Productivity and a photo

Apparently, I’m not the only one who thinks I work too much. When I went to pick up my check last week,I was asked to wait ten minutes because the editors wanted to meet me. “I just want to prove that you’re not a robot,” said the HR girl, who’s the only one at the office who’s ever seen me. I’m elusive like that.

“So how do you write 4500 words a day and still find time to go out on a weekday?” asked Kate, the team leader. “Most of the writers do 3000 max and they work till sunset.” Your writers are incompetent, I thought initially, but I soon mentally rephrased that to Your writers didn’t work for Sieg. I’m twice as fast now as I was with Sieg, but that’s where I learned all this web stuff. The then-impossible workload forced me to get creative with research and pull words off my head like an eternal ball of yarn.

I didn’t say that, of course. The training helped, but it’s different when you work in close proximity to a fridge, a couch, and two cozy, sunlit bedrooms. It takes a great deal of discipline. That’s it. Discipline made me productive.

But there’s also the little things I do to break the monotony of my work. For example:

> I change my document’s page colour every day, so I don’t have to stare at a white sheet for five hours.
> I use a different font per article. I find that some fonts make me faster, while others slow me down. Times New Roman and Century Schoolbook are my most ‘productive’ fonts.
> I do all the research first, then write. That way I don’t have to switch from Firefox to Word and back again.
> I do the bulk of my work at night, from 9pm to 3am. That’s when everyone has settled down, turned off their TVs and waddled back to their rooms, leaving me free to work.
> I play instrumentals and foreign language music, so I don’t unconsciously write song lyrics into my articles. It’s happened before. I particularly like anime theme songs and ‘Moondance’ by Nightwish.

I hope my silly little tips can help other overworked freelancers.

**

In other news, I spent last weekend in a big resort and an old house. I only brought my kit lens and my 50mm, so I wasn’t expecting any good shots. But looky!

That’s a 100% crop from the original image. I thought you needed one of those $600 macro lenses to do closeups like that. I now have a newfound respect for 18-55 kit lenses.

Sunsets and sensors

I live in a condo in the middle of a busy city. And like most young city-dwellers, I don’t see sunsets quite as much as I’d like. The only open space in my house is the laundry room, which overlooks a roof, a star apple tree, and a cement wall; beyond that, I can see other condos and some of the Tomas Morato skyline. When I do find myself out at sunset, I usually see smog.

Well, last week I noticed a bamboo tree just beyond the cement wall, which could make a good detail for a sunset. So at just the right hour, I took out Tinkerbell, slapped on my 35-135mm lens, and zoomed in just close enough to block out the buildings. I played around with the settings, and here’s what I came up with. I’m pretty pleased with them.

I also realised that my sensor needs cleaning. My slow-witted self took over and I thought I’d rub out the dust with my finger, which naturally resulted in more dirt. For the non-techies, that is pretty much the silliest thing you can do to a DSLR. For that, my photographer friends now agree that I have all the resourcefulness of a fork. >______<

A birthday and a movie

I turn 24 in four days, and I have no idea where my past year went. Mostly I immersed myself in work, which isn’t quite new, except that I’m now happily freelancing. But I also read a lot of books, watched a few good movies, learned some French, and dabbled in astrophysics. Got a husband, lost a father. I guess 23 was one of my more eventful years — so eventful, in fact, that I had no time to let it all sink in before age 24 came into view.

So what did I learn from my year as a 23-year-old? I think my net takeaway can be summed up in five points:

1) It isn’t so hard to stand up for yourself.

2) You should say what’s on your mind now. At the hospital, I told my father I loved him every day.

3) I will never be the office girl type. I tried a regular 8-hour job and lasted six days. Being a one-woman business is tough, but I wouldn’t trade it for another stuffy cubicle.

4) It won’t do to sit and complain. Do your part to set things right. When your very best proves to be insufficient, that’s when you earn the right to rant.

5) The best investment you can make isn’t a house, a car, or a trust fund. It’s people. At my dad’s funeral service, even the sentries wept as the flag was dropped to half-mast. If you touch even one person’s life, you’ve lived well — and my dad touched entire communities.

