Another day

Three days ago, I was running late on the way to work. I woke up late because I can feel every inch of tiredness from my everyday 12 hours of work schedule. Seriously, I can’t imagine how I lasted for a month working for 12 hours while having less than 4 hours of sleep. Added to it the unnecessary excess baggage I related on my previous post.

As I was hastening everything, the heavens connived with me. There was no traffic and I found a comfortable seat in a jeepney.

Less than a kilometer to the train station, the jeepney which I thought as my tardiness-record-life-saver encountered an unfortunate accident.  Another jeepney took advantage of  the clear lanes and lesser volume of vehicles.  The jeepney kept on swerving and played with the speed limit rules. And you know what happens next…

The reckless jeepney driver lost control over his brakes.  He ended up bumping the jeepney, where I was comfortably seated.  As a result, the right rear side of the jeepney went almost devastated.  The warning lights broke and its components turned as threatening fragments along the road.

My fellow passenger, who was seated on the rear side, became the first casualty. When we alighted from the jeepney, I saw her being assisted by her friend. They were removing all those broken glass segments on her body.

As I moved out of the devastated jeepney, I realized that there were other casualties. I saw broken parts of a bicycle and the glass window of a nearby flower shop was equally devastated.

Though I was still shocked of everything, my presence of mind prevailed, so I was able to transfer to another jeepney.

I was able to reach work and my class safely. I was 30 minutes late though. As I was waiting for my students to finish their quiz, that’s only when I realized that I almost lost my life.  I started to have that unusual cold sweat and my knees started to weaken.

I was too occupied with my teaching responsibilities. I know this became one of those days when I realized that I only have one life. But then again, saying it is way different than living it.

At the end of the day, the least that I can offer is to thank Him for giving me another day to live.


Weekends, my new favorite time of the week. I used to hate staying home. I used to hate home because that would mean being stuck bored and idle for two days. At that time, I haven’t felt any form of stress over work as I was starting to enjoy the new chapter of my life. When I took my MBA, I never hated the idea of losing my Saturdays because I enjoyed my studies and the company of my own set of great friends.

When this chapter of my life ended, I started to gradually appreciate my weekends. I was challenged with a new boss and I started to receive teaching assignments. The new work changed me. I finally felt the real meaning of being stressed out. Hence, every weekend became my most awaited time of the week.

I love weekends because it gave me the opportunity to recover my much needed sleep. When I have classes, especially if I handle Research and new subjects, I usually sleep for an average of 4 hours. Sometimes, even less than that. I overcompensate myself every weekend, which I know is unhealthy.

I love weekends because it’s the only time of the week when I don’t have caffeine and sugar in my body. My 12 hours of work made me gain those unhealthy lbs. From 120 lbs, I ballooned to 140 lbs in a span of 2 years. I don’t drink coffee but Coke has been the culprit of my expansion. Coke has been my energizer and it keeps me awake on those quiet afternoon at work. To some extent, I considered Coke as a treat to myself.

When I’m at home during the weekends, Coke is banned as I have health conscious aging parents. Even fruit juices are restricted. We settle for water and I’m happy with that set up. At least I have a day to rest my system from all the sugar intake. Aside from the “coke less” day, I’m also served with great and healthy meals during the weekends. I have my much needed intake of vegetable and enough meat. Unlike work days when I have to rush and feed myself with microwaved meals at 7-11.

When I’m at home, I don’t have to worry about my clothes and hormonally imbalanced skin. As long as I get my much needed long weekend bath, I can survive the entire day.

When I’m at home, life seems to be so simple. My family, comprised of  my Daddy, Nanay and special brother, already completes my day. For some reason, a level of contentment thrives in me whenever I’m with them.

