Posting my CV made me realize how much things have changed for me after I decided to quit my job two years ago. Take for instance the last essay I wrote began with, “There I was, with six pesos in my pocket, weak from fever and cough, and my eyes squinting from the noonday sun.” Was this the same person who ate reports and action plans for breakfast, with a never ending lust for promotion?
Philosophically, I’ve always insisted that I’ve grown and matured since then, and that material things don’t matter much anymore. But they do, actually. My scruffy shoes, a hand-me-down watch from my younger brother, pants with rips on the linings (not the sexy deconstructed look, but something that came as a result of two years wear and tear, I’m afraid), my reconditioned cellular phone with the cracked LCD, and my cheap haircut doesn’t exactly spell out elegance.
I suppose starting over and getting a new career direction is never easy, I just wish there was a sign for me that I’ve indeed made the right decision. I should be thankful for the new chances given to me, yet somehow I can’t help how I feel. Sometimes, late at night, I still get to think what my life would have been if I’d just stuck around at INFO. Would I have made it as ACCM by now?
If there is a remote control that would fast-forward everything now, I’d use it. In the meantime, I have to make the most out of what’s here for me- I know that. Believe me, each day I chant to myself that this will all work out, and one day I’d be strong and independent again- not just for my sake but for my family’s. Let’s face it, my parents are in their fifties already, and it’s time for my brothers and me to take care of them.
All is not lost, I suppose. The skills I had still remain, and perhaps new ones have been added. I should feel good about that, actually. Nevertheless, a part of me still yearns for the old me in my days as a TM- strong, confident, and a go-getter, certainly no amateur at the work I did. Late at night, I still hear myself scream in my mind: “I want my power back!”
Noble as the teaching profession is, I am not cut out for it, so I’ve never considered it among my career options. But say, if in a parallel universe I somehow become one, I’d probably teach a course that I myself enjoy- like Monochromatic Drawing or Communication Skills (some of the courses I actually look forward to attending, back in Diliman).
The thing I hate the most is repeating myself- I mean one probably would handle at least five classes, right? What am I supposed to do, deliver the same lecture over and over (including punchlines to my jokes)? That was why I refused to be part of the Training department once, at work. They lacked trainers that time, so Team Managers had to fill in temporarily. It was a simple class about certain software which I knew by heart, but twenty minutes into it I was bored out of my wits. I preferred the excitement and tension at the call center floor itself, where the agents actually handled live calls.
Teaching art is easy, I imagine, since students are pre-screened- they need to have the inclination for it. It is just a matter of teaching and applying techniques to broaden the student’s skills.
Comm 1, on the other hand is a requirement for everybody, whether one has an inclination for it or not. I remember my professor, a Jesuit priest who wrote a column for the Today newspaper, he was quite sharp for an old man (probably in his late sixties or early seventies at that time, I’m guessing) and was a delightful speaker. I looked forward to his classes even if it was at 7:00 am on a Monday morning.
I’d probably do the same thing- 70% of the time, the class would be made to compose one essay after another, the rest will be devoted to reading the Classics followed by a discourse after each book.
I’m a lazy person, so my grading method would probably make use of rubber stamps with comments like: “You suck!” (kidding, of course), or “Vanilla” (for those lacking flavor), or perhaps “Sublime!” to those who deserve it. It is probably better to tell it like it is, right? Or perhaps sugarcoat it a bit- “It’s almost there, dearie. You just need to work on your style.” Or maybe just a plain, “Your composition put me in a coma, good thing my cleaning lady revived me.”
Seriously though, I’ve promised one day to volunteer as a teacher at my beloved Leyte National High School. A sort of thank you for all those years of public education. Good Lord, I hope I don’t become one of those teachers who say, “Ok class, kopyahin ang nakasulat sa blackboard at bigkasin ng paulit-ulit hanggang mag-time!”
Posting my CV made me realize how much things have changed for me after I decided to quit my job two years ago. Take for instance the last essay I wrote began with, “There I was, with six pesos in my pocket, weak from fever and cough, and my eyes squinting from the noonday sun.” Was this the same person who ate reports and action plans for breakfast, with a never ending lust for promotion?
