positive thinking, mind mapping, and all the other psychological babble that I often ignore everytime I pass by the “Self-Help” section at the bookstore.

In reality, it is easier for me to close my eyes and see myself prancing in Prada stilettos living out a highly successful life. Such visions that appear overhead like a Peanuts comics dialogue cloud are easier to conjure up at times when I feel like “bad luck” – also known as the universe conspiring for my downfall – has struck me once more. Because sometimes, as they say, “When it rains, it pours.” Is this saying applicable to bad times as well? Heck, yeah!

And it felt more than just rain. It was a downpour of hailstones when the company at Jurong East that I have applied at informed me that my work pass was disapproved by the Ministry of Manpower (MOM) – the governing body for work passes. The company thought that perhaps it was due to the local-foreigner ratio, that they have to hire more locals first before they can be allowed to hire a foreigner. This is the company where the boss has expressed eagerness to hire me so much so that even some confidential company plans have already been shared with me. This just proves that no matter how a company likes you but if your work pass application was rejected, you still cannot start working for that company. Yes + No = NO. Such is the mystery that is MOM. They will not explain their reasons for disapproving applications. It’s just either a straightforward Yes or a straightforward No.  

Just a few days after that, I followed up with my other application at the school. They informed me that they are momentarily putting all applications on hold. The opening of the school in Vietnam where I was supposed to be deployed to was postponed indefinitely due to recession-induced budget cuts. When it rains, it pours.

Add to that the numerous other job applications that were either uncomplicatedly denied, politely rejected, or seem to be plainly ignored. Those companies which replied simply expressed their preference for locals or those with permanent resident status. As for the rest of my applications, they were akin to Add as a Friend invites on Facebook which are neither confirmed nor denied. Just ignored. When it rains, it pours.

Am I really seeing the end of this saga of job hunting?

It was two hours before midnight when I decided to retrieve all my clothes that I had left outside to dry. I am still hesitant to try the bamboo poles after the occasional futile attempts. In our new “Big Brother house” on the fifth floor, the corridor in front of the main door serves its dual purpose as a Smoking Area (for smoking housemates) and as a “Drying Area” for machine-washed clothes. Really, clothes that dried under the sun smell a lot fresher compared to those that dried indoors or just via the machine dryer. Sometimes Nanay, the grandmother, would hang huge, colorful blankets over the corridor ledge and leave them all to bake under the scorching heat of the sun. Viewed from the ground, these blankets could be mistaken as parachutes or kites that got accidentally caught in, obediently caressing the breeze. It is not as hideous as it sounds. Our side of the building faces the backyard of sorts of well-maintained bermuda grass and other common foliage. Several tall trees line the edge of the wired fence that separates the HDBs from the expressway at the opposite. 

I passed by Tatay, the grandfather of the house, on my way back to my room. He was sitting by the dining table intently reading his Bible with such concentration that allows for his lips to alternately purse and mumble almost involuntarily. It reminds me of the way I used to read my other bible which is also spelled as V-O-G-U-E. (Sometimes it is spelled as E-l-l-e, or H-a-r-p-e-r-‘s-B-a-z-a-a-r, depending on which has the fiercest cover for the month.)  I tried my best not to disturb him by not making any unnecessary noise despite the shaking sound that the spider’s web-like clip hangers make as I carry them. But I guess even the faintest of sounds could instantly interrupt his reading, the way that a hypnotized person would immediately be awakened with just a snap. He cleared his throat, looked at me in a librarian-esque signature gaze with a lowered head, spectacles resting low on his nose bridge and eyes rolled up to the ceiling of his eyelids, and whispered:

“What job position are you applying for again?”

I was tempted to let him know that I am open to any kind of decent job with a decent income that is hopefully fashion-related. But then again, that idea of a reply is something that is better said in front of a potential employer pathetic. Besides, just the way I constructed that thought in my mind seemed too wordy for a simple question that is answerable by a word or two.     

“Fashion Designer,” I murmured.