But I guess the main reason why I love weekends is because I’m starting to appreciate the value of my family. As I age, I met people who were for keeps and those who came because of their self-vested interest. When I’m at home, I know I’m with the people, whom I can entrust everything. When I’m at home, I know I’m safe from all the bashers, harsh and stark words. When I’m at home, I receive my much needed respect, despite being the youngest.  When I’m home, I know I’m with the people who loves me, despite of the despites and inspites. When I’m at home, my heart knows that it is at home, to where it truly belongs.

Can of worms

When you are exhausted with issues about work and family life, the last thing you wanted to hear is another slap of stark words.

And yes, I admit. I’m guilty of ranting again. As much as I want to dwell on the happier side of life, reality forces to burst out another heavy source of heartache? And no, I’m not talking about romance and relationships here.

I was given additional teaching assignments, roughly two months before the semester will end. One of my best colleagues was unfortunately stricken by a disease that forced her to leave her much loved profession.  She is a fellow educator known to a generation of students. Nothing can beat her relentless years of dedicated teaching.

My colleague is one of the best and I was challenged by the fact that I have large shoes to fill in. I will not claim that I’m doing my best to replace my colleague.  My 5 years is nothing to her 20 years. What I can humbly claim is the fact that I’m willing to make things happen. I’m accepting all the accompanying tasks and challenges that would come my way.

Unfortunately, I fail to foresee another major source of heartache from this additional assignment.

Just this morning, I accidentally discovered a Twitter account that belongs to one of my inherited students. For those who know me well, you are most likely familiar with a similar experience I wrote in my other blog. With just a click from a familiar person’s Twitter account, I was able to unearth my own can of worms.

Apparently, someone tagged me as epal in her tweets. She never mentioned my name but the time of her tweet provides a clear manifestation and direction to me.

She particularly said

Epal yung prof kpag late ako dun siya maaga. Kapag maaga naman ako dun siya late. BV

The tweet may not be intended for me.  I don’t know. If I will confront her, she would most likely deny or point another professor.  She could erase the tweet. There are countless ways to escape the situation when she is forced to squeal the person referred to her own set of stark words.

Setting aside the issue of whoever the professor she was ranting about, I have to say that no honest and hardworking professor should be treated that way.  No teacher ever deserves to be lambasted just because of a tardiness or attendance issue. In like manner that no student deserves to be baptized with harsh adjectives and names, simply because of tardiness issues.

I won’t deny the fact that I have my own set of tardiness records over the past meetings. As much as I wanted to shout out that I’m reporting for work for 12 hours the day before our class, such cannot be considered as a valid excuse. I accepted the job and I have to embrace all the corresponding responsibilities.

The thing that rather hurts me is when I was tagged as epal or as we define it

a person who will implement all means just to get all the attention in the world.

The only time I demand for everyone’s attention is whenever I render my lectures. Other than that, I prefer to remain silent and settle with my personal business. You only know me as your teacher. You know nothing about my life. Hence, it’s logical and easy enough to understand the fact that you don’t have the right to tagged me as such.

Perhaps she used the word to denote another meaning. She was agitated of the situation so she forced the blame on me. It was just a word of expression that was unfortunately coupled with blame and agitation.

I don’t know how to end this rant. All I know is that this day will remain as one of those instances when the profession I love gave me another dose of agony. And in case she is reading this, don’t worry this will never affect your grade. At your age, I understand the fact that passing the subject is more important than rendering even a little tact and respect.  

As always, I will accomplish my responsibility and bear the pain of its excess baggage.

Another Customer Service Rant – Worst Bridal Gallery in 168 Mall

Customer Service……

The story of  Customer Service always come in two folds, the customer and the service provider. Each of us are always playing both roles. Whether you are employed or working for freelance, you have your own set of customers. In our attempt to fulfill our needs and wants, we are always placed in the shoes of the customer.

And why am I writing this way again? Yes, this is another customer service story to rant.

One of my friends at the workplace invited me to become a part of her bridal entourage. How could I refuse a friend and the opportunity to witness her greatest dream?

