Earning your stripes

People, even my closest friends, would always regard me as being a ditz. Actually I choose to be this way. A ditz talks about shopping, boys and when something reaches a point of being uncomfortable, the ditz recoils to a place that is familiar but shallow. For a long time it has worked for me. No scandale aside from credit card bills waiting to be accounted for and maybe waiting for Mr. Last Night to text me and hope my pa-cute worked. But somewhere along the way—the ditz wanted something more. It was something that neither my pick-up lines nor battered credit card could ever get, it was my voice, and I knew I had to use it in the most efficient way possible.

Later on the fun thins a way like fabric that has stretched and tumbled. It becomes worn and unstable. You start to seek things that are more durable. In the end you realize that it is not the things around you that dictate your happiness — it all lies within yourself. You grasp the reality that the simplicity of finding gratification is to accept that you are responsible for your own happiness.

My friend always told me that nice girls finish last. Unfortunately I possess the aggression of a Labrador Retriever. It kills me: those shouldas and wouldas that all float into my Pandora’s box due to my lack of action. I would let things slide, close my eyes to things that I do not want to see and let people who irk me think I am OK. I realize that people find comfort in ranting because it’s cheaper than going to a shrink. The downside is that it makes you look like an ass. And that’s what I felt. I needed to take control. Some people live their lives with a certain belief that they will earn their stripes and secure their place in heaven if only they would take things and suffer the evils of others. As inarticulate as I am, I realize that being your own defense attorney in any situation is the way to go.

I realize certain things when you’re getting the shaft:

When you are caught in a Judy Ann moment and it does not sit well with you, speak up but always with poise. You actually might even be helpful. Lots of people fail to speak up because being Pinoy, we’d rather get the shaft than be scandalous. I was once pissed at a shoe lady who failed to deliver some shoes that I needed for a wedding. So I screamed at her like I owned the world and thus, was a total bitch. I lost two days of sleep after that. There is a way of doing things cleverly and both parties leave without feeling the weight of the world on their shoulders.

Know what you’re mad about but and try to check if you’re being sensible. Easier said than done. The sharper the curve, the harder you maneuver the steering wheel. Never argue when when you are overwhelmed with emotions. Do what you have to do when your emotions have worn off like last months’ newest trend. The power of emotions overriding your sensibility is so vast because the moment that you are tripping with your emotions, you always think you're right. Then later on when the clouds thin, you realize that it's all a mess.

Stand by your opinions but be open as well. Check out the flipside. Be a detective to your scandale and check if you are being OA (overacting). After this moment of introspection, you’ll know who to spank: yourself or the alleged perpetrator. Stand by your educated opinions and go on with life. I have a friend who was the kindest person but kept all the things that bothered her to herself. She was kind but unhappy. Being a martyr is so over like the peasant top. I realize that when you speak up in a dignified manner it relieves you of all the delilahs (craziness). Ranting, which is the opposite to being a martyr has no nutritional value as well.

I realize that by practising damage control, you spare yourself from being a total loser and hating yourself in the morning. It’s that grade school adage: Treat others according to how you want to be treated. I definitely am sick of getting the short end of the stick.

Getting out of ditz mode is quite a task. The comfort of third-grade thoughts is addictive and peaceful, however you cease to have a life. I find myself confronting my own demons and trying to find my place in the world. The best way to get your just deserts is to question yourself first. To put yourself on the offensive when you've done what you truly feel comfortable with—then fight! It’s futile to try to defend yourself in a situation wherein you know you are wrong. A pig can never pretend to be a cat. By accepting defeat you may have to shed some pride, but nonetheless gain nobility. However, there is a complexity in the weave of the truth wherein you don’t compromise your beliefs and accept your share of the deal in the scandale.

I once said that when one is wronged, there is a certain dignity in silence. I find myself going back to the past and erasing it. True, that is never a reason for scandal. I would rather have coal for dinner than be caught in an unsavory web of disgrace. However, it is only when you speak up that you become more aware of your self-respect and worth. Most of all you become self- possessed. Whether it’s a saleslady giving you horrendous service or your boyfriend being an hour late—keeping things in will only turn you into an emotional volcano.

I have found myself putting some of my friends in their place, being more expressive, having more guts and sometimes having to resort to being a bitch. It never is an easy ride in getting to that Utopic state of bliss and harmony. Sometimes you need to bring out that hammer and knock some stones out. You go through all the emotions: the guilt, the hesitation and sometimes the fear. But when it’s all over, you see the magnum opus — you see the person you’ve always wanted to be. That person is the best person to wake up to each morning for the rest of your life.

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On second thought: The line "Feminists are no better than chauvinists" from my column last week was obviously not cool because I failed to clarify some stuff. It’s the self-proclaimed feminists —those who practise a certain kind of morality i.e., having "husband wives" as a symbol of being femme superior — who are synonymous to being chauvinists. My apologies for any appalled feelings.