what a girl wants
Recently, somebody asked me what job do I really want and what I can do.
My heartfelt answer was, "I don't know!" This was seconded by my brain who said a nasty, "I don't have what it takes to be anything good; It's the attitude." The only thing that saved me from forever branding myself as a loser is this third voice which told me, "I know what I want and can do; I just have to pursue it."
The dilemma is the balancing of three factors which I have to consider: passion, ability, and compensation.
I used to think that I have the passion for development work and I built my ability to do so. But after three years into it, the fuel is slowly oozing out of me. I'm finding myself stranded in a sea of paperworks and projects that does not interest me. But I can hardly choose the projects assigned to me, and the choices are alike anyway. I don't see myself as an urban poor program officer either, since I'd have to be made of tougher stuff which drains me emotionally. And after yesterday's fiasco in Malabon, I don't think I'm a project officer as well. I desperately want to be like the others in my team: sure of themselves, efficient, dedicated. I cleaved to the job because I thought if I held on long enough, learned enough and endured enough, I would also grow to be like them. I realized though that the longer I stay here, the more I degenerate into an unthinking wuss who's working on automatic pilot for most the time.
Thing is, whether I like the tasks or not, the job compensates well. As long as I'm stuck here, I am assured that my parents will have free health cards which we are increasingly dependent upon. I get a monthly salary that is just enough to help make ends meet at home. The last thing my family needs is to suffer the loss of one more source of financial support. I can't lose this job because the whole family needs it. And the other things I do want to do will not guarantee a fresh supply of money every fortnight.
This is my daily incantation:
As a teacher, I don't have the proper qualifications yet and I barely have the energy to take classes on top of the job I have. As an adminstrative clerk, I would be bored to smithereens. As a call center agent, I won't end up servicing much because I hate selling stuff and I deplore bugging people. I also don't think telling people how to fix their VCR or how to operate their washing machine would do much for my interests.
In some ways, my brain is right. It's the right attitude I lack. But compare these jobs to those below, which aren't financially rewarding but attracts me nonetheless and you'd see why I hesitate to settle:
1. A play school teacher -- 2 weeks ago, I was in Gymboree in Shangrila Mall with my cousin. There were three girls on the afternoon shift and they get to play with the kids and the kids love them. I'm sure the job doesn't pay much, but I envied them because the kids were surrounding them while shrieking with glee.
2. Bookshop employee and finally a book shop owner -- to be surrounded with all those books! To catalog them and put them on the shelves. To be able to recommend them to people. The joy of it.
3. A librarian --- see above
4. A pre-school owner -- my best friend and I have actual plans for this but I lack the capital start-up. I took up a job so I could save up for it, but whoopeee... hard times hit and I still don't have an iota of savings to my name.
5. A writer -- who can actually write and be published.
This difficulty of making what I want and can do to what can pay and help my family meet depresses the hell out of me. I don't need the expert advise of a shrink to tell me I am actually suffering from clinical depression. The symptoms are all around me. I don't think I'm supposed to know I am sick, but a part of my brain can still rationalize, as if separate from this confusion and blackness I am mired in.
If I think as a psychologist, the answer to my problems are so clear. Get a mental overhaul. But as me, stuck here, I can't see my way out. I really can't. I keep asking for help, but everyone sees me as a veritable Jolli-bee that they discount my pleas as melodrama. I can't blame them because when I'm feeling good and settled, the darkness that overwhelms me seems unreal too. But when I hit the ground, the task of enduring hour after hour is painful, grinding to the bone, exhausting to the last drop of marrow. The thickness of it asphyxiates me, the wall closes around me. I can't see any other way out but terminal sleep. I'm telling you now. I need help but I don't kow what. And if you come to me offering advice, I would probably just grin and say I'm okay. The direness of it is real though. I have a tin can full of expired medicines in my drawer, the next time my insanity hits I might actually be foolish enough to down them all.
