Chronicle No.9: In the Incubator

We were now known as, Incubees. Only seven of us made it after our simulation calls with the Manila-based Quality Assurance people. Some trainees had mysterously disappeared during the five-day training period while others did not please the judges of quality agents.

Those of us who passed were informed via SMS a few hours after our shift. We were told to be at the office by 9:00 pm that day. I also received queries thru my cellphone from my co-trainees, asking if I made it. In our group of four, only I was allowed to continue.

Ten minutes before nine, I strolled up to the office entrance and saw Chris, Greg and Ken smoking near the door. They waved smoke away from their faces as they congratulated me. Fely, Megan and Neil were seated on the benches. When I stepped into the lobby, Argie was peering at the announcements on the bulletin board.

At around 9:30 pm, we were herded by our trainors to the training room. We were told that we were in Incubation, then we will be in Apprenticeship, then on Probation and ,finally, we will be Regular. The Incubation and the Apprenticeship will be for two weeks each and we will be under a bond of P3,800 for a month just in case we get kicked out or resign from either of the programs. We were allowed only two days of leave and we were introduced to a new account, Storage Magazine. During training, we only did, Food Engineering.

The call center we were in is an outbound call center. We were doing the publishing accounts, which required us to call people listed on our database, offer them a free twelve-month subscription and ask them to do a survey. We were to follow a script on our computer screens, may rephrase or rearrange the questions if so specified, but must not mislead the customer or say anything not on the script.

We can be sanctioned for not saying the opening spiel, for failing to ask the verifier question, for typing the wrong address or zip code, talking to a person other than the direct contact, his replacement, his spouse, his secretary or direct assistant,or ,for failing to state the enumerated parts of the question even if the client was already screaming at us or threatening to put down the phone. Punishments range from written reprimands to suspension to outright dismissal.

At around 11:00 pm, we were already given our log-in passwords to the intranet and the IDEFISK. I was one of the four people assigned to do, Storage Magazine, a renewal account. We basically call the subscribers and ask them sixteen survey questions in order for them to renew their free subscription.

I eagerly put on my headset and started dialling It rang. And rang. I dialled another number. Same. After an hour of listening to the ringing, somebody answered. I was about to launch into my opening spiel when I realized that it was just voicemail. I dialled another number and an answering machine spoke. For the next thirty minutes, ringing, voicemails and answering machines were all I got.

One of our trainors summoned the four of us to her station."Tell me what's wrong" she asked us in Tagalog."Why aren't you talking to anybody? You need to talk to somebody because you need to have at least three completes per hour." Unperturbed by the glaring of her large and slightly bulging eyes supported by large cheekbones, giving her a faint resemblance to a frog, I replied "It's because nobody is answering. All we get are voicemails and answering machines." She sent us back to the floor with the mandate to keep on dialling and to step on it.

About fifteen minutes later, another trainor tapped me on my shoulder and told me to switch to Food Engineering. Now, we're talkin!

My drive immediately fettered out after fifteen minutes when all I got were more ringing, voicemails and answering machines. After lunch(12:30 am to 1:30 am), it got better. I was able to talk to receptionists but still got forwarded to their boss's voicemail. At least, I'm talking to real people.

After our shift, i only managed to get two completes. We were told to go to the training room and Frog Princess delivered a lecture on performance and efficiency."You pulled down everybody's performance ratings!" So much for motivational chitchat. Somebody got six completes but still was told to make more calls because he only did 18 calls per hour. Others ranged from 15 to 25 calls per hour and were individually subjected to Her Highness's glare. Nobody said anything about my two completes and I guess I made enough calls to keep them happy."You must make at least eight completes tomorrow or else..." were her parting words before we were dismissed for the day.

Eight?! I got worried. I only made two completes in four hours. I sent an SMS to my mom warning her that I might get kicked out."Well, just go to Ozamiz by Tuesday. I'll be there by Wednesday from Cebu." She is very supportive. Kates, who is doing a sales account in Convergys, exclaimed in an SMS,"You're just new! Rage,rage, rage against the system for giving you high metrics."

And rage I did.

Chronicle No. 8: A Different Kind of Same

It was with much smiling, sending SMS's to my friends and more smiling that I received the SMS from the call center that I applied with. I was to start at 9:30 pm the next day for training. The aluminum thermos mug I bought from Robinson's Department Store last December could finally be put to good use.

