Tuesday, February 08, 2005

I used to like all my officemates. To me, they were exactly what officemates should be—bitchy, moody, funny, and most of all cool.

I enjoyed what I did. I get paid by sitting for four hours doing nothing, then when work starts coming then you don’t have time to do anything else. Example, you should squeeze dinnertime between lay-outing pages and proofreading them. When fate is kind enough to give you time for eating, you should do it under 30 minutes so you could beat the deadline.

After work, my officemates and I scour Makati for good places to eat. We discovered so many restos that became our hangout for months to come.

My work was not perfect, but I was contented. Then I began to marvel on how time moves too fast. It was moving too fast for comfort. I felt like I was getting left behind by time. Then I began to worry.

I do not want to be contented for the next seven years of my life with nothing to show for it. So before I began to hate my job, I decided to apply for another position in a different section.

Many people warned me about my move. They asked me if I was sure. Some even told me that I would not last a month before I come running back to my original section.

They were right. They weren’t joking when they said that it was hard. I almost runaway, but I didn’t. Sheer stubbornness on my part stopped me from giving up.

Stubbornness and pride.

I have too much respect for myself to return defeated to my former job. So I gritted my teeth and tried to live through my first two months. It had been hell.

I used to want to cry in the morning when 7:30 news brought nothing to me but stabbing incidents on the streets. I wanted to cry when my colleague stole a story from me. I wanted to cry when I faced a victim of tragedy and wanted to hug him tight and tell him that it was alright because I would be there for him, but I couldn’t. I knew I would not be there for him long enough to make a difference. That I was only talking to him because I needed the story out of him. It was painful and I have never felt so helpless in my life.

Some envelopmental journalism was obvious to spot like the cheap P500 bribery and the thick wad of gift certificates from SM for Christmas.

“We know that employees from your company do not accept cash, that’s why I thought of this,” the public information officer said to me referring to the GCs. My trainor warned me about this so I applied what she taught me on how to handle the situation.

But some were a little harder to spot than others. Like the fact that a man in uniform with a very high position invited me to bungee jump, rappel, and practice shooting in their camp in Parañaque.

I consulted my trainor first before I accepted the invitation. I can’t say I wasn’t tempted. Besides, I thought it would be a good feature story.

But my trainor only has this to say, “pera ng bayan yan eh.”Those simple powerful words became my guideline for the rest of my tryouts.

There were so many times that my new job got me frustrated that I was ready to raise my hand and say “okay, I give up, you win, I was not cut out for this!”

But on my third month I woke up liking it. I no longer panicked whenever there’s breaking news because I knew I could get the details. I no longer worried that I couldn’t reach my daily quota because I had banked stories that I knew I could tap if worse come to worse.

Then they came the big decision and they told me that they senses as if I’m not ready for the job yet. At that time, I couldn’t agree more. I mean I knew I could do the job well but I don’t know if I wanted to do it for the longest time.

Now, I’m back in my old section, doing my routine job and I realized I couldn’t stand it.

I realized that I want to wake up in the morning not knowing what the day would bring. I want to disconcert slimy politicians with the question, “but sir, what are you doing about it?” I want to help. Because in my own way, when I was on the field, I made a difference.

I also know more about the world. I know that my one night in Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf could feed a family of five for the whole day or two. I know what arraignment, pre-trial, trial, and promulgation means. I know my rights on the road. I know my rights, period.

I miss the excitement.

Today, our editor distributed GCs to the same resto. I looked at mine forlornly. This means the freebies and perks are back. I’m not going to be a hypocrite, I welcome them with open arms, they’re no longer “pera ng bayan” eh.

But I realized that I could live without them. My life was more meaningful when I was eating in a carinderia with a fatherly policeman who talked about the case they were trying to crack. It made more sense talking to a victim of fire and how her family narrowly escaped the inferno than discuss the advantages of an ingredient in a lipstick.

Plus, it definitely beats stalking a certain someone around the metro.