I’m dreamy, sleepy, rarely takes a bath and doesn’t pay attention to everything. My head is a hopeless nest of tangled hair, I feel lost, sad and underneath my beard is colony of zits. Is this it? I can’t even remember an ambition. I’ve been moody. I spit out bad words practically everytime I speak. I quit gymming and I don’t want to use my car anymore. I quit social life and my phone is always on airplane mode. Worst, is I don’t want to go to the office I work for right now. Negativity surrounds.
Is this what they call quarter life crisis?
My 25th birthday is nearing, so this must be it. I’m not saying that my life will only last until I’m 100 years old, but 25 is the quarter of a hundred and I think I have the crisis now, so probably I will only be a hundred years old before I die.
I wanted to know if this could be resolved instantly by taking anti-depressants or by taking happying pills. No. I guess, no.
I just know that all of this started when I lost my news reporting job. Not that I quit or the bosses kicked me out of it, I’d say the job has quit on me. I swallowed it whole and I exceeded the expectations of the office every single day.
I remember I covered the 2012 Habagat for a week . I produced stories that the office liked. I wore my boots and weather jacket. I covered in Marikina, my hometown and silly that I think right now it just sent me straight home.
I was really a crime journalist there, but like everyone else, you cover everything that happens during your shift whether it’d be GMA in St. Luke’s, GMA at the Veterans, GMA in the airport, or Paris Hilton in NAIA. Tell me gory, and I will tell you its not. I’ve been to the deepest parts of Tondo and Quiapo and dead bodies there as veteran journalists say is just five for five cents.
I really wanted it. Plain and simple. But the election has made it difficult to get a job in other TV stations. It’s like they’ve completed the number of men they need to have the better poll coverage versus one another long before the announcement of RPN 9’s closure.
What I did because I couldn’t afford to be a bum for a single day was get a job in a call center. It was my first job ever and I kind of miss it too.
But, it became unhealthy for me. Even just the thought of it is a jolting force of sour liquid from every corner of my stomach making its way out of my mouth — rice, noodles, scrambled eggs and malunggay leaves and carrot bits, all partially digested turned to a colorful acidic vomit. Disgusting.
I found it okay at first because of my great consideration for proximity. Its only 3.2 kilometers from home including parking.
My neutral American accent was really working well. During the three-week training period it was amazingly easy.
I was full of hopes and dreams inside the plain training room. I could be someone here in time. I will work really hard. Everyday, I listened and asked questions and clarified information.
The training rooms have names. They were named after popular universities in the United States. I thought good universities so good education. Good training. Each room is identical. A number of long rectangular grey tables form rows piled with office chairs. On the tables are monolithic CPUs and monitors beside them. Trainees sit infront of the monitors while the trainer discussed something projected by an InFocus.
The trainers and bosses from the production floor tirelessly said over and over that this is the easiest campaign they’ve known in their years of experience in the industry. So, I was easily inspired.
Then desparation loomed…
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