Goddess, I Am.

My new job has me helping kids write their college application essays for US universities (yes, no local medical assistant training schools for these fellas!). These are rich kids with hefty trust funds, yes, but they’re also kids who want to make something out of their lives. It’s fun helping them write their essays because their lives are so incredibly colorful and interesting. Most of them are still about to start their senior year in high school, but they’ve already accomplished so many things that most adults will never be able to achieve in their lifetimes. It made me think about myself in high school and what I was up to, which was pretty much no good. Here’s how my college essays would’ve looked like if I had the same opportunities as they do.

Intellectual Interests Essay:

I like to think of myself as a student of the world, not of the classroom. Because of this self-styled belief, learning in school has never been my ‘thing’. I was too busy trying to stay awake to make heads and tails of the Pythagorean Theorem, or how Magellan got his ass kicked in Mactan. But that is not to say that I didn’t learn anything in high school. Au contraire. If anything, I learned things that were far more valuable than mathematical formulas, or the life of Jose Rizal.

Probably the most important lesson I learned was that I didn’t necessarily need to listen in class to pass my exams. Instead, I just needed to read through my textbooks’ table of contents at the very last minute. This technique was so effective, in fact, that I was always the first to submit my test paper for checking. I never got perfect scores, but I never failed either. Sometimes, however, there are isolated cases wherein such a technique is ineffective. In these cases, I found that a teeny-tiny piece of paper and a very fine pencil will come in handy. Of course, it helps to have 20/20 vision.

During my junior year, I went through a phase of enthusiasm for my classes; two, in particular. I loved chemistry class and the incredibly complex experiments that it demanded. These were so complicated, in fact, that me and my friends spent the whole time huddled around a Bunsen burner, having intelligent discussions on the latest news from the Backstreet Boys or Hanson. I also started looking forward to mid-morning Social Studies when the teacher would lock the door and let us do our thing. He had a hernia, you see, and therefore had more important things in his mind than teaching disinterested teenagers the Law of Supply and Demand. That year, I learned the economic differences of having three players in a game of tong-its (a card game) instead of two.

Lastly, I learned that laughing at my English teacher for mispronouncing words was a very good way to get myself sent to the principal’s office, which was almost always empty. I also learned that serving Chinese takeaway in my Home Economics cookfest was likely to give me a reputation of being a very fine cook. Most of all, I learned that I couldn’t reach my toes in Phys.Ed – and I never will.

Describe an experience that shaped you as a person.

During my freshman year, I was chosen to be one of the two representatives of my class for the Miss United Nations ’95 beauty pageant. I won first runner-up – quite a mean feat for someone so young. The Miss UN and I then represented the high school department for the university-wide pageant. I didn’t win. I did, however, catch the audience’s attention after I almost burned another candidate’s traditional Filipino headdress with the traditional Filipino candles that were part of my traditional Filipino ensemble. I was also the youngest contestant to have ever joined that pageant, and I developed a campus queen complex.

A few months later, my class staged a fashion show for our Home Economics class, a very well-attended event. I was the star of the show, appearing in the bridal finale as the bride “marrying” one of my classmates who was transformed from a pimpled adolescent to an over-foundationed groom. I was confident that I would win the “Best Model” award. Much to my surprise and chagrin, however, the award was given to one of my classmates. I had barely left the stage when I started getting hysterical. I was the Miss UN first runner-up and I represented my department in the school-wide pageant, so I should have won Best Model, too!

I was humiliated and inconsolable for days. I only realized later that I humiliated myself even more by reacting that way. I realized that I was a sore loser, and this has shaped me into the person that I am today. I’ve learned that I shouldn’t let my ego get ahead of myself. I’ve learned that I should at least appear to be modest – even when I’m not. Most importantly, I’ve learned never to join a beauty pageant ever again. Of course, it helps that I haven’t grown an inch since.

How can you contribute to the institution’s diversity? Describe a situation where this contribution was applied.

My high school department was tiny; so small, in fact, that we only had one class for each of the four levels. I was my class’ designated songbird. Whenever there was a singing contest, I took center stage. I wasn’t particularly good, but there was no one else courageous enough to volunteer in my stead, so I had to do it.

Without fail, I always placed third out of four contestants – which pretty much meant that I was the second worst singer of the bunch. That was fine, though, because at least I wasn’t the absolute worst. Besides, they gave prizes until third place, so in my four years of high school, I accumulated a healthy collection of staplers and Stabilo Boss highlighters.

My singing days ended soon after when my voice broke for no apparent reason. I now sing in screeches and wails. I could still very much carry a tune, however, and with rather shocking accuracy. Suffice to say, I am one of the best bad singers I know, and I could definitely contribute to the university’s diversity this way. After all, there can only be too many good singers, and even more bad ones. By being a good bad singer, I’m offering your good institution the best of both worlds.

Ahhh, yes. Definitely Harvard or at least Princeton material…if I do say so myself.