I had no expectations about meeting interesting people, making new friends or encountering wise beings because I have been jaded by law school to a large degree. After failed attempts to get some sleep in the afternoon, I popped over to my workplace and went into Discovery Channel mode. Observation is key to surviving a new environment.

There were seventeen of us in the training room. Some of the trainees had already started chatting-up their seatmates and were beginning to form some sort of bond that would congeal them into a group.The questions "Do you have call center experience?" and "From what school did you graduate?" filled the air. I limited my interaction with my batchmates during the interview period. Everybody was euphoric for having gotten into the program.

It felt like I was back in the first day of law school. There was a loud group of people with call center experience, equivalent to the Carolinian Political Science majors in my class, that exuded vapors of arrogance and superiority over the inexperienced trainees. There was also a subgroup of people with call center experience, equivalent to the non-Carolinian Political Science majors, who disliked the loud group, but also had an air of subdued arrogance and were armed with high-pitched derisive laughter. There was also the sexy chick, around whom the straight guys sniffed, and the guy that asked too many questions to the point of absurdity. The silent, the meek and the loners were also represented.

As a certified loner, I gravitated towards the silent and the meek, drawing comfort from the knowledge that I am not alone at being alone. With the silent and the meek, I don't have to make noises to express that I enjoy their company. I just sit around and do my thing and know that everything's alright between me and them.

The training started with the obligatory Introduction and Why-Are-You-Here routine. "I'm bored. I have absolutely nothing to do and I'm here for the money" I declared. The other trainess wanted a career shift, complained that their previous companies used favoritism in making promotions, needed the extra cash for their studies or just wanted to feel independent from their parents. "I don't want to be an ordinary employee" and " I lack purpose in life" were my responses to the same questions asked by my Political Law professor and Property Law professor, respectively.

During breaks, others went outside, smoked and talked loudly about call center systems, call center software and hardware, call center experiences, call center practices and comparative analyses of different call center companies. My crowd and I just stayed in the training room and had casual conversation.It was the same thing I did in law school.

Our trainors used a laptop and an LCD projector to deliver the modules. They just talked and talked and occasionally made some jokes("It's FAX not FUCKS!"). I also had a judge professor who used a laptop and made jokes like:" How do the Japanese pronounce 'election'? It's ERECTION!". The suck-ups laughed the loudest and cracked some witticisms of their own. It was fun watching the familiar dance of Befriending the Teacher. The question guy also asked some far-out questions that drew mocking laughter from the loud group and the subgroup. He also made this comment:" I think the reason why we, Filipinos, work in a call center is that we want to prove to the foreigners that we can speak their language". Our trainors exerted some effort not to laugh.

I also learned some jargon like prepopulated, cascade, DNQ's, verifiers and fallouts. I can now comfortably string them together with my legalese viz. bad faith, mala in se, mora accipiende and jus sanguinis.

Our training ended at 5:30 am. We were given handouts and were told to study for an exam. We were also expected to have a working knowledge of the program by next week. There was a hint of competition in the air. I felt right at home.

Chronicle No. 7:In the Void

Everytime I see KC Concepcion on TV in her numerous commercials, I get bitter. She is younger than I am and she is already raking in millions. She is also pretty and talented and also the daughter of Sharon Cuneta and sired by Gabby Concepcion.Plus, she has a senator for a stepfather. There is no justice in the universe.

My accomplishments in the past four months, which are worthy of note, are as follows: watched seasons one and two of Grey's Anatomy, read A.S. Byatt's Histories and Stories, reread Jhumpa Lahiri's The Interpreter of Maladies, watched 150 episodes of Naruto, converted Mark Jerold(see my list of Friends) into a Naruto fanatic. drank all of the eight C2 flavors and convinced three people to constantly read my blog.

I realized that my boredom has gone up to critical levels because I no longer find channel surfing on cable TV fun. This is very unusual for someone who was raised by TV.

An aunt of mine is handing me her weekly subscription of TIME magazine, which I would finish in two to three hours. In TIME, I have read stories about how a young Indian man became a super tycoon by the age of thirty, how the inventors of YouTube became billionaires after Google bought the rights and how ordinary people became famous because of MySpace, Yahoo and YouTube.

Stories of success can be toxic to an unemployed, bored and penniless person. I have had mini-breakdowns, spells of depression and moments of self-pity and called, Janice, countless times at her office and complained about the world's indifference to my wants and desires.

