I do feel that the dark days of scarcity and despair are soon coming to an end (and damn me, if they do not). This sprouting feeling, unlike the ones that I had last year (or the year before that), is not a mere product of my worsening case of delusion (among others). It is, as a matter of fact, the effect of the long-awaited arrival, after so much frustrating delay, of a most fortunate event--one which promises to rescue me, even just slightly, from the wretched state of poverty where I have found myself dismally pickled in longer than I could care to admit. This fortunate occurrence has somewhat raised my spirits these past few days and restored some measure of hope within my poor decrepit heart, where once cynicism had comfortably called home, enough that I have gladly postponed my sad meeting with a truck in the middle of a busy highway. I still do tend to suspiciously eye it with the cautious optimism of someone who has borne so much disappointments, but only a fool would gaily wave his hands as such opportunity pass him by. I may very well be a fool, nevertheless, I shall not let it pass me by! No sir, by God, I shall not! I shall grab hold of its scrawny figurative neck (if it has one, and if it does not, grab hold of a nearest figurative appendage) and never shall I relinquish my grasp if there is still strength left in me. I shall hang on with the persistence and determination of a madman--or until I am dead. There! For, although it is truly an answer to my earnest prayers, which I am ever so grateful for, I fear it would be the last. If, heavens forbid, I fail here--ah! I dare not imagine it. I truly could not.

At any rate, before any of that (success or failure) should come to pass, I should perhaps resume where I had stopped last solely for the sake of my history's continuity, and perhaps to satisfy your curiosity. I will try to be brief, old boy, I promise.

Well, well--there I was, back in Cebu (I forget the exact date), sitting in a line towards a job interview in a very posh office, and feeling distinctly misplaced among the fair-skinned and smartly-dressed 'yuppies' of that city. I still have then, after all, the deep tan of a 'kargador'; and the time spent in a construction site did not help at all to uplift my somewhat diminished self-confidence (that or the fact that I was wearing an old shirt). Despite these misgivings, I must have done something right during the interview for I was hired by a call center company upon my very first try. My job, as you would have guessed, entailed addressing with artificial calm reserve the concerns of whining, sometimes verbally abusive, customers. I was ecstatic to have found employment with a handsome compensation, however, my happiness only lasted shortly. My nose disagreed strongly with the facility's unbearably nippy airconditioner, which seemed to run at full blast the entire day (forcing the unhappy occupants to wear winter clothes indoors during summer), giving me the worst case of colds ever in my entire life and a fever. I was forced to resign prematurely and that was the end of it. I came skulking back to Butuan (with a few pennies in my pocket) to help my parents, who seemed overly happy with my resignation, with their starting a new business. In the course of next few months, I was the cashier, the waiter, the janitor, and the goat-herder altogether--for a meager allowance. I felt like kicking myself, repeatedly and very hard indeed, for leaving my job in Cebu--and whatever reason I had for so doing suddenly seemed--insignificant.

Brief, as promised.

There is, however, a moment in Cebu that was worth mentioning about: my 'date' with Stella--who, for some reason, has found her way to where I was then staying. It was to be a night to remember, and perhaps a point where beautiful things could have begun. It was so until she decided to have me wait (the one thing I know she knew I hated most) an entire hour, transforming the feelings I had of excitement and romance... to pure loathing. After an endless tapping of fingers and a couple bottles of beer, she arrived finally. I was understandably upset for, if I had not (through text messaging) threatened to abscond and postpone our meeting, I believe she would have had me wait there until she hears the crowing of the roosters. She apologized and pleaded for my forgiveness, until the inclination to storm out with a sour face has been sufficiently allayed. We talked for a short while and, after expeditiously declining her invitation to further the evening, I bid her goodnight. I was simply not in the mood (or whatever it was she had so carelessly ruined), besides I had to wake up early in the morning. She would tease me afterwards, about why I rejected her request, saying that I was afraid of the Cebu night life. Ha!

