| Useless Rant (No Need To Read) |
[Feb. 4th, 2009|10:11 pm] |
Just came home from the park, where I spent about two hours, eating a Vanilla Almond biscotti and sipping an iced white mocha from Starbucks, which I paid for with my last 200 pesos. Ever heard the saying "Live like there's no tomorrow"? If I did just that, I'd be broke by sundown, just like I am right now. And what led to such an extravagant park experience? Well, nothing like an iced mocha and a hankie to blow off some steam. I threw away half of the biscotti. It was hard as rock and threatened the safety of my retainers. I spent some time in the park, to cool off, talked to some people via cellphone, and even as I lie on my bed, I'm still thinking about how my day just about reduced me to a blubbering idiot.
My day started okay, with me sleeping most of the morning away. I woke up at about eleven, took a long shower, and after getting dressed, headed out to the kitchen to make myself some brunch. I was going to make myself some coffee, when, lo and behold, I couldn't even find the coffee canister. Right then and there, I already felt like some bumbling idiot, who may have had a memory lapse as to where I put the coffee jar. It was either that, or someone stole my coffee. Neither idea sat well with me, and since I'm not typically a morning person, I already felt like a grouch during the first of my waking hours. After brunch, I headed off to driving school, where five hours of driving awaited. Oh goody.
The first few hours wasn't that bad, especially given the fact that I had to learn how to drive on EDSA, which is a 2 to 4-lane highway at best, and a 4 to 6-lane highway at worst. One way. That's okay, though. A highway, I could handle. I already did okay during my first day, yesterday, even though the engine sputtered and died a couple of times en route to MoA and Makati. Today was basically a review. The first few hours were okay. I just had to review driving in a straight line, changing lanes, shifting gears, parking, that sort of stuff. But by the time the 3rd hour rolled in, I was already feeling tired and cranky, my left leg was feeling a bit strained, and the traffic got worse, since it was already rush hour. As a result, I wasn't as alert as I was earlier, and given the amount of cars on the road, I was more stressed and panicky. I did okay in shifting down-gear earlier, when we basically practiced on deserted backroads. But my waterloo was still re-starting after a full stop. My engine kept dying because I couldn't quite get the feel of the gas pedal, and how much pressure I should put on it before I release the clutch. After practicing that a bit, I FINALLY got the hang of it, and so we were off once again to the busier streets. This is where it got a lot harder.
In my perfect world, it should be illegal to honk your horn at a student driver. Really. All it accomplishes is to make one feel flustered, and such a feeling leads to messing up whatever skills one has just recently acquired. And it should be a crime to cut in front of a student driver. I mean, I'm not even used to checking my side mirrors yet, since it's only my what, 7th hour of driving? I swear, I lost my peripheral vision, since I was concentrating on staying on my lane and a damned taxi cuts in front of me. I couldn't very well swerve to the left, since I might plow into a damned bus. What other choice do I have but to step on the brakes? And yes, to a seasoned driver, it would be a basic move to step on the clutch as well, but as a beginner, I panicked and stomped on the brake pedal alone. The result? My engine died again. And my instructor gives an exasperated sigh.
In my perfect world, drivers who don't follow traffic rules would be seriously fined. Like those who switch lanes without signaling, and those who overtake on the right, with inches to spare before they would graze the paint off my car. And rule-abiding drivers would give student drivers a wide berth, so as not to add to the poor soul's stress. It's stressful enough to try to get the hang of things inside the car. I shouldn't have to deal with buses coming at me from both sides, trying to squish my car. And in my opinion, there's a reason for creating bus lanes and PUV lanes. It's to make picking up and dropping off passengers safer and easier. I mean, what the hell is up with PUV's stopping in the middle of a busy highway, only to swerve to the right to pick up a passenger, and then swerve back to merge into your lane once again? If I had a hundred bucks for every time I swore mentally, my wallet would be overflowing. And if my driving instructor possessed telepathic powers, he'd be itching to scrub my brain with soap and water. My profanity level usually ranges only from sh*t and a** and d*mn, but today, I reached full f*ck stage. I couldn't help it. My nerves were shot, not only for having to deal with traffic, but with the driving instructor as well.
I get the fact that when you drive with a person who has only spent a few hours behind the wheel, you're putting your life in your hands. But when you're paid to teach that person, I believe that you should do your best to not make the person feel like the world's biggest imbecile and not show the said person that it may be more pleasurable to bang your head against the dashboard in frustration. I don't know, maybe I really am a slow learner when it comes to driving, and it's bad enough that I feel that way, but to be treated as a moron? That just sucks. Really. After three or four hours on the road, it gets tiring, and I don't know about others, but I feel less alert when I'm tired, and more panicky, since it was already rush hour and more and more cars were appearing on the road. And the engine kept shutting off, and I got more frustrated, and the instructor got more exasperated, so I became even more flustered, so the engine kept dying, and I felt like tearing my hair out, and the instructor looked like he wanted to hang himself. And such was the viscious cycle that made up the last two hours.