***

As an early birthday present, I bought myself a badminton racket. I know next to nought about the sport, except that it’s fun, but I’ve been learning from highly skilled (and very patient) tutors. The friendly guy at Olympic Village helped me choose brands and explained the difference between one-piece and two-piece rackets. At his suggestion, I picked the cheapest one-piece and got some grip tape, which he wound in for me. I still suck, but it won’t do to give up. Besides, I need the exercise.

***

I watched Prince Caspian on Friday evening. As I left the theatre surrounded by girls wetting themselves over Ben Barnes, I was silently musing over subversively underage William Moseley, who looks like Frankie.

I’m not a film buff, so I’m not in a position to do a serious review. But I think it was excellently made, and I particularly liked the cinematography and the battle scenes (or maybe I just really like medieval weapons). I think Skandar Keynes did exceptionally well as Edmund Pevensie — he is either naturally talented or he’s one of those rare actors who give their 100% into every role.

They also did well to subtly highlight Susan’s adolescence — a hint of healthy bosom during the first night back in Narnia, curve-accenting bodices and off-shoulder dresses, and just because it’s worth mentioning, that all-important kiss. I think it’s important because Susan grows up to be an attractive queen later in the series, and her eventual sexual development (and how Aslan takes to it) is a controversial matter in literary circles.

The Voyage of the Dawn Treader is slated for 2010, and although Moseley will be playing a smaller role — it’s just Edmund and Lucy on board — I’m looking forward to it because it’s my favourite book in the series.

The Mistmantle Chronicles

I planned on reading Al Gore’s The Assault on Reason a couple of weeks ago, but decided I needed more cheer and picked up M.I. McAllister’s Mistmantle Chronicles instead. Now here’s a story that could keep me up until 3am, knowing jolly well that I had a full day’s work ahead of me. I’ve always liked talking animals, and here’s an island full of them — squirrels, otters, hedgehogs, and moles! With little golden swords! Cuteness overload.

The story is about Urchin, a mysteriously pale squirrel who lands on Mistmantle Island on a night of riding stars. He is sort of the town freak because of his colour, but he’s got a few good friends, and like every animal on the island, he dreams of one day working in the Tower. When he gets signed on as a page for Crispin, one of the Tower captains, he is elated — until he reports for his first day, which coincides with the murder of the newborn Prince Tumble. What follows is a combination of fable and murder mystery, told with childlike wonder and the vivid narrative of one who may well have lived amongst talking squirrels.

I don’t know if it’s a good or bad thing, but there are a few Harry Potter parallelisms in the story begging to be pointed out. Like HP, Urchin of the Riding Stars starts out as a shy, unassuming common squirrel, gets appointed to the Tower, and grows into a celebrity of sorts. He has two best friends, a girl hedgehog and a boy squirrel, with the male behaving suspiciously like Ron Weasley toward the end of Book 3. There’s even a Dumbledore-ish old squirrel, Brother Fir, and a young female reminiscent of Malfoy.

Potter comparisons aside, Mistmantle is a thoroughly enjoyable series, if you can forgive a bit of melodrama every few chapters. Lots of twists and turns (especially for a children’s story), fascinating characters, and a mystical setting work together to tell a big story in a simple, charming way. It reads every bit like a children’s book and that’s a fresh and welcome change — I have read many children’s books that baffle my 23-year-old self, and far too many adult books more suited to five-year-olds.

***

So I finally picked up Al Gore last night. From talking squirrels to sociopolitical discourse, haha. We’ll see how it goes.

The Meantime Dog

I haven’t had much time to unwind (I don’t skip work on a regular basis unlike some people I know), so until work loosens up, I leave you with a photo of my virginal shih tzu, Dao.

Canon EOS 30D
EF 50mm f/1.8
ISO 400

He is the perfect photographic subject. Dress him up like that and he’ll actually hold a pose for you. He and my 50mm lens are now best friends.

