Scarred (Revised)

It’s been one month and six days since my finger accident, and I’ve spent the same period of time applying Betadine and protective band-aid it. It has been one month and six days, but my finger isn’t 100% fully-functional yet. Visibly, my finger looks okay because the wound has closed-up, and all that’s left is a scar that to me resembles a lightning-bolt, like Harry Potter’s. Do you see it? No? I do.

There’s still some pain though when I press on my finger which only means the wound inside has not fully-healed yet.

There are days when I get impatient, I skip the usual Betadine and band-aid, and just end up hurting my finger more. I miss pointing at things with my pointy finger, gripping on my pen when I write (I write with conviction!), and properly holding my utensils when I eat, but my finger needs time to heal, so I listen. I let it heal.

My injured finger loosely reminds me of people, who may appear ‘okay’, with big smiles on their faces; who engage in fun and laughter, but are actually not truly happy; who are most probably hurdling through struggles of their own.

People, like things, aren’t always how/what they appear. The way a person (re)acts in a particular circumstance does not always define her/him. Think Dobby, or Sirius Black, or best yet, Severus Snape – – remember how time and time again, Harry Potter was proven wrong by his initial judgments about these three?

Pause. I got carried away with my Harry Potter reference, I think. I blame the lightning bolt-looking scar on my finger.

But I do have significant realizations. With people, it’s best not to judge too quickly. It’s best not to assume too fast. It’s best not to conclude so easily.

But as for my Harry Potter finger, I should allow time for healing. It’s best to be patient. ❤️

*Harry Potter pic borrowed from the internet.

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Habit

It’s Sunday, almost 5 in the afternoon, and I just finished ironing two days worth of office outfits. I would have done a week’s worth, but I’m PMS-ing, my migraine and early abdominal cramps are acting up.

I formed the habit, of prepping my outfits NOT getting migraines and cramps, just a few years back.

Before though, I’ve spent years of stressing over what-to-wear before I left for work; Years of feeling upset because the outfit I chose made me look fat, which then resulted to me ransack-ing my closet yet again in desperate need of a ‘better’ outfit; Years of leaving the house upset and grumpy because I was already running late, and I wasn’t 💯 okay with whatever I was wearing. I spent years of being miserable.

Reflecting on it now, I don’t know what took me so long to realize that I didn’t have to feel miserable (all the time). I realized that I was miserable because I saw convenience in choosing misery even in the most petty of things. It took me awhile to understand that I could actually turn things around.

Now, on Sunday afternoons, I spend a few good minutes, in front of my closet, taking mental notes of what to wear for each day. Then I scan the battlefield in front of me and start sorting a week’s worth of office outfits. And then, I plantsa.

Now, I surprisingly enjoy a task I used to despise. And more importantly, I’ve become less grumpy in the morning. Less. Baby steps.

Habit

It’s Sunday, almost 5 in the afternoon, and I just finished ironing two days worth of office outfits. I would have done a week’s worth, but I’m PMS-ing, my migraine and early abdominal cramps are acting up.

I formed the habit, of prepping my outfits NOT getting migraines and cramps, just a few years back.

Before though, I’ve spent years of stressing over what-to-wear before I left for work; Years of feeling upset because the outfit I chose made me look fat, which then resulted to me ransack-ing my closet yet again in desperate need of a ‘better’ outfit; Years of leaving the house upset and grumpy because I was already running late, and I wasn’t 💯 okay with whatever I was wearing. I spent years of being miserable.

Reflecting on it now, I don’t know what took me so long to realize that I didn’t have to feel miserable (all the time). I realized that I was miserable because I saw convenience in choosing misery even in the most petty of things. It took me awhile to understand that I could actually turn things around.

Now, on Sunday afternoons, I spend a few good minutes, in front of my closet, taking mental notes of what to wear for each day. Then I scan the battlefield in front of me and start sorting a week’s worth of office outfits. And then, I plantsa.

Now, I surprisingly enjoy a task I used to despise. And more importantly, I’ve become less grumpy in the morning. Less. Baby steps.

I Need To Say This

I’m sorry, in advance, but what follows is a rant.

Today, at exactly four o’clock in the afternoon, I received my nth call from Home Credit (HC). In a nutshell, HC is a credit group that allows people, from all walks of life, to purchase electronics, home appliances, and in my case mobile phones, and pay in installments, with minimal requirements.

But no, I did not avail of HC’s services; A co-worker of mine did, and without my knowledge and permission, he made me his guarantor. When did I find out? When I received my first call. Let’s call him DCW, for Delinquent Co-Worker.

What burns me are three things.

First and most importantly, DCW did not bother to ask for my permission, much less, let me know that he will use my name and contact details in such transaction. When someone (S1) asks you for someone else’s (S2) number, it is only proper to ask for S2’s permission first, right? What more if you’re going to make someone your guarantor. Show some respect especially when you only know of my number because of work, not because we’re chums, not because we chit-chat, and certainly not so you can use my contact number any way you want.

But the damage has been done though, what matters to me now is the next step. A sincere apology would be nice, and a little bit more than, “Wag niyo na lang po pansinin pag tumawag ulit, Ma’am.” How can I do that when I keep getting calls because you are a delinquent debtor, and you conveniently changed your number.

Second, typical of collectors is their attitude. They will not listen to your explanations; they will not care if you were just innocently dragged into this mess. They will rudely talk to you, and persistently get a hold of you at any time convenient to them. Rudely. Typical.

And third, just a while ago after receiving the call from HC, I had a chance to talk with DCW. I was upset, but I was calm. But for some reason, I only ended up feeling much worse after the talk. I felt guilty when I know I shouldn’t have because I had nothing to be guilty about. I hate this.

To be honest, I find no shame in loaning or borrowing money. I don’t even keep an opinion on how and what someone chooses to spend money on. But I do take offense in being thrust into a mess of a commitment someone got into, and cannot and won’t own up to his responsibilities.

Come on. Grow up. Man up.

An Ode

Wrote this while on my coffee break a few minutes ago. It’s freezing in our office, thanks to our overly excited air conditioning. Whatever inspired me to write, helped me with the chill.

We’ve spent countless years together

On days when stress overwhelmed,

You were there to provide an immediate relief

You were always by my side

Some people weren’t too accepting

You came on too strong, they said

But I didn’t care

I tried to fight for you

I tried to hold on even tighter

Some bonds are meant to last forever, may be

But ours, sadly, is just not meant to be

I have found another, another far better

One that’s just as strong, but more pleasing

One that’ll fill your shoes and be my new remedy.

*An Ode To Liniment (Farewell to White Flower, and Hello to Human Nature Soothing Balm) 

Chips

Rough uneven edges

A shower of grains spilled at every bite

Salty, but not too overpowering to the taste

One pop after another

Can’t, won’t stop now

Leave the bag empty

Leave no trace, not a single grain in sight

Lick the remaining goodness on your fingertips

Anticipate the next bag you cut open wide.

Vertigo 

I can barely open my eyes

And the rectangular lamps that hang above me, promptly providing light are only making it worse

The loud bantering of people nearby are like a series of thunder in a sudden downpour

I want to just crawl, hide, cowl in the darkness

Take a deep sought-after breath, close my heavy eyes, lay in the peace that my pillows bring

Embrace the calm, everything is now quiet in its tranquil place.