Tuesday, August 20, 2013

Tuesday's Story #4

It had been a rough six months.
     In that course, she finally gained the courage to come clean with the wandering boyfriend but struggled to break free and away from him; she battled the trauma of the death of two close friends, a span of four weeks between each to car accidents; she had been given a miss in the company's yearly promotion when she had worked harder than the receivers, spending more time after office hours in the workplace than them; she had been asked to vacate her previous residence through no fault of hers and although she eventually found a home somewhere, she still struggled to adapt to the smoke-infused and fragrance-infused air of the neighborhood; and it was just last weekend that she lost control of herself, with the excess of endorphins lasting on an emotional high for two days and one night.
     When a memorable song from her childhood aired on a particular English radio station, Magenta felt her soul crumbled and broke into tears, clouding her vision on the congested Federal Highway. She thought that she had moved on and buried those issues deep enough to paint a smiley face daily but as the tears ruined her makeup and rolled down her cheeks, she realized that she never fully recovered from the relationship and the multiple rejections.

A double degree that she was, it didn't protect her from the trials and tribulations of working under a brainless moron for a superior; in fact, it aggravated the problem of being treated unfairly as the other subordinates all held a single degree.
     The superior was behind her, yelling her head off about the whole team not being able to achieve the deadline when the truth of the matter was that they had been thrown a gazillion ton's worth of work, which made meeting deadline a near impossibility.
     Did the superior honestly think that the team was instead robots living in human bodies with its own inner workings?
    When she however started attacking them personally with words like "stupid" and "selfish", Magenta slammed the table and swiveled to her direction, fury in her eyes.
     "What is your problem, Rose?!"
     "I don't have any problem," the superior offered. "I'm reprimanding you all for your inability to meet deadlines!"
     "How are we going to meet every deadline when you keep throwing work at us? Stop yelling at us! We've no choice but to cover for your messes and issues."
     "Being your superior allows me the authority to do so!"
     "Enough!" Magenta growled. "You rose to this position not through your skills and capabilities but through flirtatious acts and contacts with the head office people!"
     All the other subordinates drew a sharp breath, shocked at the revelation.
     "That's enough crap I've received from you!" the superior furrowed her brows. "You are fired."
     Magenta heard gasps around her.  "Fired?"
    She rolled her eyes. "You don't know me, Rose. I've tendered my resignation letter last month and come this evening, I'm officially no longer an employee here. You can't fire me when I've resigned."
     "How dare you!"
     "What? An employee has the right to leave a company that she has grown uncomfortable with."

Saturday, August 17, 2013

Monster's Mic

Since I have managed to squeeze some space out of the busy schedule in a frazzled state, I figured that I'll blow some steam to free the congested mind and report my attendance. Trust me; you wouldn't want to know the intensity of the workload I'm having now.

I knew that these two assignments would drain me because they are the toughest to complete. In fact, it is bleeding me of my energy as I write this post. Having to write about the 100-year conflict of Israel and Palestine and suggesting ways to solve the conflict using the 4 ways of hierarchy, dissolution, comparison and the TOC (Theory of Constrict) with Monday being the deadline is of no joke; up until now, I'm not sure where to start, but I guess I'll make it.

And there's the Salon coming up. No, not the hair salon I meant. Salon, when explained historically, means a discussion among invited friends of the wealthy to their residence over tea. Since I've chosen Rousseau (yes, the man who incorporated the ideas of Locke and Hobbes and wrote the famous Social Contract; I've had the opportunity to read that book before), I'm supposed to spend some time researching for his historical contributions online for the debate, like all of my classmates who have chosen their separate figures (like John Locke and Voltaire), but I haven't been able to compile it into notes just yet. >.<

I really want to excel in this one, and am hoping that I won't screw it in the same way that I did with the Scientific Presentation of Rene Descartes. For that one, my nerves had the better hold of me and I barely kept eye contact with those present, fearing that my head will blank out.

The organizer and the co-host engaged in a last-minute discussion.

And in the midst of all the chaotic assignments thrown onto my table for completion, I dabbled in the little presentation that the campus had, hence the title name - as a creative performer and a journalist. It's not exactly singing because number one, my vocals will crack the windows and two, I don't play any musical instruments (even if I did, I don't have the extra time to practice); it was more of a presentation of any type of creative works (I chose short story) and certainly, what I meant was a campus magazine writer.

Not a newspaper journalist, for sure.

The setting up of musical equipments.

Seeing that this is my virgin attempt at both, nervousness completely enveloped me as I watched the audience members flowing in and taking their seats, but hell am I allowing it to be shown on my face, especially when the poems that I was to present belonged to Dexter, who couldn't make it at the last minute.

Too bad he missed out on all the fun, especially the expressions on the audience's faces (especially Ida's!) when his poems were being read out. Some members in attendance (most likely his friends, since one of them whipped out an iPad to take a picture of yours truly) were wowed away and I certainly saw a couple of teachers smiling away, like a long-buried sweet memory being invoked at that moment in time.

Oh, God, please save my soul.

The audience members who turned up earlier.

By the way, sorry for the lack of pictures. I'm not as skilled as the campus magazine photographers (like Sophia, Emily and the one in the above photograph) and having to take on three duties was more than challenging.

I'm not going to write much more about it, because I'm saving all of it for the campus magazine. Like with the History presentations - past and upcoming, I sure hope that the experiences and knowledge gained will take me to new, unexplored horizons.

I'm keeping my fingers crossed that I'll be able to complete the remaining assignments with some extra time to do my own things - maybe, like permeating the entire house with an aromatic coconut bun or shopping for sneakers.

And with that, I'm off to crash and enter the soothing world of Dreamland.

Tuesday, August 6, 2013

Torn between two places

It doesn't feel like a semester break when I have another two (more like four, if you count in the History presentations on Scientific Revolution and French Revolution) heavy assignments to complete by the week's end. No, I went straight to business after the last day of class; we started our break with at around six separate assignments.

Yes, you heard that right. My classmate's absolutely correct when he said that those two subjects would involve a gargantuan amount of assignments being thrown at us.


There was such a plan to spend the break at Taipei but it won't be a relaxing vacation with the assignments, right? Trust me; even as I'm drafting this post, half of my mind is concentrating on the remaining assignments. My idea of a holiday would be the temporary freedom from the worldly worries and suffused my soul with the fresh, welcoming air of Taichung.

Still, in the wake of the workload, I ensured that I had cocooned myself at home between the four walls and the idiot box.

I baked.

I lolled in my favorite haunt.

I had my locks trimmed shorter.

I slept until ten in the morning.

I caught up on past episodes of NCIS.

I yelled my heart to this song until my vocal cords cracked.

I gobbled my way around the kitchen.

Nothing could beat that, not by a million miles. Okay, I admit, the last one is definitely an exaggeration. I'm no longer ransacking the fridge for food every couple of hours.

And lastly, I dreamed of That Latte Plate some weeks ago.

I'll survive unscathed, and until my next post, I'm off to sink my face into the tub of green tea ice-cream while the assignments are being done at my own pace.
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