Kates, has also sent me SMS's containing constant admonitions to stop,Stop,STOP!, whining and be productive, proactive and positive.Right.

In my quest for employment, I only managed to submit my resume to the Court of Appeals-Mindanao and to a local call center. The CA thing went nowhere, but, with much gloating, I got the top score in the exam given by the call center - that's according to Janice's friend who is in the HR. I charmed and deceived my way through the initial, second and final interviews and am now fervently hoping that they would call me.

My friends have also contributed to the gradual diminution of my self-worth. Ritchie, my evil roommate at UP-Diliman, is now hobnobbing with the Court of Appeals-Cebu justices. Kates, is earning bazillions at Convergys in Makati. Joyce, has just finished waving placards in front of the site for the ASEAN summit and will soon work for an NGO dedicated to the urban poor. The Boholana socialite, Kathy,is processing the development plans of the family-owned Mahaba Islet,which is listed in the Department of Tourism's website as one of the must-see places in Bohol, with the DENR. She is also boasting that her mango trees will bear fruit soon.

There are so many things happening to the people I know and to the rest of the world. I feel like I'm in between existence and non-existence. That, I am in another dimension, all alone and just receiving dispatches from this world.

I now know why Sauron desperately wanted the One Ring back, because with it, he can escape the shadow world and be fully alive again. I, on the other hand, must find a way to be KC Concepcion.

Chronicle No. 6: A Choral Concert

The concert had already began when my uncle, aunt and I arrived at the Holy Rosary Agusan Parish. I've just returned from Ozamiz to have a final interview with a prospective employer and my cousin asked me to attend their concert.

The dancers in black leotards with white billowing cloth around their necks and chests were already flailing about in their interpretation of The Prayer. There was only one male dancer, who looked like a karate student in his costume. It seemed that the choreographer did not do research about the song. The English lines in the song are not the translation of the Italian lines as is commonly mistaken. There are actually two prayers in the song by a mother for her daughter, who was going to war.Unaware of the true meaning of the song,the dancers just twirled around in a circle and occasionally clasped their hands together because, hey, it's a prayer. I suppressed a smile and tried to look pious.

After the invocation, the national anthem and the opening salvo, the XUHS Glee club sang first. There was a solo done by a soprano called The Memorare. It is a song asking Mary to hear the singer's petition and to intercede for her. The performance was uninspiring. The singer was actually being coached by Jake, the trainor for the three choirs performing that night, while she sang.

However, I enjoyed the XUHS's rendition of The Lion Sleeps Tonight and Agongan Mindanao, the latter was performed with a hand drum. The two songs got the audience bobbing to the beat.

Next came the Holy Rosary Youth Choir. I looked at the programme and noted that Wowie(see my list of Friends),my cousin, was listed as the sole male of the Altos. The choir started to sing Come Again!Sweet Love Doth Now invite and a female dancer appeared at the far left of the altar. The dancer did some facial contortions to express her rapture in inviting Love. She also did some back bending and stag leaps. I didn't get to see more of her dance because my attention was riveted to the choir, which was in the far right of the altar.

"I can barely hear their Bass" I told my cousin, Mara.

"It's because all of them are gay" she replied.

It was the sopranos that held the full sound of the Holy Rosary Youth Choir together. The choir stuck to the standard choral renditions of the six songs on their repertoire. They were not as vocally adventurous as the XUHS Glee Club, but, they were louder because they had more members.

The last to perform was the XU College Glee Club. The choir was composed of XU alumni and I spotted a teacher of the School of Business and Management singing bass.

The college glee club had a mature voice because the members were already in their late twenty's or early thirty's. The audience and I started to get bored as they sang ten songs. As they progressed down their song list, I discerned that the XU college Glee Club was monotonous. They employed the same singing techniques song after song. The sopranos and the altos sang off key in their rendition of Angels We Have Heard on High, which triggered the whispering and the occasional giggling of the audience. Jake, the trainor, did two solos.

I began to suspect that the trainor likes attention. He had this way of smiling at the audience after each song. My suspicion was confirmed when it was his turn to speak."Actually, I am the one who organized this event" and he waited for an applause. It took a few seconds for the audience to understand that he wanted them to put their hands together for him. A man behind me said "Oh, he just wants to be praised."

The numerous cardboard advent candles covered with Christmas lights on and around the altar finally made sense. They were phallic symbols! There is more than one way to masturbate. Aside from stroking your thing in the privacy of your bedroom or bathroom, you can also stroke your ego in public.

