Well this sucks.

 I don't usually mope about. I either have no time for it, or just simply don't care enough to do so. But life does like throwing all kinds of flavors in our way, just to make everyday taste and feel different from the last. And of all those flavors, I had the misfortune of having bitterness thrown in this week. More specifically,  3 days ago.

  Last Tuesday, my morning started all fine and dandy. But like most bad days, this was simply the calm before the storm, the initial tastes before that spicy after-note, and the big bite unto a fresh, delicious apple--before realizing there was a worm in it. I had a great night's sleep, prepared my own breakfast just the way I like it, and had everything I would be needing for my job interview prepared for later that day. Oh how wrong I was. How very, very wrong.

  So I arrive in the vicinity of the company 30 minutes early. Which was fine, I like doing that anyway. Never mind the hassle getting there, which included the 10 minute walk towards my jeep stop, the long lines at the MRT, the sardine-like packing of people inside it, and oh, the 40 bucks in which it cost for the trike to get me there. None of those would dampen my mood, and I would later realize that I would rather have done all those things 10 times in a single day rather than repeat the (it remains to be seen) traumatic events that would transpire just a few minutes during my interview.

 Since I came early, I walked around a bit to find a suitable place to change. One does not, after all, arrive to a job interview looking like a candidate for mall security (unless of course you ARE actually doing so). So I find a nice little spot. It was a small public playground of sorts. The important thing was, there were benches, so I sat down, lit a cigarette and puffed away, just to relax myself and let the sweat pour before putting on more presentable attire. After doing so, I walked confidently towards my destination. How little clue did I have that this was gonna be one of THOSE days. And by THOSE, I mean the days when you spend the rest of said day thinking about what the hell just happened and why couldn't I have prevented it. Why?

 So there I was, Mr. Potential Professional, wearing an expression of combat known world-wide as the swagger of someone who knows what he's doing.. until I realized I couldn't find the exact place I needed to go to. Following my mental memory of what I searched on Google maps, I tried the door of one company that was obviously not where I needed to be. But hey, I'm a bit lost, and everyone needs a little help. The guy who attended to me answered that the company I was looking for was right across the street. He said so in a tone that suggested this kind of thing happens everyday. A quick look to where he was pointing explained why. I'm not getting into the specifics, but let me just say that it was virtually impossible to realize that this was where I was scheduled to appear.

 Once inside, I went through the usual motions that anyone else does when finding a job. I gave my name, filled out the application form, and waited to be called. The guy who came before me was as relaxed as I was. He was called, came out a few minutes later, and wasted no time getting out. Not in the way that robbers fleeing their crime scene do, but in the way most busy people with other things on their plate do. Or so I think, since I didn't really pay attention to him. A few more minutes passed, and finally I am led to my interview. It would soon turn out to be slaughter.

It started innocently enough, with the basic blah, blah, blah. But like all major screw-ups, one thing leads to another. Usually in higher and higher degrees of dysfunction. The panel who were conducting my interview started to ask questions I was not expecting. And so, my answers were becoming increasingly incoherent. I was reduced to a bumbling buffoon, pulling dumber and dumber things to say out of thin air. You could liken it to a little rat trapped in a pit with three hungry vipers all looking for a weak spot. It was thesis defense all over again, except this time, it was for a great opportunity, and not just some intangible numerical equivalent on my transcript that is somehow supposed to represent my competence. God, I hate that feeling. But what sucks even more is realizing I had the answers they were looking for, but my scumbag of a brain couldn't process them fast enough to save me from my dire predicament. Nor could said scumbag fight off the creeping tensions of self-doubt and anxiety.

 As the whole ordeal (thankfully) came to a close, I was at a loss for words. It was beginning to sink in that I have just committed one of the biggest screw-ups in my life, no exaggeration. I was fully listening to the lady explaining the situation to me, but my mind was not completely there. I may be young, but I am not naive. I know a condescending tone when I hear one, even when it's masked by a pleasant facial expression and a passionate, just-sharing-my-thoughts-with-you speaking manner. I hesitated in deciding whether or not to say something in my defense, but I took too long, and three days later I'm still wondering if it indeed would have made any difference at all.

 You might be scratching your head, thinking, so what's the big deal? Everyone messes up. 'Bout time you did. Yes, I am aware of that. But the reason I can't simply let this go is this; a) I did not like the way that whole thing transpired, b) I did not like their assumptions about me, and c) I never, EVER (until that day, at least) screw up a damn interview. I pride myself on that last one. So yes, the wound is on my pride as someone who believes himself near impervious to the perils of such a trivial activity. BAAAAM! Back to earth and then some. I've just popped my cherry on being the stupid guy in the interview. Hence this rambling post. Sorry.

  Writing this has been therapeutic, though. It has at least taken off some on the tension that bothered my sleep 2 nights prior. "I write to empty my head, and fill my heart" according to Paolo Coelho. I did this for the opposite. I wanted to empty my heart of that disappointing embarrassment, and in doing so, be one step closer to proving that no, I am not just someone dodging the bullet reserved for people who graduated with the same degree, I do this because I want to. I need to. I have to. It's my passion. My calling. My eventual career path.

AND NO, MY DAMN FINE ARTS DEGREE IN NO WAY PROVES THAT I AM INCAPABLE OF BEING A WRITER. A COPY WRITER, TO BE MORE SPECIFIC. I CAN COMPETE ON EQUAL FOOTING WITH ALMOST ANY COMMUNICATION ARTS GRADUATE OUT THERE, IF GIVEN THE CHANCE.


So until that chance comes, I'll continue to self-medicate by writing on this blog. Ciao!