Car Wash Therapy

October is a rainy month in the Philippines. If being drenched in the rain or getting one's shoes soaked wet are the woes of commuters, car owners complain of the frequent need to wash their vehicles. I can relate to this at a practical level. But on an emotional level, I feel quite differently.

You can call me crazy but I truly feel that washing the car is therapeutic. Okay, I admit that at first it wasn't like that. I used to think that it was such a tedious task. I would make up all possible excuses that I could come up with just so I could delay or escape the task of cleaning the car. But for the past few years, I have seen this chore in a different yet interesting way.

I love washing the car most when I'm not in a hurry. This is usually on Sundays when I take time in enjoying the sound of the water coming out from the faucet and filling up the pail, the squishing sound of the sponge as I make a lather, the somewhat hypnotic and relaxing effect of the circular motion in applying the car wax, and most importantly the happiness and fulfillment upon seeing a clean and shiny car in front of me.

After a loaded week at work, a busy schedule in school, and a crazy nightlife on weekends, this is something I look forward to. Why? Because it is somehow reassuring to know that despite the hectic schedule filled with pending projects and never-ending deadlines, somehow in this nook of my life there are simple and short-term tasks equally capable of rewarding me with fulfillment and a sense of accomplishment. I think people should not only be defined by the great feats that they accomplish but also in how they excellently carry out seemingly inconsequential tasks. Parents should be measured by how they lovlngly perform the task of driving their kids to school. Friends should be weighed not just by how many friends they have on Facebook but also by how they are willing to stick it out with a friend who is in a rut. Sons and daughters should be judged not just by the house they buy their parents but also by their effort in taking care of their fathers and mothers when the latter grow old. Spouses should be appraised not only by how well they can provide for the material needs of their partners but by the number of shared hugs, kisses, and laughters as well.

Car washing also becomes a very unlikely source of questions and answers which parallel that of real life. For instance, why do we wash cars despite the possibility of rain anytime within the day, or tomorrow, or the day after next? Why waste all that effort despite an uncertain weather? I remember an episode in Batibot where Kiko Matsing was tasked to sweep the leaves that fell from a tree but refused to do so. When asked why, he replied that he would rather wait for all the leaves to fall so he can clean the grounds one time. But we all know that it's impossible. Unless, of course, Kiko Matsing cuts or uproots the tree. The tree will continue to grow new leaves and shed old and dried ones.

And so it is with life. Why do we get up every morning? Why do we enter a new relationship one after another? Why do we play Plants and Zombies over and over again? Why do we find ourselves making a new year's resolution either on January 1 or on our birthday or on any other day of the year? I am not saying that life is nothing more than a series of disappointments after another. But I'm also not discounting the possibility that disappointments and failures do happen. What I'm emphasizing is that there will always be another day, another chance, another beginning.

I cannot be the Kiko Matsing who will wait for the time when the tree has lost its leaves. I cannot wait to wash my car when rain is no longer part of the water cycle. By then the car would be nothing except a piece of metal covered with rust and holes. In the same way, I will not wait for my life to have passed by me. Each and every day will be a new beginning. An opportunity to wash my car despite the possibility of rain. An opportunity to press on and live each day with a fresh set of eyes despite the rains of life.

Rain, bring it on!

Born to Teach

I was born to teach. I didn't go out of my mother's womb grasping a chalk in one hand and unfurling a lesson plan in the other. I could only imagine how many doctors or nurses in the delivery room would have shrieked or fainted. It wasn't like that. In fact, my birth into this calling to teach was slow and a bit later than my actual biological birth.

It started with an assigned special report by my grade school science teacher. Being the eager and competitive student that I used to be, I volunteered for this one. If you haven't noticed, the previous statement is actually a euphemism for being a nerd. Anyway, my task was to find out how electricity is generated by electricity providers and provided to the houses of consumers. This took a little research, a visit to the local electric company, and an hour or two to rehearse my report.