Ah, my dear friend, my sole confidant! How have you been, eh? Dear me, you look neglected. Forgive me for having suddenly abandoned you--I was in desperate need of fresh air, lots of it. I should have been more mindful and said my goodbyes, despite how terrible I am at it, for I know blogs have feelings somehow. Yes, yes, I am aware that I have lost my head, for quite some time now, as a matter of fact. You should not point it out, you know--it is unbecoming of an inanimate object, especially you, to point out anything. You would be driven mad as well, no doubt, if you had the misfortune to endure what I was compelled to endure--for what end still eludes me. Perhaps it was to educate me regarding humility which, since no professor taught it when I was in school, fate decided to intervene for my benefit by fancying itself my tutor. Glad to learn it, however, I rather thought the lesson was a tad excessive. Anyway, I had managed to wade through it and I stand before you now a humbler man with much garbage to tell you. Pray, do sit down and, mind, not to litter the floor with your crumbs. There, that's a good fellow. Would you care for some tea before we start? No? Of course not, you can't have tea, how silly of me. Well, well--where should I begin?

It has long since been clear to me, even before my inception into the vocation of construction (no matter how insignificant my role is in that noble trade), that there would unavoidably be little room for professional growth nor any opportunity for expeditious prosperity (except perhaps if I were the very owner of the structure I am taking part in building). I have no hopes whatsoever, nor even an ambition, to rise beyond the office of timekeeper/labourer. I have too much pride, an inclination of one who has spent years of his life devoted to education, of which not even some months of toiling covered in dirt and grime and exposed to the harsh treatment of the elements could completely eliminate from my being. Notwithstanding my gratitude for having an employment with ample compensation—I could say, not without shame, that this trade is undeniably not for me. No, I can achieve more than just watching a damnable clock and hauling sacks of cement upon my back.

It was my objective from the very beginning to accept the offer in order to provide myself with the means of procuring much-needed funds to bring a pre-conceived 'plan' into realization. As previously intimated, I am at present vehemently harbouring a feeling of utter dejection and disgust for anything that has to do with 'nursing'—a feeling brought about by an annoying succession of misfortunes that wrought has havoc upon my dignity and self-respect as a professional)—not mentioning that, in the process, it has thrown me on the very verge (if not well within the dominion) of bankruptcy. I have given up nursing, at least for the moment—it is time for a change. Hence, a plan—primarily conceived to rescue myself from this mire of despair and poverty—by acquiring, as soon as possible, a stable employment that will provide me with a steady income, restore my demolished sense of worth, and grant me with much-yearned independence.

This 'plan' is very simple: go back to the city of Cebu and there find a dignified profession worthy of my—er—skills (if I indeed have anything left). Mind you, however, that it will be, in no way, connected with nursing nor any of the numerous fields of medicine. I have decided that I needed 'something' else. The 'where' was decided quite easily enough—it was the 'what' that has to be given a most careful consideration. I have a handful of choices and numerous preferences, however, I am not particular. I do need a job, after all—whatever it may be as long as it could satisfy my abject need of money. I have considerably narrowed down the fields, however, after a night of deliberation, without much difficulty. I then spent some time browsing the Internet (a place that has proven to be the unemployed's best friend) for open positions that fell within my criteria. After sending an application letter stating my eager interest for the jobs posted therein, and submitting my resume to the respective companies—it was only then an irksome matter of waiting for the employer's corresponding reply.

Ah, I usually loath waiting and I still do (especially when there is no need for it at all), however, I have learned that it is on some occasions unavoidable, at times even necessary, and is part, I guess, of most processes in this wretched world. Thus, I wait—for an email, a telephone call, perhaps a notification for a personal interview or something of the sort. In the meantime, I continue to perform my duties in the construction site, which makes the pain of waiting somewhat bearable, with an enthusiasm expected of someone who is eager and ready to leave. I did not have to wait much long, however, the much-awaited call came, just as I was beginning to become increasingly paranoid about its delay, summoning me for a 'job interview.' It was an instruction that needed no further entreaty nor repetition. I informed my employer of the necessity of my immediate departure and, before she had the chance of objecting, I was on the next available boat to the city of Cebu.

