On a Scale from What to What?

When I hear somebody sigh, ‘Life is hard,’ I am always tempted to ask, ‘Compared to what?’

--Sydney J. Harris

When describing something, how many times have we used the “Scale from one to ten” method? Loads, right? We label one side of the scale with an adjective and put the opposite of that word on the other side. Hot to cold. Fierce to tame. And usually, we associate concrete things to these adjectives. Fire and ice; a lion and a lamb.

We create these scales and yardsticks in our minds because it’s easier to wrap our heads around a concept if we have something to compare it to.

Leave it to the notion of “existence” to be an exception to that. I mean, going back to the quotation above, when asked how hard living is, is it right to answer this using our yardsticks? If so, what are we supposed to put on each end of the stick? (Life and Death? Life and... (someone else's) Life?)

Tama na nga. Puro ka tanong eh. I guess it just goes to show that life is way too big and elusive to be placed on the measuring instruments in our heads.

And maybe I’m over-analyzing again. For all I know, Sydney J. Harris merely wanted to tell us to stop complaining about life and just start living it.

She said what?

September 2008 --A typical slow morning at work (or so I thought):

Dana (Filipina receptionist): I’ve been looking all over for you. Mrs. Kim is asking for two copies.
Chessie: Copies of what?
Dana: I don’t know. All she said was ‘two copies’. I assumed that you're already up to speed.
Chessie: Crap. Mrs. Kim is going to kill me. (Our boss was very stern towards people who were slow or irresponsible.)

*I find Mrs. Kim in the conference room with two visitors.
Chessie: You wanted to see me?
Mrs. Kim: Yes, yes. Give me two coffees.
Chessie: Ohhhh. COFFEE. Alright, hold on.
(I fetched them their cups of coffee, and then proceeded to attack Dana who was already giggling at her desk.)

Yes, my former office mates and I still get a kick out of remembering that story, but lately, it feels like I'm in a pirated version of a movie with bad audio and lousy subtitles. It makes me want to pull my hair out. I mean, come on, people speaking the same language have enough trouble understanding each other as it is.

But I shut up, I listen, and I muse. The the more I think about it, the more I see that this hair-pulling desire is coming from a different frustration. It's not the fact that there are different native tongues out there, because honestly, I think these things are very crucial here. Heck, would the country that I'm in right now even exist without all that diversity? I doubt it. Language helps define a nation, and without it, a country's culture wouldn't be as distinct. Or as rich. Or as beautiful. And as an advocate of all things pretty, I don't have any business putting this on the language barrier.

Besides, body language and intonation count just as much as whatever's being said out loud. Instead of "barrier", it's way better to attach "challenge" to the whole concept because it makes us think outside and beyond spoken words. There are more ways to interact with other human beings and finding them could even make us better individuals--the types who are more considerate and creative. Or at the very least, we become people who think and use our heads before opening our mouths.

Needless to say, I'm no longer in an environment where I can use my love for words as much as I'd like. Sentences need to be as brief and as simple as possible, and sometimes that means kissing those prepositions, conjunctions, and other parts of speech goodbye. I guess I just miss being around people who share the same passions that I have. Yes, that is really what's making me want to pull my hair out.

That, and the fact that I've seen how most of my Asian and Hispanic office mates work. Most of them are very smart and talented. It's just too bad that their admirable traits are overshadowed by heavy accents and slow-speak. Oh well, if all else fails, we can always hire a translator, right?

On Movement and Holding Back

There are times when I think that some people have such a high regard for me that I don’t deserve it. I get queasy thinking about how I may not be able to live up to expectations, and one of my biggest fears is to hear the words, “You’re not the person I thought you were” from someone that I care about.

But then there are people who treat me like a kid; like I’m supposed to fade into the background, because I’m not ready to play with the big guys yet. And I don’t like THAT either.

So where does that leave me?

The answer seems obvious at first. The proactive, empowering solution is to be that person that the good people expect me to become. Stop brooding, and just grow up and move it—one way or another. It’s that simple, right?

I wish.

Being hasty in terms of progress can do more harm than good. If you move forward too fast, too soon, you’re bound to leave something behind and you’re bound to miss a few good stops along the way.

That makes me think that life really is a journey. Clichéd as it may seem, I believe that life is this road trip (not fun if you don’t spend it with friends and loved ones) with winding highways, turns, and stopovers. And for the past couple of months, I’ve just been going straight--on cruise control. Yes, I’m moving forward, I manage to keep up with the times and I continue to breathe, not to mention age, but am I really getting somewhere?

I’m safe where I am right now. Somewhat happy and I’m not starving, but I’m not living my ideal life either. Besides, I know that all this safety will take its toll sometime soon. Which is why I’m contemplating on the best way to move forward. Only, it’s not that simple because of the internal (self-esteem, emotions) and external (social, economic) factors in the back seat.

Vehicle metaphors aside, pondering about life, the present, and future puts the song *cringe* Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman inside my head. (Go on, gag or laugh at the triteness of it all.=P)

But seriously, the line “all I need is time” is relatable, but it’s vexing as well, especially for someone who doesn’t have patience as her strong suit. It poses a certain question: When it comes to waiting for yourself, exactly how much time should be allowed?