I hate feeling like an idiot. I really do. And I hate it even more when people actually treat me like an idiot. And the more pressured I become to prove them wrong, the worse I get. It just sucks. Or blows. Why do those two expressions mean the same thing anyway?
Today basically sucked. I couldn't find my morning coffee, my eyes are still swollen from the other night's allergy attack, I feel like moron for not getting the hang of driving, I'm broke, there's no one to talk to at home, and I couldn't even hug my dog because she's not here. Hmph. I'm getting a migraine. Oh well. A friend once said that people only blog when they're ranting, and there are only a few entries made when people are happy. In my case, that's mostly true. Thus, another one of my rants makes its way through cyberspace. And I think I feel better now.Goodnight. |
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| Desperate Housewife(?) Post 0001 |
[Jan. 30th, 2009|04:28 pm] |
Ahhh, some downtime. I spent the better part of the afternoon scrubbing the kitchen counter with a toothbrush and all-purpose cleaner. Why the toothbrush? Well, I'm reserving the bigger utility brush for the bathroom, once the water finally starts gushing through the pipes. And because good ol' trusty zonrox didn't help much, neither did the tile cleaner, aside from maybe giving me a high.
In my opinion, tiles should come with a disclaimer. Something like Warning: will cause hardship in a few years, or Tiles are easy to clean, spaces in between are not. That sort of stuff. I think I may have acquired Carpal Tunnel Syndrome from scrubbing between those itsy bitsy spaces. I've been eyeing them for weeks now, and when I first moved in, I sprayed it with zonrox. A week or so later, I sprayed it with some tile cleaner. And yes, the tiles became squeaky, sparkly clean, but the grout did not. Hmph. So finally, when I ran out of money to buy cleaning implements and everything else, like food and clothes, I stayed home and decided to do a little cleaning. Okay, a lot of cleaning. I tackled the stove, the counters, did the laundry, and obsessive-compulsively did the dishes. I now have a grease-free stove, dustless counters, fragrant clothes and a well-stacked dish rack. But alas, those damned tiles have yet to be tamed. Don't get me wrong, they look really clean right now. Except for those ugly splotches between the tiles that refuse to come off, even with zonrox, tile cleaner and the handy dandy toothbrush. I'm contemplating the merits of using muriatic acid vs. the necessity of keeping the skin on my hands right where they are. The hands win, of course.
In the course of repetitively scrubbing between the tiles, I have decided that when I get a house of my own, I will not let a single tile in. My bathroom and kitchen, and maybe the rest of the house, will be made of marble. I'll have someone bulldoze a few mountains, just so I can have my marble floors and counters installed. Imagine the beauty of hard, shiny rock, with absolutely no space in between slabs. Ah yes, I could easily get the dust, grime or whatever unholy stain out, with just a swipe of a rag. Easy enough to do. Easier even, if I have enough money to hire myself a couple of housekeepers. Then again, if I have enough money for a marble house, I sure as hell have enough money to spare for housekeepers. Plus, marble is a great self-defense tool as well. If any intruders manage to slip through my Siberian Huskies, I could just clothesline them and smash their heads against the floor. Voila, concussed unconscious person. And the bloodstains would be easy to get out too.
Since I'm already discussing the benefits of having a marble house, I could easily add another one, simply to convince myself that the benefits do outweigh the cost. First, there's the easy upkeep, second is that it acts as a security system, and the third? Well, when I'm too old to move around, and my husband dies ahead of me, and all my kids have abandoned me in favor of a richer life, then I could just hire a caretaker. For both me and my house. All I would do is lounge in bed, laze around with dvds (or whatever would replace them in the next few decades, say maybe holographic movies). So there I would lie, watching reruns of Gossip Girl and One Tree Hill and whatever shows that have hot guys in it, regardless of plotlines. I'd be too senile to understand anyway. Anyway, there I will be, lazing about in my King-sized water bed, with a callbell at my side and trusty servants at my beck and call. I'll just lay there, in my own version of paradise and await my death. And when I die, my family could just seal me in and close off my marble house, which would then be my mausoleum. Just as other cultures give their dead the fare to cross the River Styx, or food, clothing, and treasure to accompany them to their next life, I, too, would have all the comforts I have acquired in my spoiled, bratty existence.
Oh well... I suppose the fumes of the tile cleaner must have messed up my brain after all. |
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| Smellvile |
[Jan. 30th, 2009|04:11 pm] |
I MISS YOU GUYS!!!!
Sorry, I've been too lazy, I've been meaning to catch up, but... yeah, still lazy. But I wanna let you guys know that I MISS YOU!!!!
