Time Turner Number 1: *Gimme a Break

Nota Bene: It is difficult to part ways with my old blog entries and so, in the tradition of grand narcissistic SSDD fashion, I am reposting some of them under the title “Time Turner” (gawd, I swear I can’t still get the HP freak  off me!). I’ve carefully chosen those that mattered, those that made impact during my pre-yuppie, college mold, and ultimately directed me to the life path that I am trudging on as of the moment. Read on.

Today is Wednesday and I’m nine days off the curse of the 20-year-old mold.

Tomorrow my sister, who has been harassing my mom for some gawddamn money for an engineering project through her (my mother) wretched blue-peeling Trium model, will be having her birthday and I know she feels pathetic and morose about having to celebrate a birthday without even some pennies to afford a decent birthday candle. Gawd knows how bloody tormenting that is for a person to be coming off her last birthday with a 1-digit age.

She’ll be turning twenty tomorrow and I know she’ll be looking at it like another day has gone, barred of any special meaning whatsoever. If I have the money, which even a blind would very well discern I haven’t, I will give her the bucks she deserves and let her spend it the way she likes it spending - with a couple of friends going to the big screen, with her curled up dorm-mates having a nice tea party inside their hibernating Catholic abode, or even with that Chinese-descending guy who, I’m told, is patiently giving my sister a taste of Shakespearean flittings of romance. If…If…If…

I’m sitting here infront of a rotting PC whose keys are as stubborn as age-old blocks of ice in the freezer, listening to a blast of Parokya’s poignant melody, killing the hours innovating my friendster profile like it would make any slightest difference in the world, pouring my idiosyncratic thoughts into this bloody blog, skiving off my class and lying to my mom that I went to school although, truth be told, I only had a short walk in the town proper to look for a decent computer shop to while away.

I escape from reality, run away from its sickening entrails of cruelty and bitchiness, blood and all, and ponder on what I would do next the moment I resign from being an academic bummer dependent on my about-to-be-crazy mother’s dole outs like a blood-voracious leech.

Gawd, just for a short length of time, just for two hours, I want to be alone and philosophical, I want everyone - friends, kins, foes, and beggars - to leave me alone. I want not a single friggin’ thought of problems bothering my already deteriorating gray matter. I just don’t want anyone, not a single soul, sticking some ugly devil’s fork up my arse for a moment.

So I think and think and think, like I’m a freakin’ descendant of Plato or some other Greek idlers (wait a sec, was Plato a Greek?…whatever!). I think about my future, what I’m going to do after I haul my arse up that hell-of-a-school, what’s going to happen to mom and Sean the moment they give me that scrolled paper.

Allow me to make a digression… Why does everyone have to toil for that, anyway? A man shouldn’t be judged according to how many of that fuckin’ paper he has. If you’ve got brains and you know you’ve got the talent, in spite of being deprived of proper schooling, then who are they to tell you you’re not worthy of any decent 9-to-5 jobs out there? Who are they to tell you they’re smarter just because they have that wretched piece of rolled paper tucked in their sleeves and you don’t? Puh-leaze! I hate society’s norms but I can’t do anything to defy it… Because I’m poor and helpless and jobless and I don’t have any gold to turn the ugly tide…

So I think I’m going to work after graduation. Be a slave of the burgeoning call center industry and fatten away my arse telling dumb people what to do with this and that. God I can’t believe ignoramuses abound in numbers…But it’s good. In some way. Because I get to keep a nice-paying job (a thousand bucks a day for being superior and for telling people how utterly idiot they are? haha…) out of it. I know it doesn’t have anything to do with the course Ive taken but hey, to each his own, mind your own business. I’m not pushing you to jump off some politician’s name-extolled bridge so don’t tell me what to do and what not to.

My friends say I should first try to review for the CPA Board Exam, what with all the impressive goodies stuffed in my head. That I’ll be wasting this God-given adroitness if I get stagnant keeping my arse rod-hot in a swivel chair with a fuckin’-shit-sonuvabitch Western accent.

Sometimes, I try to think about that myself. Gawd, I studied Accountancy because I wanted to be an accountant, not an overpaid, bored blatherskite. When I think about how I could apply all the stuffs I learned in school, when I think about myself having to balance some accounts, having to audit San Miguel Corp or maybe Ayala’s conglomerate, I feel that it should be the path that I should be rightfully coursing through. But all the financial worries of my mom bring me back to my senses. (All because of her “butterflying” over a bunch of nice-paying jobs…But that’s another story. And I might as well write about that at some other time.)

I appreciate the concern of my friends and some other people advising me the same thing but it’s hard to deal with the matter when you’re an immature, lackadaisical guy who has to bring food on the table and worry over your sister’s education and your mom’s welfare all because you’re good-for-nothing father (God bless his soul!) left you and your mother and sister to cohabit with some other scarlet woman! (Nonetheless, the grudge is under the bridge now, I’ve learned to forgive and forget and if I ever have the chance to meet him again, I’ll act like a son whose longing for a father could very well be augmented by a hefty heir fortune…haha…Just kiddin’).

So I act like a big man, mature and responsible in every way, and say, Thank you for the empty words but unless you can give me 30,000 grand every month to pay off my mom’s debt and take care of my sister’s schooling, then God bless your soul, no hard feelings, no offense meant, but Im sticking to being a brown-skinned talking machine with an American twang. Until a person could give me a valid reason that may well defy logic and reason, I don’t have no choice but to be a slave of some Occidental service-providing company. And if that person is still stubborn to insist on what he thinks, I’m going to shove the devil’s fork up his arse and give him my own piece of logic: starving proletariats with the three-letter title after more than half-a-year or untitled yuppie with a sister secured of her schooling and a mother looking half her age because she’s finally debt-free?

Make me!

*Penned this a few months before I finally graduated from college. While majority of my classmates were contemplating about their post-college lives as Board reviewees, I was more concerned over earning big bucks after leaving college. All of my friends and professors advised me to review and to take the Board and thought that I had a good chance of excelling the test. I would have told them I’d really love to but my sister’s education was far more important than my review. So I chose to be a call center whore. Tough luck.