Such a long entry. And all i wanted to say was
HELP.
My heartfelt answer was, "I don't know!" This was seconded by my brain who said a nasty, "I don't have what it takes to be anything good; It's the attitude." The only thing that saved me from forever branding myself as a loser is this third voice which told me, "I know what I want and can do; I just have to pursue it."
The dilemma is the balancing of three factors which I have to consider: passion, ability, and compensation.
I used to think that I have the passion for development work and I built my ability to do so. But after three years into it, the fuel is slowly oozing out of me. I'm finding myself stranded in a sea of paperworks and projects that does not interest me. But I can hardly choose the projects assigned to me, and the choices are alike anyway. I don't see myself as an urban poor program officer either, since I'd have to be made of tougher stuff which drains me emotionally. And after yesterday's fiasco in Malabon, I don't think I'm a project officer as well. I desperately want to be like the others in my team: sure of themselves, efficient, dedicated. I cleaved to the job because I thought if I held on long enough, learned enough and endured enough, I would also grow to be like them. I realized though that the longer I stay here, the more I degenerate into an unthinking wuss who's working on automatic pilot for most the time.
Thing is, whether I like the tasks or not, the job compensates well. As long as I'm stuck here, I am assured that my parents will have free health cards which we are increasingly dependent upon. I get a monthly salary that is just enough to help make ends meet at home. The last thing my family needs is to suffer the loss of one more source of financial support. I can't lose this job because the whole family needs it. And the other things I do want to do will not guarantee a fresh supply of money every fortnight.
This is my daily incantation:
As a teacher, I don't have the proper qualifications yet and I barely have the energy to take classes on top of the job I have. As an adminstrative clerk, I would be bored to smithereens. As a call center agent, I won't end up servicing much because I hate selling stuff and I deplore bugging people. I also don't think telling people how to fix their VCR or how to operate their washing machine would do much for my interests.
In some ways, my brain is right. It's the right attitude I lack. But compare these jobs to those below, which aren't financially rewarding but attracts me nonetheless and you'd see why I hesitate to settle:
1. A play school teacher -- 2 weeks ago, I was in Gymboree in Shangrila Mall with my cousin. There were three girls on the afternoon shift and they get to play with the kids and the kids love them. I'm sure the job doesn't pay much, but I envied them because the kids were surrounding them while shrieking with glee.
2. Bookshop employee and finally a book shop owner -- to be surrounded with all those books! To catalog them and put them on the shelves. To be able to recommend them to people. The joy of it.
3. A librarian --- see above
4. A pre-school owner -- my best friend and I have actual plans for this but I lack the capital start-up. I took up a job so I could save up for it, but whoopeee... hard times hit and I still don't have an iota of savings to my name.
5. A writer -- who can actually write and be published.
This difficulty of making what I want and can do to what can pay and help my family meet depresses the hell out of me. I don't need the expert advise of a shrink to tell me I am actually suffering from clinical depression. The symptoms are all around me. I don't think I'm supposed to know I am sick, but a part of my brain can still rationalize, as if separate from this confusion and blackness I am mired in.
If I think as a psychologist, the answer to my problems are so clear. Get a mental overhaul. But as me, stuck here, I can't see my way out. I really can't. I keep asking for help, but everyone sees me as a veritable Jolli-bee that they discount my pleas as melodrama. I can't blame them because when I'm feeling good and settled, the darkness that overwhelms me seems unreal too. But when I hit the ground, the task of enduring hour after hour is painful, grinding to the bone, exhausting to the last drop of marrow. The thickness of it asphyxiates me, the wall closes around me. I can't see any other way out but terminal sleep. I'm telling you now. I need help but I don't kow what. And if you come to me offering advice, I would probably just grin and say I'm okay. The direness of it is real though. I have a tin can full of expired medicines in my drawer, the next time my insanity hits I might actually be foolish enough to down them all.
Such a long entry. And all i wanted to say was
HELP.
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