No, I haven’t dropped off the face of the earth yet again, and I do intend to write something meaningful soon-ish. (And by meaningful, I mean no nonsensical babble on The Equestrian Corner riding apparel.) For the moment, however, this girl is very, very busy and very, very tired, so this sort of cursory update will have to do for now.

This month has been a very hectic one for me. Sixteen days ago, I took a quick day trip to Cambodia to get a 30-day stamp on my passport. A week later found me and my man in Koh Chang for the mini holiday from hell – one that I’ll have to write about, and soon. And last Wednesday, we were off to Vientiane, Laos for another visa run. That’s way too much land travel, even for this Wander Girl, so I’m quite happy to give my trusty backpack – and my feet – a bit of a rest for at least a couple of months or so.

Work wise, I experienced a bit of a dip on my regular income for the past couple of months, so I had no choice but to take on some additional freelance work. I am still, however, by no means secure, so I decided to also take on a part-time job teaching kids how to write. I’ve only been on the job for a couple of days, but it’s been great so far; and apart from the horrendous commute I have to go through every day, I have no complaints.

So why am I working so hard? Well, apart from the obvious “because I can” answer, it’s because I just can’t be idle. Plus, I’m saving up for a MacBook, so for now, it’s all work, work, and work for me. That is, until I keel over from exhaustion, possibly in the middle of Silom. Now that would be something interesting to write about.

I’m babbling, I know. Must get some sleep.

It’s not a secret that I’m not particularly fond of Thais, even if I do live in their country. In fact, I’ve written a derogatory thing or two about them in the past after having observed (and been involved in) some rather unpleasant situations with these people.

Today, however, is one of those days when I will concede that I might have been a bit too harsh on them. Admittedly, after about a year or so in the country, I have, so far, only been exposed to the absolute dregs of Thai society. These are the barely educated, money-grubbing, trouble-making khlongies that one encounters on the street and in public transport, markets, bars, and even in some of the really upscale malls; the very same ones who can barely speak English and have annoying, whiny voices, and manners and odors so bad that I find myself actually physically sick. It’s no surprise that such limited exposure clouded my judgment of the entire Thai populace, leading me to generalize and criticize to no end. Because of that, I apologize.

“Why this change of heart?”, you might wonder. Well, it’s not really so much a change of heart as a perspective that’s been somewhat broadened – an improved awareness, if you may. Today I found myself acquainted with the other side of Thai society, and the experience was more than pleasurable. I met kids so heartbreakingly bright and smart that they actually had potential oozing out of their pores. These are kids who competitively ride horses and hold patents on machinery (I’m talking huge-assed contraptions with important functions; not lame hp printers ink cartridges or what-not.) they invented – all before the age of 18. These are kids who have already achieved great things and are still aspiring for even greater achievements. Yes, these kids are exactly what the people of Thailand should be, and here’s hoping they’ll grow up to be fine, upstanding citizens and turn this place around. For now, I’m just absolutely thrilled that I can help them in the way that I know best.

I am, by no means, in love with Thai people now. I am, however, starting to think that they may not be so bad after all – “may” being the operative word. We’ll see.

Let me share the first ‘chapter’ of the book I hope to write one day. That is, if I can somehow make heads or tails exactly where I want to go with the story. Can anyone say, scatterbrained?

Meet Belen. Belen is a small (no more than 4’8″), rather chubby woman who looks forty-ish. She is, in fact, 29. She has very dark skin (particularly around the elbows), dark eyes, and very thick lips – characteristics that are common in the village where she came from, no doubt from obscure pygmy ancestors.

I’d like to say that Belen is a simple girl. Unfortunately,she isn’t. She likes to paint the toenails of her rather wide-spread feet red, and wear tube tops and blue eyeshadow. She has visions of grandeur that far exceed her simple upbringing. This dreams, or delusions, however you might see it, brings her to The City. In the hopes of snagging herself a worthwhile husband, she (rather foolishly) finds herself employed in a seedy bar on a seedy street in a seedy part of town.

Suffice to say, she didn’t find a husband. She did find, however, that the foreign customers who frequented the bar were far more generous than the local customers. It was then that Belen decided that she was going to marry an “Amerikano” (as all foreign men were known in that part of the world, regardless of where they came from).

So now Belen has a plan. After all, she’s not such an airhead as most people think she is. She is aware that she’s not likely to find a rich Amerikano to marry if she was a whore working in a seedy bar on a seedy street in a seedy part of town. It was possible, indeed, but it was highly unlikely, and Belen was not one to risk the odds. Belen figures that she needs a job that’s respectable, yet still downtrodden enough for a hapless Amerikano to want to rescue her.

With her limited skills and education, Belen finds herself working as a housemaid. She was lucky enough to find a job where there were no children to look after, as they were all teenagers, and to find an employer who treated her almost as a member of the family. Within days, Belen befriended the teenagers, learned how to use the computer, and discovered the joys of email and mIRC.

