What They Think I Did

I had such a good laugh at this. Swak talaga, especially with the "What My Mom Thinks I Do" and "What Society Thinks I Do" part.

I remember sitting on top of a fire truck in the middle of a very unruly demonstration/rally (police vs. militant groups) back in 2006, thinking if I was really meant to be a reporter, and if that (the actual sitting on top of a firetruck to cover the story) was what my mother wanted in life for me. Did she want me to be the receiving end of a firehose/a shoe/a bottle/a batuta (come to think of it, Filipino cops do not really bring batons anymore)? Was her spanking of me (armed with the belief that I would get asthma attacks from the heat) after I played for hours under the sun all for naught?

I guess I wouldn't really know now, since I resigned from my job three years ago. But that was the beauty of being a journalist. The adventures, the unpredictability, the creation of something out of virtually nothing (words and stories out of observations and other people's words, NOT imagination). It was, at the end of the day, an exhausting but exhilarating occupation.

I miss the job. I miss all of it. But I miss it like I miss my teenage years: I would want to go back in time to enjoy it, correct my mistakes, and fulfill my might-have-beens. But I don't know if I still have the stamina and the hunger to do so. Getting tired and jaded in my old age, I guess. Heehee.