He went back to reading like nothing has transpired in the past few seconds. I went back to my room and started to fold my clothes as usual. As my roommate Marie began to chat online with her boyfriend, I began to wonder about my brief encounter with Tatay. Perhaps he was just curious. Or maybe he just forgot that I already told him exactly the same thing twice before. But I hoped that he included me in his prayers. I have been remiss in my obligations as a Catholic and nothing can prove to be more helpful than a nudge from an elderly pious man like him.

The next day I was casually browsing the Internet when I chanced upon a job ad that has been there for 4 months already. It was not in the usual online job portal format and yet it described everything that I wanted in a job. And so I decided to go for it and immediately called the number. While there’s a high probability that the vacancy has already been filled up, I chose to take my chances. And I’m glad I did. I was quickly scheduled for an interview. I have always believed in gut-feel when somehow you feel that something good is bound to happen.

You get that unique this-might-be-it feeling where excitement is fueled by Faith…

You get that moment when you know for sure that this time it is really going to happen (despite the fact that you already thought of/felt/said the same thing a hundred times before, only this time it really feels different)…

You just know this is meant to be. Fate as they call it. And I believed.

Oh, but please don’t make me sing the high notes of that old Mariah-Whitney song.   

Diversions

While it seems like I spend most of my time tiptoeing along a wobbly tight rope between utter despondency and frustration on one end and a fleeting sense of triumph over adversity on the other, it isn’t always so. I do try to fulfill that “stop and smell the flowers” adage in my own little ways once in a while.

On weekends, it is all too easy to get lost in the euphoria of generally flat-tummied citizens walking around in a relentless state of oblivion. As if everything else is cool, stable and easy. The accessibility of malls here (read: no security guards pretending to inspect your bags with a measly wooden wand – I mean really, what’s up with that? Only in the Philippines, I guess.) allow for that much needed break from the monotony that has been strangling me for days. Window shopping is a form of diversion more than anything else. It is a way to alleviate the pangs of scarcity -- real or imagined, emotional and material – albeit temporarily.

But this diversion has its way of luring you in if you allow it to. One of the first few shops that will blind you is the jewelry shop. The diamonds that sparkle in all their glory behind glass cases will surely send any girl’s heart aflutter. They are the same “best friend” that can make your heart stop and throb all at once whether you are the one buying or the one being gifted with. It was my first time then at Tampines Mall and I realized that these jewelry shops were strategically located near the mall entrances. Business must be good and Singaporeans do love their blings. It might be a hypnotic attempt at attracting passersby the way that a male peacock captivates a potential mate with its flamboyant feathers. And before you even start to recite the 4 C’s, you are already singing your way in to the tune of Katy Perry’s “I wanna see your peacock” anthem. Just don’t echo the last syllable the way she does.    

The next thing that will catch your attention are the appliances and gadgets shops. Luckily, I am not a techie and I can be content with a modest version of whatever is on the market. But still, I can’t deny the intimidating presence of iPhone-wielding teens whose sole accessory should only be a solar-powered scientific calculator. But nobody said that life is fair. Nowadays they can have instant access to both the Theorem of Pythagoras and the theory of the Lady Gaga generation, where X equals iTunes + MAC cosmetics + jôie de vivré. Funan Digitalife Mall is built for the gadget-hungry. It is an entire building that sells anything and everything that could fit into this category. But I don’t fit in this techie mould. Perhaps it is indeed a guy’s world. It is the only realm where guys and girls alike understand the concept that smaller is better anyways. 

After all, size matters. I’m talking about food servings of course. I was at West Mall when I first tried Subway. I have always believed that the short interaction between the staff and the customer of any food establishment is crucial in the overall dining experience. Despite what I imagined to be a routine spiel, I still felt the “freshness” and sincerity of the staff as he presented me with the choices from the type of bread to the type of meat and veggies all the way to the sauces. He got me at the end when he spoke to me in Tagalog. He can easily be Malay/Singaporean with his looks and accent, but he is pure Filipino. Another reason to feel comfortable I thought. 

