Into and Out of A Maze

Just last year, I was struggling to reach for the door which leads to my dream.
It was way beyond my comfort zone. I was scared. But I reached for it.
I went in and found a maze. Some turns were a delight to be in. Friends were made, good times shared, love was found.
But some turns were challenging. It was tough and it wouldn’t allow to be forgotten. There, foes, mistakes, and lessons abound.
By now, I feel like I’m nearing the end of the maze. I feel like a crossroad is dawning.
And, just like a year ago, there’s that hesitation, that feeling of wanting to stay yet wanting to go, of wanting to hold on yet eager to let go.

Rights of Passage

Real life
The moment of truth. That stage when one ceases to be a carefree college student and tries starts to live life as a sensible, responsible adult.

I thought I have learned everything I will ever need to survive real life. That is until I landed on my first job.

On my first actual employment, I realized that more than knowing the technical aspect of my job, I needed to learn harder things such as dealing with people, disagreeing without being disagreeable, accepting my errors, growing from those errors, and so on.

It was the tough situations of those times that made me think about how I am only starting to learn something about everything.

And so I ditched my fiction books for non-fiction books and self-help articles. Not all of them make sense to me and a lot I dismiss as invalid or simply irrelevant to my case.

What I found more helpful is having my journal of emotions. Every night, I record what have happened at work, how I felt, how I reacted, and how the issue ended.

I must admit, though, that I am nowhere near mastering my emotions or my responses to various triggers around me. Leafing through my journal brings me headaches. It’s a clear proof of how immature I am and how the learning curve is really steep. It really sucks and I sometimes wish I had more control, but it is, for me, a difficult process to learn.

Two years passed since the dawning of that thought and I have yet to impress myself with my rate of progress. It gets so frustrating. But at times I talk to myself in a kinder, more understanding tone and reassure that a slow progress is better than none. Perhaps being a master of control is destined for me at a much, much later time.

While I am slowly learning to exercise control of my mental and emotional processes, I am also working on learning new technical skills.

The workplace of today has also come to be so competitive that it is imperative to be a master of more than just one thing.

For example, it’s not enough that I know how to write well, I must also be able to take good photographs, or come up with jaw-dropping visuals. The more I know, the less I will fear of getting axed.

On days when I am off from work, I do distance learning. I try my best to squeeze into my schedule the time to learn about graphic design as well as writing of different sorts. It overwhelms me at times but I have to get ahead of the game. It’s the real life I am in and the real life I will survive.

The Daily Post: Learning


Changing Life Courses

As a four-year old, I wanted to be a gymnast. I wanted to stun people with my dazzling moves and awe them with my flexibility.

But science encyclopedias found their way to me and I got so deeply involved in my imagined scientific quests.

As a six-year old, I dreamed of reaching the stars and discovering my own planet. I have also wanted to dive into the depths of the seas and name creatures unnamed.

But mathematics happened so I decided to be a journalist instead.

As an intern of a local newspaper back in college, I found joy being at the front-line of information. I enjoyed making rounds in the city, knocking on government offices, and asking random people on the streets about their opinion on certain topics to develop the stories I want to tell.

I was so convinced that this was everything I will ever want to do in my life. So much so that I plotted what milestones I should be getting at what time.

However, I doubt that now.

As a social media manager and a web writer for the online arm of a national broadcasting company, I ceased to find joy in getting so much information round-the-clock. Phone constantly chirping, emails regularly getting full — the burden is just so much.

Besides, it’s toxic being at the receiving end of trolls and hate messages. Need I mention how annoying it is when people question your education because you missed a letter in your copy?

I started to doubt my journalistic abilities, too.

From time to time, I feel as though I am not good enough in terms of telling stories, or getting information, or just dealing with people.

Sometimes the doubts translate to pain that, at the end of the day, when once I would jot down every single thought I have in mind, I would resent it now. Instead of grabbing my pen and paper, I would grab a paintbrush and an artist sheet and mix random colors and make barely recognizable shapes. It doesn’t capture what I feel, but it is the breathe of fresh air that I need.

If this is a only a test of time — just a prolonged shitty day — or if this something more permanent remains to be seen. But surely, what comes after this phase is bound to be interesting.