First step to my friend’s dream, dress up the bridal entourage. My friend generously shouldered the cost of my gown. So off we went to Divisoria, the best place to purchase and haggle for that bridesmaid dress.  My friend particularly chose a bridal gallery stationed at the famous 168 Mall.

Everything seemed to perfectly sail not until the dress finally arrived. I wanted an off shoulder cocktail dress and the store personnel accommodated my request. I admit I went a bit excited because I rarely have the opportunity to dress up. When my friend handed my dress, I was almost the happiest. Almost, not until I fitted it.  You know what happened next. Shapeless, lousy, enumerate all the ugly adjectives here.

We returned the dress and have my measurements checked. As expected, it was the fault of their seamstress. We left the gown and after two weeks, it was finally returned.  When I said returned, I meant returned for another revision. Sorry to say but I can’t accept the fact that a business fails in the area where it claims to be the best.  If it was another mistake, I could have lengthened my patience and understanding. However, much to our surprise, my dress wasn’t altered at all. It was returned to its original shapeless and lousy state. What should be an off shoulder style  turned out as a plain sleeveless dress.

But then again, we don’t have a choice. We left my dress and we were told to return this Sunday.  Heck, the agreement was so clear. We even asked them when will they be able to repair the hell dress. We agreed with their terms. Come Sunday, we went back to the crowded 168 Mall and guess what, MAJOR FAIL! The dress was nowhere found in the shop.

The  same stupid and useless sales clerk, happily informed us that they don’t have seamstress during the weekends.  My friend asked the sales clerk to call the lady owner to clear up things. To my surprise, the sales clerk told us that her boss is in Hong Kong. The best about everything, that sales clerk rendered a HUGE SMILE while we were irritated, exhausted and worried about everything.

I presented terms with the sales clerk to finally settle the issue. I told her what if she just delivered the dress in the office.  She declined because of the lame reason that she might get lost in the city. Hell, when will she realize that this was all their fault. The sales clerk have the natural talent of annoying me. She ignored us and assisted other customers while we are begging for actions.

As I’m bursting with my own anger, I wanted to type more harsh words like you don’t need a college degree to realize that this was all your fault. God forgive me for uttering stark words.

This failed customer service story is not yet over.  For the nth time, I have to brave the crowds of Divisoria after my tiring office and teaching schedule. I would like to give them the LAST chance….

If everything went well on Tuesday, this post will end.  Otherwise, I have to write another post and reveal pictures of the shop.

to be continued…


Yesterday, I rushed to the shop to finally get my altered dress, for the nth time…  I fitted the dress and guess what, it’s still a perfect MAJOR FAIL. Despite the repeated markings and safety pins, the seamstress or should I say, the entire shop failed to perform their expected promise. 

Much to my dismay, I almost wanted to tell the store personnel that I will take care of the alteration. The entire ineffiiency of the store has been causing me more than enough stress. Before I expressed my own litany, the store personnel brought me to Paras Alter Station. The Alter Station saved the day… FINALLY! The seamstress was a superb genius and made the simplest alteration we have been waiting. However, since everything was a rushed attempt, I didn’t get the perfect alteration. But with the way things went, I obviously can’t afford to stick with the much needed and expected quality.

For those of you who want to know the worst bridal gallery station I’ve ever encountered, here are the complete details

Tita Lulu Bridal Shop and Gallery

4th Floor (4H-04)

168 Mall

The owner of the shop is Mrs. Luisa Sebastian and the sales personnel that rendered that huge smile on us is Rhona.

I can make it

Life can change in a snap of a second. Even the smallest everyday decisions we made can affect the outcome of our life in the next days, months to years.

I was entrusted with additional responsibilities at work. I won’t anymore relate the turn out of events. My new worklife over the next months requires me to report for work as early as 7 am everyday. Whew!  But with the new job I embraced, I have to make a lot of adjustments in my system.

Hopefully, things will turn out well and after a year or two, I’ll read this post with a smile left in my heart. I hope I can tell myself that my heart made me do what I was expected to do. I did the right thing. I made things happen.