The concert was generally pleasant but it got a little sour when the trainor had just got to focus the spotlight on himself. True art is about the work and not about the artist.

Chronicle No. 5:Journey to the West

I managed to get to the Westbound Bus Station in Cagayan de Oro at around 11:38 a.m. I traveled for about 18 kilometers from my ancestral home, which is near the eastern boundary of the city. I took two jeepney rides in the midmorning heat carrying,Eric , my flesh-colored Eastpak backpack, and, Leticia, my black medium-sized Racini trolley bag. I was going to Ozamiz for Christmas.

A Pussycat Dolls' song greeted me at the terminal entrance and followed me as I dragged, Leticia, on the white-tiled floor. As i emerged unto the platform with loads of passengers sitting on benches at my right, I scanned for a bus heading for Ozamiz. A man in brown polo shirt and khaki pants kept saying "Diri Ozamiz aircon.Diri Ozamiz aircon" and gestured to the bus on my left.

I asked the man to open the baggage compartment near the back wheel of the bus and stashed, Leticia, there.

I sat myself on the left side of the bus, in the second row beside the window. Ever since I started travelling from Ozamiz to Cagayan de Oro and back at four years old, I always make it a point to sit beside the window.

Going to Cagayan de Oro every summer vacation during my elementary and high school years had always been the highlight of my year. During our return trip home, I would look at the landscape and note the trees, the buildings, the rivers, the bridges and even the rock formations, as we rode farther and farther away from the City of Golden Friendship. I could still remember how my heart would shrink everytime I see a particular tree or river pass by the window.But, ever since I went to Cebu, Tacloban, Davao, Valencia, Metro Manila and other cities, this trip no longer has its charms.

As the bus pulled out from the terminal, I opened, Eric, and pulled out a pack of Mr. Chips. I didn't bother to buy lunch because I was in a hurry.

The bus conductor played a movie on the DVD player that featured a guy wearing a clown's mask. It had a very long title with the words 'Clown' and 'Payday' in it. The producer must have had hired a music video director because the movie had too many snazzy shots. The camera would focus on shoes, on the chin, on the space between two characters and other objects not related to the dialogue. There was also constant zooming in on cool cars, cool motorcycles, cool helicopters and cool airplanes. Every few minutes, there were EXPLOSIONS!EXPLOSIONS! and more EXPLOSIONS! The director employed the same techniques throughout the movie. It would have worked if it were only a five-minute music video. I got bored and stared out the window.

The lone coconut tree with a small nipa hut under it in the middle of very green rice paddies is still there. The rock formation near the road now has 'Cleanliness is next to Godliness' painted on it in white. It used to be covered in weeds and other plant growth. The small stream somewhere in Lanao del Norte still has clear water flowing towards the nearby sea. The small triangular rice paddy is still there amidst old coconut trees and tall nipa palms.

There are also more concrete houses along the bus route than before. Some of the springs have dried up. The town plazas are more populated and the mini stores now have plastic banners of Smart, Globe and Touch Mobile on their windows. There are also more trucks, buses and cars on the road.

Catherine Zeta-Jones and Sean Connery came on screen in Entrapment. When Sean caressed Catherine's naked back, I cringed. it's like watching Dolphy with young sexy stars in his numerous movies.

After four hours of travelling, the bus finally arrived in Mukas, Lanao del Norte. The bus was going to be loaded on the barge. Passengers were required to get off the bus to get their barge tickets and for safety reasons.

In year 2000, a bus, with passengers in it, exploded on one of the buses. That bombing led to the war against the MILF by the Erap administration.
After getting my ticket and writing my name on the coast guard's log, I carried, Leticia, by her top and side handles and, Eric, on my back as I wobbled up the three-foot wide stairway.

I sat myself on a bench and parked, Leticia, beside me. A boy with hair browned by constant exposure to the sun and sea air, wearing a red shirt and black shorts with thin orange lines on the sides, approached me and asked me if I wanted my shoes polished.

"No", I said kindly.

"I can bring back the brown to it. It's just for ten pesos", he told me with a look that said that I know zip about shoe polishing.

My shoes looked very dull and I haven't had my shoes polished by somebody else before. I agreed.