I know it’s too early to start demanding closure from myself. It’s barely a month since my father died, and by all means I still have the right to be wallowing in sadness. Instead I chose to be angry, which is how I’ve dealt with sadness for as long as I can remember. I’m angry at his doctors for being slow (the disease, whatever it was, killed him before it could be diagnosed — we still don’t know what he had), and I kept lashing out at people for the smallest of things, and I find myself digging up age-old grudges just for the sake of being angry.

The whole experience has made me lose faith in a lot of things. I lost faith in the medical profession, I lost faith in religion, and I lost faith in my own willpower. We got the best doctors in the country, we had people praying for him every day, and I spent nights at his bedside, willing him to get better. If none of those could save my dad’s life — because I refuse to believe it was just his time — then nothing is worth believing in.

I’d like to believe there is a God and a heaven, because it means my dad is somewhere good, where he’s taken care of. But then that would be the same God that took him away. I would blame the country’s shitty healthcare system, but that would get me nowhere either. I have all this emotion, you see, and I don’t know where to put it.

I want closure, please. I want to finish this chapter of my life, fast-forward to when I’m past my grief and I don’t have to cover up with anger anymore.

I miss you every day, dad. I still wish you hadn’t left.

Tinkerbell

Meet my new friend, Tinkerbell.

I picked her up at the Shangri-La this afternoon and immediately took her on her first train ride. I have yet to warm up to her, though. She’s a complex creature — perhaps a bit too complex for my 130 IQ — and I think I keep pressing all her bad buttons. I have trouble getting her to focus. I do not even know how to charge her.

If inanimate objects could talk, Tinkerbell would probably call me an overindulgent dunderhead with all the technical ability of a moth.

But I shall conquer her someday, the way I conquered Dublin, her predecessor. That’s what user manuals are for.

In the meantime, let me indulge in the requisite here-i-am-with-my-new-camera shot, a tradition practised by all the world’s happy photographers.

***

I need a tan. I do not have the height to pull off the Russian Ice Queen look. Beach, anyone?

***

My sister Alex does crazy things on a regular basis, but I think she pretty much out-crazied herself by selling a cousin on eBay. She is the kind of person who keeps you on your toes wondering what she’ll do next. So yeah, I wonder what her next monumental feat will be. Save for the occasional earlobe-ripping (and cousin-peddling, I suppose), she is growing up to be a rather fascinating person.

Telemarketers and green mango juice

So, I know that call centers create jobs, keep the economy going, and support Friedman’s theory that the world is going flat. The only bad thing they do is lure college kids out of school, but I’m not one to speak. Besides, I do know some very decent people who work in call centers.

Some of them could use sensitivity training, though. Maybe throw in some comprehension skills. Take this one agent, for example, who called my house yesterday afternoon. Our conversation went like this:

Agent: Can I talk to Joel Ruivivar, please?
Me: He’s dead.
Agent: Oh, well can I leave a message? (seriously.)
Me: He’s dead. Patay na.
Agent: Oh, I’m sorry. Are you his daughter?
Me: Yeah.
Agent: How old are you?
Me: 23.
Agent: Would you like a credit card?
Me (thinks): Would you like a potato down your throat?
Me (out loud): No, thank you. *puts phone down*

It would’ve been the highlight of my day, except that Alex came home later with a brand new juice extractor. Freshly squeezed green mango juice = the meaning of life.

Cloud Crash and other photos

I’ve been going to Ligao every year since I was three, so you’d think I’d know it like the back of my hand. It’s a town you can walk around in a day (I think) — there are no malls, no theatres, and just a few obscure restaurants. Large expanses of uninhabited land dot the place, and there must be as many cows as there are people. But I keep learning things about it every time. It’s a fascinating little town

This time, I discovered Kawa-kawa, a mountain just a few blocks from our house. How it has stood there all these years without my knowing is beyond me, but that’s beside the point. I brought Dublin, my camera, and went crazy. We started the hike at 4.30 and reached the top just in time for the sunset. Perfect.

