Kitty Litter

Attempting a “Why I Write” at this time is futile, because no one who loves writing will ever finish saying her or his piece on the subject. It is easier, though, to talk about why you work. There’s the basics: you work for a living, to survive, to save up, to help the country, to whatever.

But then there are other factors that make you stick to your work, and make you do a good job. I realized it was time to leave UP when I began snapping at incompetent students, becoming dismissive of the slow ones, and being openly partial to the brilliant ones; effective teachers should not even go there.

Now that I have other work, I begin to understand the seduction of the UP schedule for someone like me: the freedom. Of course the sidelines kept me fed and above water. But it also allowed me time with myself.

I now understand that I am a bit of a plodder. I am not a magnificent jill-of-all-trades, and accepting that I am very good at some things and hopeless at others (you should see me play badminton; imagine a female Mr. Bean) helps reduce my insecurities and gives me a level of contentment that keeps me happy. When you quit striving for the impossible, and learn to go for what you’re good at may kill some people, especially those who were born to reach for the stars. But not me; I like knowing my limits, and working as well as I can within my limits gives me great satisfaction.

Currently I’m up to my neck in work (and look at me typing away at this blog post, nyaha). I’m copyediting for Sense and Style, writing a business/marketing plan (who, me?) for the NYTimes to plug it to advertisers, doing several articles, closing the next issue of Tales from the Enchanted Kingdom, and checking through student papers. Looming over me are the regular copyediting deadlines for Taste, Weddings, Moms Babies Dads, and proofing the NYTimes. At times, unless I constantly refer to my badly battered (this early in the year) planner, I may forget things.

But when I finish slaying the grammar demons and make sense out of a badly written article, or catch typos in the formerly invincible NYTimes sample PDFs, or see the light of comprehension on an English 1 student’s face when I explain the difference between the use of “which” and “that,” I feel like Superwoman.

Sure that’s really mababaw, but I’ve long since learned that when you take joy in the smallest of things, you’re happier. Which is not to say that I don’t have my downs; me sniveling on my wonderful boss Marbee last Christmas from work stress wasn’t one of my finest moments, and I believe I still owe her and my best friend a couple of shirts to replace the ones I got tears, sweat, and snot on. Seems that when you occasionally break down and ask for help, things become much easier. I’ve learned that I don’t have to do everything myself, and that I can say no. (Now if I can only curb my brutally honest mouth, things would be much better!)

Plus there’s the pride you take in a job well done. I’m a very good copy editor (perhaps because pintasera ako?), and I can get the job done quickly. Badly written articles are tossed to me so that I can save them and the writer in one go. Knowing that I am the go-to girl for crucial copyediting gives me a boost, and makes me want to work harder. Regardless of your profession, knowing you’re doing a good job is one of those unspoken benefits that you need to get from any job…and it makes you want to try harder.

The reason why I work very hard is because I value my free time. I like reading, attempting to stay fit, and snuggling with Wynn. I like curling up with a cat on my belly “making bread” as I read a Mrs. Murphy mystery. I like going to Tagaytay and just enjoying the clean cool air. I like shooting the bull with friends, and a week without laughter for me is a death sentence. If I get my job done well and done quickly, then I get to do all these things. It’s like paying my dues so that I can go home and get on with the real business of living.

Sure, it sounds like a boring life. No one is ever going to take me on an adventure, or call on me to save the world. (Of course anyone who tries is out of their gourd.) Someone once told me I was too passive, and it’s true; but it’s who I am. I think it was Collette who said that we should stop trying to be great so that we can be happy. And it’s not an underachiever philosophy. It’s just that, as you get older, you learn what’s important to you…and it’s not what the magazines or other people say is important. It’s what you learn over time that is important to you.

I’ve learned to listen to my body, especially when it says “No freaking way you’re gonna do THAT to me!” I am a very slow starter; I am no longer capable of leaping out of bed in the morning, jumping in the bathroom for a quick bath then setting off for a long day at work. I sleep seven to eight hours a day, drink lots of water, try to curb my rampaging appetite, and so on. The plus side is that I don’t need an alarm clock anymore. My body sleeps its fill nowadays; I’m careful to make sure that it does, because otherwise I become stupid and careless.

And because I know these things, I can head off to work, do my job well, and come home, both to bed and beloved, to get on with the rest of my life.