He first applied red liquid on my shoes with a small brush. After my shoes dried, he applied brown polish from a large Kiwi can with his hands. Then he brushed them vigorously and finished off by briskly rubbing an old sock on them. After each step, he would bang his wooden brush on the wooden box on which my feet alternately rested. My shoes shone a luscious brown. I gave him a twenty.

As I was about to go down the stairs and get off the barge, the shoe shine boy reappeared and offered to carry, Leticia, for me. She was wider and heavier than him. I said, no.I proceeded to disembark from the barge and pulled out Leticia's extendible handle and dragged her out of the pier.

Eric, Leticia and I disappeared amidst the traffic of tricycles and motorcabs of The Gateway of the Land of Promise.

Chronicle No.4: The Bare Life

If there is something that my sisters, my mom, my maternal relatives and I have in common,it's trichotillomania - the pathological impulse to constantly pull out or rub one's hair.

When all of us are seated in the living room or are in a gathering, our respective hands would go up to our respective heads and systematically pull out our respective hair. It's a family pastime from the oldest aunt to the youngest cousin, who is reportedly wearing a bandana to conceal her bald patches.

It was during the summer vacation of my sophomore year in high school that a strand of hair was first pulled out from my scalp. On a warm afternoon, with the two o'clock sun streaming through the bedroom window, my sister ,Anne, had a strange look in her eyes. She was staring at my then thick, black and shiny hair and declared that I had a strand of 'dead' hair. She reached out and started caressing the curly and damaged strand. After a while, she asked me if she could pull it out. I was absorbed in a novel about a very poor and atheist girl who went from rags to ultra rich and had several children from different men, and just nodded my consent.

A small sharp sting followed by a ticklish itch radiated throughout my scalp from the spot where the strand of hair was once rooted. That small sensation triggered something deep inside my DNA and changed the relationship between my head and my left hand forever.

It seems that my trichotillomania is connected to the state of my mental activity. Whenever I am reading, watching or listening to something interesting and engrossing, my left hand would languidly stroke each and every one of my hair strands and pull out the severely damaged ones. But, whenever I am answering test questions, writing a report, brainstorming, beating a deadline or in any stressful situation, my right hand would join the frenzy and mercilessly hasten the denudation of my hair.

The four years in law school and ,especially, the BAR examinations are responsible for the state of my scalp today. I must have left at least three strands in each of my examination notebooks as a souvenir for the BAR examiners. Still, some of my hair have lain on Lasallian floors and are probably getting acquainted with the trash in the Payatas dumpsite.

I didn't mind my thinning hair despite the scoldings from my friends and the suggestions by barbers for a hot oil treatment after pointing out the bare spot. I was too preoccupied with other things and my hair was at the bottom of my least-important-things-to-do list.

My priorities changed when I found myself to have absolutely nothing to do. Aside from my Naruto DVD collection and a handful of books, I am now obsessing over hair regeneration.

I was lying on the couch, wasting away from boredom, when I absent-mindedly asked my aunt, who used to be in the practice, for something that could make my hair grow back. She suddenly became animated and endorsed Shane Herbal Oil. She claimed that she had stopped using shampoo and that she rubbed the jasmine-scented oil on her scalp daily. It worked miracles on her hair and proudly pointed out where hair grew back on her head.

Two days later, I acquired a bottle and started to do some scalp-rubbing myself. Every few days, I would ask the relative within arm's reach and ask if anything is growing on my head. They would squint and say that tiny hair are sprouting on my scalp. I would also take pictures of my scalp with my camera phone and complain that it still looks the same.

Two days ago, I met Joanna and Janice at a mall. I was going to meet Joanna, whom I haven't seen for over a year, in an internet cafe. After the initial shrieks and the standard how-are-you's, I bent over to look at the monitor. She saw the thin spot and exclaimed in a voice that carried throughout the cafe,"What happened to that?" and burst into hysterical laughter. Fortunately, the other customers were either busy smiling at their webcams or annihilating their enemies on Ragnarok.

Janice, caught up with us and we went to Mandarin restaurant to have dinner. While we were making our orders, I noticed that the food attendant was staring at me - specifically at the top of my head. For the first time in my life, I felt embarassed about it. But, at least, I am no longer the only one fascinated by it.

The other night, a maddening itch invaded the part of the scalp where I regularly rub oil on. My cousin said that it is a sign that hair is growing. I hope it's true.

Garfield, sometimes passes his time by watching paint dry. I pass my time by watching my hair grow back.