Now that I have heeded the advice of a wise man who once said that if you must window shop, do not go on an empty stomach, I can now continue my diversion. One of the best cures that window shopping brings to hapless souls like mine is presented like a tableau by the mannequins. As a child I would recite my ABC’s alongside cue cards of the alphabet where A stands for apple, B is for ball, and C for cat. But once you step inside Ion, Takashimaya or Paragon malls, you end up unlearning your alphabets and replacing them with Armani, Burberry and Chanel instead. And the best part is, you are willing to recite your whole new alphabet until Westwood, Yamamoto and Zegna. If their chic displays will not captivate you, the lingering aroma of fine fabrics and luxe leathers will surely do.

I soon found myself eating my quick perk-me-up comfort food in the form of McDonald’s vanilla sundae cone, closing my eyes on alternate licks. At the end of a day full of walking, I felt more tired than the lady who just came out of the mall with several paperbags and an easy-breezy-beautiful smile of confidence. For an Andersenian matchstick girl like me, I am content on staring unabashedly at the glass windows. At least for now.  

Sisterhood of the Travelling Suitcase

I would never have thought of the maximum capacity of my big blue suitcase until this moment came. I was once again stuffing it with clothes, accessories, shoes, toiletries, etc. I still clearly remember how light my suitcase was when I first landed at Changi airport. Due to the 15 kg weight limit I was not able to stuff it with as much things as I wanted. Hence, the word “etc.” then was generously represented by “Lucky Me noodles.” But the situation now has changed. I could not imagine how my stuff seemed to have doubled in just less than 2 months. My friend Marie and I would be transferring, again, to another HDB.

We found this room-for-rent thru the online community portal called PinoySg.com where Filipinos converge and share experiences and post accommodation ads, among others. A few days before our intended date of transfer, Marie and I decided to meet up with Ray at Tampines MRT.

“Our flat is just few bus stops away, very near the MRT,” assured Ray, friend of the main tenant, looking all alert despite his hour-long train ride straight from his workplace over in Jurong East, which is actually located in the West.

Ray continued to share with us his own first-time experiences as we queue up and wait for our bus: “It was a rough start for me, I had to borrow money from relatives then. It took me quite a while to find a job. You’d be lucky if you manage to get hired before your visa expires. Most people I know took 2 months on average before they were able to get a job.”

In a way those words offered me half-comfort and half-worry. I realize that I’m still left with 2 weeks before I reach that 2-month average. But unlike a project deadline where I can choose to exhaust myself working for extra hours, none of that is applicable here. I can email as many resumes and cover letters to as many companies as I please but that’s just it. The rest is spent on praying and anticipating. It was akin to being stuck inside Big Brother’s house where every move is limited within its confines and all I could rely on is the powerful voice of Big Bro, er, the Supreme Being up there. All the while praying that I won’t get “evicted” so soon and so sudden. I still pondered upon that imminent 2-month “due date” as I stood inside the cramped rush hour bus ride.

We eventually reached Ray’s noticeably quiet neighborhood. I was excited to see what we would call our new home. After passing by three HDB blocks and parking lots, we have reached their flat.

“Come in, come in,” said Nanay, the grandmother of the house, as they ushered us into their living room.

Just the mere smiles on their faces instantly made us feel welcome. Ray then led us to the room that Marie and I would share. It was pretty spacious -- with a single bed that we would later on toss a coin for to decide who’s sleeping on the floor, fairly wide curtained windows, a “dextrosed” aircon and a huge cabinet – seems good. Later on we were shown their dining area, kitchen, and toilet. The main tenant George, coming from work, reached in time to introduce us with the other tenants that include his parents, 2 younger siblings, his wife, and their only child Angelita. They can never get any more close-knit than this. Just the flavorful smell of the simmering Adobo and the deafening sound of the TV made their household more typically Pinoy.

Even though I foresee the unbridled naughtiness in the 6-year old Angelita, there was no hesitation on our part when the moment to decide came. While we could not imagine how they will manage to squeeze themselves in this 3-room flat now that they are left with two, Marie and I were happy that we have found a new home, in the privacy of our own little room.

And after handing over to George the agreed 1-month advance payment, all he could muster was the jolly greeting: “Welcome to Big Brother House!”