This is my favourite picture from the lot. (Click for full view — recommended )

***

Here are some other shots from recent photo trips

“Peekaboo”
Shutter Speed: 1 second
F Number: F/3.5
Focal Length: 67 mm
ISO Speed: 200

“Smoke”
Shutter Speed: 1/101 second
F Number: F/4.0
Focal Length: 6 mm
ISO Speed: 80

“Treetop Magic”
Shutter Speed: 1/125 second
F Number: F/4.0
Focal Length: 12 mm
ISO Speed: 80

“Swan Head”
Shutter Speed: 1/30 second
F Number: F/2.7
Focal Length: 6 mm
ISO Speed: 80

Final word

I’ve lost important people before, but my father was the person I was most afraid of losing.

He was always Superman to me, but what I didn’t realise was that my dad was a hero to many other people. He sent children to school, gave people jobs, lifted friends out of poverty, saved the life of a dying comrade who couldn’t afford hospital care. The people who cried at his wake came from all walks of life: the wealthy and the homeless, the powerful and the rank-and-file, all mourning the way one would for a friend who died when he shouldn’t have.

Uncles and friends have offered to take his place, but I never wanted to be anyone else’s child. I will always be Joel’s daughter. I don’t care that we never lived in a big house or had a nice car; my dad made his fortune not to make us rich, but to make life better for other people.

My dad was one of the last good men in government. Men in his position would have been filthy rich, but he made it a point never to take anything he didn’t work hard for. So our house may be small, but at least it doesn’t have corruption written all over it. My dad left me nothing but a good name, and that is more than enough.

Thank you for everything, dad. If I can become half the person you were, I can say I’ve lived a good life.

My dad just got admitted into heaven, or wherever it is good people go. He was the best dad and the best person in the world.

Smorg

The thing about freelancing is that your free time is never really free. With a regular office job, you step out of your cube at 5 and have the rest of the day to yourself. But when your life isn’t nine-to-five, you think about work ALL the time. I could be on some beach in Queensland right now and I’d still be thinking about deadlines. There is always something to get back to, obligations looming over your leisure time like a raincloud on a sunny day.

I don’t plan on living like this for long. I’ll work as long as the clients keep coming, or when I feel I’ve learned enough. Eventually I’d like to make a living off my environmental blog, which is still in the works but pretty much all planned out in my head. I might take up further studies in ecology, work on my French, continue with Edemia and other personal projects with Frankie. Maybe if I work hard enough, I can finally get that European road trip, build my dream library, or retire in Ireland by 35.

I get fed up sometimes, but it helps to know I’m working hard to get the life I want, whatever it is.

***

I finished reading The Good Fairies of New York by Martin Millar last week. It’s a multi-layered but charmingly simple story about fairy clans, a fat, untalented fiddler, a pretty girl with kleptomania and Crohn’s disease, an evasive Welsh poppy, and old tramps that keep dying on a New York street corner. It’s very Gaiman-ish (Gaiman did write the foreword) in style and tone, but perhaps a bit lighter in theme. My cousin Karine didn’t like the pacing, but I think the story’s good enough to justify it. Read it if you’re interested in fairy wars and Scottish clan treasures, but skip if you’re turned off by incestuous fairy sex.

Next on my list: The Assault on Reason by Al Gore.

***

I’m looking forward to picking up jogging again. Before my dad got sick, I ran three miles every afternoon and did weight training at least twice a week. These days, all the exercise I ever get is running to the nurse station once in a while for hot water and painkillers. That, and giving my dog a quick walk on evenings when there’s someone to take over for me.

I’m thinking of getting new trainers to reward myself when all this is over. Nike promotes child labour, so I’m looking at other brands.

My dad would give me advice if he could talk. Damn respirators.

***

It’s been my personal tradition to photograph the sunflowers at UP Diliman every year. Every summer they line University Avenue with sunflowers, so it looks all bright and… summery. I haven’t had time to go this year, but I’m trying to arrange a photo shoot with Ria and Jinggay (and whoever wants to come) sometime next week.

In the meantime, here’s a photo from three years ago.

It’s called Ultimatum Est because it was the last day of summer class.