Presentation day came. And although I practiced to make it the best report my science teacher had ever witnessed, something else happened unexpectedly. I just didn’t report. I stood in front and started with a question that perked my classmates’ interest. I explained the entire mumbo-jumbo carefully noticing any raised eyebrow, blank stare, or any hint that my classmates were lost in the maze of electrical circuits I was showing them. I would backtrack and then move on when I see nods and expressions of amazement at the concepts. I couldn’t explain how good it felt to find out that my classmates were learning from me. It wasn’t about how good I was as a reporter anymore. I was teaching.

Teaching and I had a relationship that sparked during first sight but did not have enough wood to fuel the passion. Because I was fond with science and was one of the top students in school, everyone including myself expected me to become either an astronaut, a biologist, an astronomer, a lawyer, or any profession that was unique. It was a good conversation piece when I grew up. I imagine people asking me “So what do you do?” and I’d respond confidently and arrogantly “Oh, I’m an astronomer” or “I’m a defense lawyer for the Commission on Human Rights” or something to that effect. But not “I teach.” Where was the exceptionality in that, the dreamy little child that I was wondered. No offense meant to all the teachers including myself. This was just a rumination of a school child.

I grew up, went to a science school, and got a college degree. A total of eight years passed. And unexpectedly, after graduation I found myself back to where I was in grade school —in front of people, teaching. I work in the human resources department. And out of all the possible assignments I could become interested in, it was with training employees. Somewhat akin to teaching. But it wasn’t enough. I wanted to teach in the academe and mould young minds where raw potential abound. A phone call to my alma mater revealed that I have to take up a masters’ degree for me to teach. After three years in the graduate program, I was reunited with my first love. Just this year, I joined the academe. This is on top of a fulltime job in the hospitality industry and finishing my thesis for my masters’ degree.

Several friends ask me why I want to teach despite my hectic schedule? Was I going crazy? Yes, I was crazy and passionate with teaching. I have shared how my passion for teaching started. But I suppose you still find my answer to why I love teaching vague. Let me help you with that.

I love teaching because I get to act out my frustration in the performing arts. For real? Yes. I get to become a comedian, sometimes a poet, at times a singer singing a couple of lines, an orator, and a game show host. I become all of these to illustrate a discussion topic or get my point across. I resort to these to draw my students’ attention back when their attention seems to be straying into oblivion.

On a selfish note, I admit that I want to be surrounded with young people because I have always known I had a young soul in me that made me relate to my students. Yet this same soul is also old and willing enough to share knowledge, experiences, and wisdom to them.

I love teaching because teaching is such a humble yet noble calling. We teachers are humbled because we realize that we are just a tiny part of something bigger. We do not make big business decisions. We do not make markets rise or fall down. We do not create history. But it is in this humbling realization that I grasp the nobility in this calling. It is true that we do not create history. We create something more. We leave a legacy. Teachers create a ripple whose impact will last through the fabric of time.

They say that if you find your purpose in life, your compass will find its north. Life will be meaningful. As young as I am (or am I?), I am glad that I have found one of my norths. I see myself growing old as a teacher among many other things. And I look forward to many years of touching the lives of my students.

Of Music and Memories

The other night, I was listening to music while making an exam for my class. I put my iTunes on shuffle mode. I was busy trying to make the most difficult exam ever for my students (just kidding as I actually make easy exams) when my attention was swayed from my academic task. The Abba's Chiquititta was being played at that moment. This is a song from my parents' yesteryears, I thought to myself. I wondered where they were and what they were doing when this song hit the charts in 1979. How do they look like sporting bell-bottom jeans or baggy pants? I wonder if they look funny. I guess I'll have to do a little bit of photo album digging.

Chiquititta's melody faded out. The next song on the shuffle list was Toyang by Eraserheads. A floodgate of memories cracked open. This time, my memories. 1996, high school. I remember singing this song while a record cassette tape was lodged in my car stereo. My classmates and I were taking a break from planting the "immortal" golden duranta saplings and watering our mahogany trees in the school's pocket forest. I have more memories of this part of school than my Calculus and Biochemistry classes combined.

