The night called me to cry out my ramblings. I have suffered much and of great intensity. The killing must end.
I wasn't really disrespectful before. I was the say-it-and-I’ll-do-that kid. The thing is, when thunderbolts hit deep under your chest cavity, scar still remains even after the long healing session.
Almost all my staff, especially my assoc and managing eds know that my publication adviser and I are not in good terms. Actually, even some of the staff find it hard to “deal” with her but I don’t want to add heat to their flame. Mine is a different thing; a totally different thing and is becoming personal now. Somehow, she starts acting immature (allow me to say it in my own words) and irrational. Even before I started my editorship, I heard stuffs about her but I never expected it this grave, and the past few days are worst.
It started on Friday when we finished the layout of the folio. She was not in her office the whole day and when she finally showed up, she was eating with her co-profs so I decided to be back by five; and she was out. I called her home and we had a great deal that I’ll be bringing the package the next day. Come Saturday, I texted her to inform that the package is ready for the printing press. I just want to stress that my intention is just to inform her, not to ask permission. Her response is to hold the package until Monday for us to talk because she hasn’t seen the articles yet. I insisted that I’ll be showing the blueprint right after I send the package to the press for a clearer view of the layout (of course with the articles laid out). Through that, she can point any adjustment she wants. I guess, for a while she understood my situation. She gave me a nod but it didn’t last long. She, again, hampered the package when I asked her about the proof reading. So the children (my assoc and I) are back to Plan B – bring the package on Monday. I wonder how she easily gives a nod and a NO, as if she wasn’t talking about business. Okay! I thought I was the kid here.
Come Monday, I saw her rushing down the stairs. I persisted to show her the layout from the PC. Her response was to reserve it until the next day because she was busy with her thesis. (I thought she wants to see the layout?) Come Tuesday and we had a great game of hide and seek. The thing is I never caught her unless she was saved. She wants me to fail for my deadline. Those chasings made me talk to the dean for support. With satisfaction from the dean’s response, I hardly waited for Wednesday.
Come Wednesday, my adviser confronted me with some foul words that I believe, I do not deserve; considering my sacrifices and my concerns for the publication. But not a single emotional torture stopped me. I set a meeting with the publisher. Luckily, he was on the way to Lucban and we had purely business talk. With me was Marvin, my associate editor, to hand the package to the encoder. Again, I picked another lucky coin as Kuya Brenn (the encoder) passed the package immediately to the negative, keeping the entire pre-submitted packages from other publications in the waiting line. Shhh! Even the publisher doesn’t know this. =) I can’t exactly tell whether I won the battle that afternoon. The only things I am certain – I did it how I believe it should be and things went just the way I planned it to be.
If you are to ask me what am I getting from these? I might pause for a while for I could not present any tangible evidence to prove the worth of my job and why I honor it that much. Socially. Emotionally. Personally. I have gained much from this experience; and if I still can, I will.
Masochist. A hippie defined the word in an interview as one who suffers pain for passion; purely for human wants. Metal heads are that. They keep on playing heavy fcuikn' music for primary, personal satisfaction and for secondary, art's sake. I guess, that made me continue being part of the moshpit because I see myself enjoying the slam. You see, after the head bangs and the pushes-through, nothing's left but body ache. At the innermost of my senses, I have ejaculated an expression that the mainstream does not, will not, or will never understand. Truly, what is most difficult is most satisfying when achieved; and what the body achieved from blood is addicting to the soul. Masochism.
Masochist. A hippie defined the word in an interview as one who suffers pain for passion; purely for human wants. Metal heads are that. They keep on playing heavy fcuikn' music for primary, personal satisfaction and for secondary, art's sake. I guess, that made me continue being part of the moshpit because I see myself enjoying the slam. You see, after the head bangs and the pushes-through, nothing's left but body ache. At the innermost of my senses, I have ejaculated an expression that the mainstream does not, will not, or will never understand. Truly, what is most difficult is most satisfying when achieved; and what the body achieved from blood is addicting to the soul. Masochism.
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