Remember me as a time of day.
After almost 6 hours of waiting game, I finally have a driver’s license. I don’t know about you, but it certainly made me feel like I’m a legit adult. Aside from my SSS and non-existent contribution to the said agency, I have nothing else adult-y to brag about. Sure I’ve had them past summer jobs but you see, my net worth is below sea level right at this point. Oh wait; I have PHP256.75 to my name.
This license might just give me the right jumpstart (or in this case, electrocution) I’m going to need for all the prostitution I’ll be doing. Don’t get me wrong though. It’s not of the immoral origin as your little dirty mind dictates. Naturally, this fresh meat’s gotta do what she’s gotta do like pathetic self-promotion and strategic marketing. In one of the application essays, I referred myself as a spaghetti: with its sauce oozing with lycopene and omega-3. Yes I’m one heck of a spaghetti noodle, firm to the bite. You see, it’s all corporate prostitution. I’d like to call it the art of selling oneself and yes, I’m still waiting for them to call. Maybe it was a wrong move to portray myself as a spaghetti when I’ll be dealing with cars. HEH.
Adding to the pressure of the said establishment of my career is the fact that I owe my friends a ride. Well, good luck with that because I don’t have a car yet. Hence, the title.
I just can’t believe that I’m actually going to write this but maybe I just have to face the fact that maybe just MAYBE I miss my real estate stint but I’m sure that I don’t miss its entirety. I was up for it! I even borrowed V for Vendetta’s game face on mask but I did it for the wrong reasons. Reasons like 1) Money 2) I’ll give this thing a shot who knows this might work out much better than I expect it to mantra 3) More money. Seemingly, I’m the bad guy with eyes made up of Pesos sign but can you blame a fresh grad who’s broke and whose spirit is pumped up to earn a little cash for her family and her vices?
So there I was selling some high-end condominiums with high-end price tags. A significant majority of my clients were either spreading Ninoy Aquino on their bagels for breakfast or they go golfing during weekdays. These are the people who’d own companies and have one wife and multiple mistresses. Yep, I’m the judgmental pea-brain because I’ve seen how some of them tried to reel me in *flips hair* but I kind of chose dignity over something else and that something else could mean I’d be able to buy a small island and name it after my dead dog Jackie.
Kidding aside, even after all the drama people brought in: office mate disputes, scheduling disasters, lack of closable clients and not to mention the physical stress being a Property Specialist threw on me, I still miss meeting new people everyday. Of course there’s my brain telling me, or rather cussing me to sell a damn unit but it’s always fun to come across different stories and say, just another day at the office! ala Tiger Woods, minus all the 99 probz and every one of them is a bitch.
I was exiled in Alabang once a week to try to market our units in Wack Wack. FYI, I live in Malabon and I cannot elucidate how horrified I was when they spilled the news about manning waaaaay down South.
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It took me forever to construct this impossible list, taking into account every last song syndrome and love at first play. Went through a lot of revisions, inane tweaking here and there and finally! I’m done with it.
Proceed to the List under the cut!
You see familiar face drenched in his own blood and rain, limping. Then you ask the most obnoxious question, “Are you okay?” for the most parts, even if the person was born with a silver sarcastic spoon in his mouth, he’d probably say, “yeah man, I’m fine” or “yeah i’m fine! so how to you find vomiting my gut out so far?” Either way, we’d still ask the question. As though it is a part of the SOP of Friendship 101
Why is it that we bother to ask the obvious, is it to validate our curiosity? To commiserate? Is it a response to the societal measure of humanity in which you will earn the greatest friend award of the year?
Then he replied, “I’m fine” while you watch him bleed profusely.
You asked him again insensitively and this, brought about the same answer. “I’m fine”.
This also holds truth when a friend lost a lover. After all the sulking, boxes of tissue, consuming of alcohol and endless conversations with at least 3 or more curses one after the other, we ask: Are you really okay? Naturally, our friend will reply “Never been better in my entire life!” /endsarcasm
We ask people that seemingly inane question because we wanted them to think that Hey! I am being a good friend. You know, the one who’d patiently listen to every spout and bluster. Simply, we ask the people we care about that question because we wanted them to lie. We know this person too well and too long for him not to be fine.
These hurting people, in return are more than willing to lie than we can imagine. Relatively, it is easier to say two words proceeded with an eternity of ellipses rather than finding the right words and expressions to spell out the rage and chaos inside.
In other words, mutual ass kissing. That’s friendship for you, ladies and gents.
So next time don’t be remotely stupid to ask that futile question. Just sit beside him quietly: because in that silence, we share the same anxiety, angst and pain. We can then be called a good friend by just sitting there, breathing and not insanely trying to make things better by bad-mouthing. Because the last thing she would want to do is to lie again about her feelings being fine when the person she loves just lied to her face and went off with some plastic-looking girl you probably see on MTV.
“When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives mean the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares”. -Henri Nouwen
Now you go google who the hell Henri Nouwen is
Sometimes, I make sense.
Oftentimes, I just say things.
Bacon and cheese melt