I’M CURRENTLY under a media embargo against spilling silly facts, useless details and meaningless statistics and keep the same to myself. But really, you can only stay purposely vague for so long before you go nuts.
As a compromise between my pseudo-journalistic ethics and finding something to blog about (and keep my pathetic blog-tummy filled), I’ll just chronicle the last 48+ hours of YAPECTOM (a deceptively Russian sounding acronym for Yet Another Person Close To Me), scrupulous readers beware.
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Even for YAPECTOM (Yap for short)’s humble standards, he had become insufferably difficult. Hardly visible on the premises, he had cocooned himself further into his cave, had become (to me) more withdrawn than usual, failed to do even the minimum chores that he occasionally did, woke up late and burned the midnight oil, and lately didn’t even bother to get along with the few inhabitants of his physical and social world.
I wanted to bare my fangs and snarl him into reality, but esposa hermosa held fast my trigger finger. Sunud sunod na syang bigo sa interview, awat ka muna sa mga sermon. Bayaan mo munang manumbalik ang kumpiyansa nya, cautioned my Muse and Voice of Reason. OK, but who’s gonna take out the rubbish again tonight, my dear?
[ Careless Edit : a loose translation of the above Tagalog phrase : he’s had a brush-off burnout the last few interviews, go slow on the scoldings and allow him to regain a bit of confidence pretty please? That’s translated a bit too sweetly, but there you go 🙂 ]
It didn’t help that his defense mechanism and natural bravado annoyed me incessantly. No jobs for me other than the ones I schooled for, anyone who discourages me (from what I want) is a hater (his world and the Facebook world of likers and addicted post-ers had become startlingly similar), I’ve gone this far, might as well hold out for the ideal job for me. The longer he stayed unemployed, the more unrealistic his array of cushy gigs and juicy wages became.
To top it all, I was copping the flak for his avoidance of household duties, and the last straw was his failure to clean up after himself. When I asked him what was up, he simply mumbled studying for Java as a cryptic clue. This simply would not do.
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Just when I was at my wit’s end, wondering what was up with Yap, a sudden news flash came from an unlikely source, flatmate, who mentioned to us that Yap might have finally resolved his employment challenge. And suddenly it started to add up. He had kept to himself all this time preparing for his shortlisting and final interviews.
We had mistaken his cramming for an IT admission exam (the Java excuse suddenly made sense) as inexplicable reclusiveness; his decision to totally focus on the task at hand, a momentary descent into anti-social behavior. I was a bit taken aback that he didn’t tell me first about probably the defining milestone of his young life of migration, but I realized that I myself had been misjudging him for the few days past.
When you’ve been vainly searching for livelihood for more than a year, success must feel so earth-shattering that you’d feel like telling the first person available, who just happened to be our flatmate.
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The corner takeaway that doubles as a Korean resto after dark was the consensus choice for a belated celebration of Bunso’s 17th, and because we had to fish coins from the piggy bank to celebrate, the guest list was the barest minimum. Yap, Ganda, the celebrant, esposa hermosa, and me. Japchae, bulgogi, and deep stir fried veggies and meats, liberally sprinkled by kimchi everywhere.
The mood was cautiously confident, and the air doubly celebratory. One young man was at the brink of adulthood, while the other youngster was at the cusp of earning serious bread doing the work he loved.
Being wrong about Yap didn’t sting as much as it pleased me to be proud of him.
Thanks for reading !
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