The Alchemist picked up a book that someone in the caravan had brought. Leafing through the pages, he found a story about Narcissus.

The alchemist knew the legend of Narcissus, a youth who daily knelt beside a lake to contemplate his own beauty. He was so fascinated by himself that, one morning, he fell into the lake and drowned. At the spot where he fell, a flower was born, which was called the narcissus.

But this was not how the author of the book ended the story.

He said that when Narcissus died, the Goddesses of the Forest appeared and found the lake, which had been fresh water, transformed into a lake of salty tears.

"Why do you weep?" the Goddesses asked.

"I weep for Narcissus," the lake replied.

"Ah, it is no surprise that you weep for Narcissus," they said, "for though we always pursued him in the forest, you alone could contemplate his beauty close at hand."

"But... was Narcissus beautiful?" the lake asked.

"Who better than you to know that?" the Goddesses said in wonder, "After all, it was by your banks that he knelt each day to contemplate himself."

The lake was silent for some time.

Finally it said, "I weep for Narcissus, but I never noticed that Narcissus was beautiful. I weep because, each time he knelt beside my banks, I could see, in the depths of his eyes, my own beauty reflected."

"What a lovely story," the alchemist thought.

~From The Alchemist by Paolo Coelho

After suffering an unpleasant episode of mild depression, which included recurrent thoughts of suicide through hanging, due to the pitiable state which lack of money induces, I have decided to quit my position as a nurse volunteer (which proved to be utterly fruitless, three months hence) and accepted an offer to work, of all places, in a construction site. I was only too glad to have received it, for there was absolutely nothing to be had in unnecessarily subjecting myself to the former, pursuing my dreams in futility while exacerbating the state of my diminished sense of pride and the abject inexistence of my personal finance; thus, I thought it fortunate indeed to finally have been graced with a real job with a generous and much-needed salary.

My job, which began almost immediately for the owner was most eager to start the construction right away, merely involved timekeeping (to ascertain that every worker starts and ends their duties in keeping with time) and supervising (to ascertain that everyone is attending their respective work and not involving themselves in other business other than that of which was specified to them which includes, but not limited to, standing idly or chatting excessively). I feel it is also within the scope of my job, though it wasn’t stated, to offer my help, even if unasked for, whenever the need arises. However, in time, manual labor became the principal focus of my employment for I found, during my daily rounds, that to be able to supervise the workers properly—one must join them.

In the course of three months, I have labored and toiled and have saved a humble sum of money (more than what I could have hope to obtain being a nurse) and have also acquired numerous cuts (one which was infected and proved such a nuisance as to require a month to heal) and minor bruises , brought back the vice of smoking, gained a wonderfully deep tan and a great appreciation for how fortunate I still am (which was the farthest thing from my mind the month before).

It is perhaps no secret that jobs which are physical in nature, such as to be found in a construction site, involves grueling, back-breaking work under the most oppressive of weather conditions (be it under the sun or under the rain) for minimal monetary compensation. Laborers, especially, who are engaged in most of the exhausting jobs (digging holes, shoveling sand and gravel, hauling bags of cement) only incur enough wage barely enough to get by a single day. Perhaps they are presented with no other choice, it is either go to work or go hungry—but I cannot help but admire their persistence and their ability to find amusement in their situation. I never found a bunch of people who talk about their tribulations in such a cheery manner (I always find them at it each morning). Gradually, I begin to feel that—all of my whining as to how my dreams have perfectly eluded me and all of my childish grumbling about my diminished sense of pride—now sound rather pathetic and insignificant. For the first time in a long while (I could not even remember when), I found myself with absolutely nothing to complain about.

I will not go into an extensive harangue over the reasons why there are such things as 'rich' and 'poor' and all of its social implications and what not (for I deem it absolutely useless as I do not have the solution). I only wish to impart the lesson that I have learned from those who 'toil under the sun'—which is to be grateful for what you already have and work hard for the things that you do not (whether they are things of necessity or luxury, really does not matter).