Chronicle No. 3: Judging Lloyd

The universe has a weird sense of humor and I should know because it has been playing a lot of tricks on me ever since I can remember.

Around 9:30 a.m. on a Thursday morning, I received a text message from Butch(see my list of Friends). He wanted me to judge a beauty contest. A beauty contest!? I have been complaining that I am bored and have nothing to do and this is what the universe had dished up for me. I said ,yes, and promised to be there before 2 p.m. This was a chance for me to get out of the house and ,besides, I haven't seen Butch in two years.

I brought my jacket with me as I went out of the house because it was drizzling. Butch, met me at the school gate and we chatted as we walked towards a cluster of school buildings. He gave occassional nods to students who greeted him as we moved along.

Butch, is one of the faculty members of a public national high school. As he led me to the school's computer room, I gathered that he really enjoyed his work. He told me how he likes his students, how he has been coaching a student for a declamation contest and how he is helping the staff of the student publication to do a good job.

Butch, left me to the comforts of airconditioning as he went off to attend to some school matter. I gazed upon the brand new ten black computer units, courtesy of the Japanese government,and wished that I was doing something worthwhile with my life. People younger than me are winning medals, contributing to science, earning millions and, in Butch's case, molding the minds of the country's hope and future leaders. I,on the other hand, have been busy committing the mortal sin, Sloth.

I perused the judging sheets and noted the minor awards.The two other judges and I were expected to choose who was Best in the Production Number, Best in Sexy Jeans, Best in School Uniform, Best in Sports Attire, Best in Unique Creation and Best in Interview. Butch, reappeared and handed me another judging sheet."By the way, you also have to judge the hip hop dancing competition". Great. I can't even do a bad backflip how much more properly judge a dance competition. Another teacher came in and announced that the pageant was about to begin. The other two judges and I trooped towards the school grounds.

The sun was blazing madly on us and students were commissioned to hold an umbrella over our heads. As the contestants romped around in their respective uniforms, the sky darkened. A few moments later, the rain poured down. It was as if the sun and the rain were trying to outdo each other on inflicting the greater discomfort on humans.

We retreated to one of the school's sheds with a group of students. After a few moments, we were escorted back to the computer room. Butch and I chatted while munching on a Skyflake and sipping Pop Cola. After thirty minutes, the rain started to die down and we waited for it to stop.

When we emerged from the computer room, the sky was still an angry grey. The contestants went on to show us how they looked in their sports attire. Most of the contestants opted for the badminton player look. After that, they also wore their Unique Creation, which consisted of two meters of cloth molded to the artistic sensibilities of the contestants or their mentors. The hip hop dancing contestants also did their thing in between costume changes of the beauty contestants.

It started to drizzle again but the show went on. We were given umbrellas minus the servient students. It was a heroic scene, a testament to human endurance. as the three judges withstood the rain under multi-colored umbrellas, seated on plastic armchairs and dutifully jotting down the scores of the contestants unto wet judging sheets. All of us were earnest to choose the worthy Miss Intrams and the best hip hop dancers. When the time to judge the top five candidates came, I abandoned my soaked judging sheet and used the Notes feature of my phone instead.

It was already evening when the pageant finally ended. Contestant No. 1, was proclaimed Miss Intrams 2006 and the freshmen were pronounced as the best dancers. Everybody was happy with the result. I was pleased that I did my job well despite the fact that my judging experience was limited to watching Miss Universe on TV and to have watched You Got Served.

I was whisked away by, Butch, to the computer room and we checked out his laptop. We waited for the rain to end its celebration of its triumph over the sun. It was around 7:30 p.m. when Butch and I left the school and took a jeepney to the mall. He was going to feed me at Lighthouse Restaurant as compensation for my services.

As we dined on kinilaw, spaghetti, fried chicken and pork adobo, Butch confided to me scandalous trivia on the people we know. Apparently, while I was busy committing the sins of Sloth,Pride, Anger and ,sometimes, Gluttony, others have preoccupied themselves by committing Lust, Envy, and Vanity. In short, their lives are more exciting than mine.

I did a retrospect on my life as I rode the jeepney home. Is my life really that boring? I asked myself, whilst scenes of myself reading books, watching movies and eating at restaurants flashed before my eyes. The universe has been playing with me(obviously a sign of paranoia) all throughout my life. Surely, the judging stint I did that day has some significance in the greater scheme of things.