Soon enough, Belen had several “pen pals” (though she never did use a pen) – all of them foreign, all of them old, all of them wanted to “take care” of her. Belen immediately started enjoying the fruits of her labor. She started receiving packages from all over the world, mostly containing beauty products that were yet to start working on this little pygmy. She became a constant Western Union customer, receiving thousands of dollars in remittances from her many paramours.

And what’s a girl from an obscure province in the mountains to do with all that money and material possessions? Send it home? Share with her newfound family? We’d all like to think so. Unfortunately, the opposite is true.

First, Belen developed a drinking problem. Then, she started sleeping around with the various houseboys in the village, who, incidentally, she was spending for. Soon enough, her kind employer got wind of the situation and inevitably fired her.

Belen had no choice but to choose amongst her many “sponsors” to rescue her from her predicament. She finally settled on an Amerikano from Amsterdam. Bob (pronounced ‘Boob’, obviously not American) was 65 years old, divorced, fat, and had a bad comb-over. When he arrived in The City to marry her, his body odor struck her like a ton of bricks. But she figured he was old and was going to die soon, leaving her all his money.

They were married in her village’s little church. It was the biggest and grandest celebration the village has ever seen – all paid for by Bob, of course. Three months later, Belen finally got her visa to Holland and off she flew with Bob, red toenails and all, to the land of long winters where she was to become the wife of a fat, smelly, old man, obligated to give him blow jobs, hand jobs, and heaven only knows what other kinds of jobs.

That was 10 years ago. Since then, Bob have had three strokes and is now permanently bedridden. Belen ministers to his needs, counting the days when Bob finally dies and she can have all his money to herself. He, in turn, is living the rest of his days happy that he found himself a good wife who’ll take care of him until the end. Everybody’s happy. Everybody wins.

So, am I going to be the next Candace Bushnell, or should I just give it up as a lost cause? Let me know what you think! I promise, I won’t cry!

I remember my last year of high school. While everyone else talked nonstop about the courses they were going to take and the universities they were going to attend, I did nothing. Oh, it wasn’t because I was a lazy slacker who couldn’t care less if I ended up selling my body on the streets. It was mostly because, short of becoming a porn star (seriously), I didn’t know what I wanted to be.

So I ended up heeding my mum’s advice and taking up accountancy, the same degree that she has. I lasted a full year before I conceded that I didn’t have a head for numbers. Because I needed a good excuse to transfer to my best friend’s university, I chose a course that was offered there but not in my then-university – journalism. I transferred too late, however, so I ended up taking a few unimportant minor subjects that first semester.

By the time the second semester rolled in, my family had already convinced me that I couldn’t possibly have a future in journalism. The future was in computers, they told me; hence, why I ended up taking up IT. Three very long and very excruciating years later, I finished the course and couldn’t be bothered to turn up for my graduation. I was just relieved to be rid of school forever.

Off to the job market I went, and because I spoke English with a passable American accent, I ended up working for a call center. This was the start of my love/hate affair with call centers. For 3 years, I ended up working for 2 of the big centers in my city and one “publishing” company that refused to be dubbed as such – a call center, that is. I also worked in a bank, at some point. The pay was crap and the work bored me to tears, so I eventually ended up taking calls again. I dabbled in technical support, sales, and customer service. Eventually, I worked myself up to quality assurance.

Somewhere along the way, I got it into my head that I wanted to be a teacher. I applied for various training jobs, but always got turned down. I even went back to school for a spell to get a teaching degree, but ended up quitting in the middle of the term because juggling work and school was too exhausting for me. I eventually ended up in Thailand in some obscure coordinator job, and eventually to teach English where I was unceremoniously fired after my first week.

So where does writing fit in all this? I would say it was when I started blogging, but looking back, I think it was far longer than that. I kept diaries as a teenager. Eventually, the diaries became blogs. Back in high school, my best friends and I started an underground newspaper that everyone loved – everyone except our English teacher, that is, who promptly outlawed it. We also wrote a bunch of silly ‘novels’ to rival the Sweet Valley series in grubby, old notebooks that are now gathering dust under my best friend’s bed.

For the longest time, I’ve been having my love affair with words, and I just didn’t know about it because, to me, it was always just a hobby, something that came as naturally as breathing, and it was never really nurtured or encouraged. I didn’t even think that I was actually a good writer until a blogger friend of mine, who I was (and am) a huge fan of and who I respect most, told me that she enjoyed my writing. It was only then that I even considered writing freelance for a living. And even then, I could only do it part-time because I, like all and sundry, didn’t think it was a real job.

If I never left the security of the call centers, if I never had delusions of being a teacher, if I never got fired from a job that I hated every single day that I was doing it, I wouldn’t have had the courage to pursue what I love most. I wouldn’t be writing for a living, and I probably wouldn’t be happy. Indeed, I probably wouldn’t know who – and what – I really am.

Somewhere along the way I took a wrong turn that kept me from my ultimate destiny. But I found my way back, and I’m here now. I’m now where I’m supposed to be, something that a lot of people can’t say about themselves. And really, I’m not going anywhere. I’m here to stay.