We Built This City. 1986. The floodgate opened wider and took me a little further to the past. This was the time when I was carefree. No school yet and no assignments to make. I was watching a video of this song when a friend of mine was yelling at me to go out of the house and meet up with the barkada. Even as a kid, I loved going out of the house with the neighborhood's gang of kids. We'd sneak up into a nearby sugarcane plantation and because we didn't have the strength to uproot the sugarcane so we could steal them, we would just nibble directly on the sugarcane. I had no idea which neighbors' dog peed on that cane.

Fixing A Broken Heart by Indecent Obsession. 1994. Ah, first year high school. The school year was about to end. A classmate who was good with the guitar got me and my classmates squatting under a tree and singing out loud with a songhits in front of us. This was one of those songs. When our throats started to hurt, my classmates and I would play "syatong." This is such a crazy game which I played with all my heart. One time, I hit the stick so hard it landed on the forehead of my classmate with such a loud thud that I thought it was going to bleed.

Superman by Five for Fighting.... Christmas 2002. I was still with my former employer. I remember I had an officemate who loved this song so much. I gave her a CD with this song in it but because all I could afford at that time was a pirated CD, that's what I gave her. I know, I know. It's not good to support piracy. But I'm sure she'd prefer that rather than me singing it and recording it on a casette tape. Not a bad gift considering that I got a Parker pen in return. It makes me wonder what I could have gotten if I gave her a tape with my own rendition of the song. Probably a Panda or Uni ballpen. Or worse, a used pencil with a chewed eraser head.

David Cook, Always Be My Baby. This is a more recent song. This one's a double memory. These two memories have something to do with the original artist Mariah Carey though. My high school crush was so engrossed with Mariah that I said I liked her songs too. She had no idea that I had to do a bit of research since I had no idea what Mariah's other songs were. The second memory is that of me giving a CD to my bestfriend as a birthday gift. She mentioned in passing that she liked Mariah and I surprised her with it. I guess that as a bestfriend, you need to listen to the little things your friend says once in a while and use it to surprise them.

As Long As it matters by Gin Blossoms. 1998. Aaah, this song is one of my comfort songs from my emo years. Yes, I was an emo once. And no, not the black-shirt, black-jeans, ear-pierced, suicidal emo. I was the normal looking (I hope I was) student who was deep and pensive. One who kept a journal, "digged" poetry, and one who attempted to think about life and my future.

Happy by the Square Heads, 2003. This song started it all. This was to become my baptism song into the night life, booze days, and partying. I was assigned in Iloilo for 3 months where my only form of stress release was to go out with officemates on Saturday nights and party like there was no tomorrow. Actually, there always was a tomorrow. It was a tomorrow of hangover. But with a smile, nonetheless.

As I continued listening to the songs, I realized how amazing it is that we remember not just the lyrics of these songs but also the joys, the pains, our crushes, our bestfriends, our family, and a lot of other memories. Then the playlist jumped to another song that my parents probably slow-danced to when they were younger. It makes me kind of wonder what my kids will think of my songs now. And I wonder what memories they'll have for the songs during their generation. I hope they're as rich and colorful as mine and yours. What are your songs?

Why Ramblings from My Soul?

More often than not, we ask questions and we readily come up with answers. We try to quench our thirst to know everything. But such is not the case for life's questions. Luckily for some, the answers are as glaring as the sun on a summer's mid day. But some answers are elusive. It may take a few years for us to find the answer. In some cases, this journey or quest may take the human race several generations to accomplish.

This is what I intend to do with this blog. I will ask serious questions on life. Or make fun of life's ironies. Or make fun of myself. Or tell my story. Or tell another person's story. Or express sorrow. Or celebrate life. Or ramble. Yes, definitely ramble. I will make no claim that my answers are life's truths. Some of you may agree with my thoughts, others in a hurry to find the nearest sink and puke because of revolt and disgust. There may be those who think my perspective is a waste of their time, others may feel that somehow a chord deep within them has been struck. But hey, these are just ramblings. Plain and simple rambling.

Ramblings from my own soul.