So... forgive me? Please? ^_^ |
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| I AM ALIVE!!! |
[Mar. 27th, 2007|10:23 pm] |
Ladies and Gentlemen (if any), I, the supercalifragelisticexpialidocious callipygian bodacious Cesbomb, am alive! *insert evil cackle here*
Oh wow... suddenly, this feels so alien. Me updating eljay, I mean. It's been quite a while, about three months? Almost four months, I guess. Yes, I've been lazy busy. ^_____^
So, here's what I've been up to the past few months:
( January --- )
( February --- )
( March --- )
~~~~~~~~~~~
And just coz it's been a long time since I've posted stuff like these:
( Read more... )
~~~~~~~~~
That's all for today! I miss you guys sooooooooooo much!!! Thanks to everyone who remembered my birthday. ^_^ Ren, see you at my birthday party!!! (Wahehe... that made us sound like we're eight years old. ^_^) |
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| Pic Spam |
[Dec. 3rd, 2006|06:14 pm] |
Wahah! Just spamming eljay with my face pictures from the Ateneo Fiesta, just as I promised sY-chan.
( Get ready to <s>barf</s> enjoy! )
Kitty, btw, we went against CLA for the championship. Uhm... Grade School kinda gave us a better fight. CLA's handling was all over the place, and they didn't have any spikers, unlike Grade School, on both counts. Unfortunately, my team was overconfident/tense/pressured(probably because I commanded them to win in three sets during the best-of-five game. Haha!) and so, due to our deluge of errors, it was a close fight. Haha! Miss yah!
Anyway, The College of Nursing once again won as Over-all Champion for the Ateneo Fiesta, despite the handicapping and the new tally system. We also won as Sports Champions and Non-sport Events Champions, much to the dismay and disgust of the other colleges. Yey! |
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| Tired. |
[Nov. 24th, 2006|04:51 pm] |
| [ | mood |
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Hooboy... just got home from school. I haven't been to any of my classes in a week, because of volleyball practice for the upcoming Ateneo Fiesta (which starts tomorrow, by the way). It's a week-long celebration, with lots of sports, games, music, food, and food. I was planning to join volleyball, and either debate or basketball this year, unfortunately, the COllege of Nursing is restricted to having one event per student, unlike the past year's one sport, one non-sport for every student. And since I'm this year's volleyball captain for the Nursing team, I obviously can't join any other event. And so I've spent most of the week practicing with my team. I'm worried. Gyaaah. And pressured. We've been volleyball champs the past two years, and most of my team from last year already graduated, and now, I have a lot of new players, some of whom aren't that good, compared to the reserves of last year. WE NEED TO WIN. I hate losing. I'm tired. This entry seems disjointed. Too tired and too lazy to edit. Maybe I'll look back on this entry someday and laugh at my incoherence. Wah. Goodnight. |
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| (no subject) |
[Oct. 16th, 2006|12:14 am] |
GYAAAAH! This was gonna start out as a happy post, but I redid my nails, and they look horrible, and I'm not too happy anymore. Tooopid nails. I should learn how to do them myself so I won't go broke everytime I wanna feel girly. And no, it's NOT kaartehan *glares at someone*
Anyway, it's the end of the sem, and I just thought I'd pic-spam some of the stuff I found at various locations in the city.
( Insanity )
That's it for tonight. It's so damn difficult to type with semi-wet nail polish. Dammit! |
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| Nice day for a rant. |
[Sep. 18th, 2006|07:34 pm] |
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Apparently, I'm fat. According to Filipina standards, I'm overweight, all 5'1'' and 128 pounds of me. And even if I don't see myself as fat, everyone I encounter has made it their personal obligation to tell me that I look about the same as a baby hippo. Remind me again why it's unfortunate to have a bit of curves and adipose on one's body? I weigh a hundred and twenty-eight friggin' pounds, nowhere near enough to be considered as a medical emergency. I shouldn't let myself be affected with all the negative comments I've been getting the past few weeks, but it just sucks when I meet a person I haven't seen in three months or so, and the first thing that comes out of her mouth is, "Wow, you're fat!" Not, "Wow, you're fatter," but FAT. It takes every ounce of self-control to not reply with, "Good gawd, you're still ugly!" Ah well. Maybe one day, I'll lose enough self-control and buy that shirt Ren and I saw in Manila that says "Skinny People Suck." I'd wear it to school, too, just like how I wear my "I See Dumb People" shirt. |
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| Housewife Post #01 |
[Jun. 23rd, 2006|09:37 pm] |
Tonight, I experimented with chicken. Not in the usual dismember-slash-mutilate psycho way, but in the cut-and-garnish way. I cooked.
Ahehe, I think I was somewhat successful in my experiment, since my brother ate it without complaints. Now, all I have to do is to pray that we won't have adverse reactions, like difficulty in breathing or sprouting wings.
Anyway, for anyone interested in trying out my recipe for Chicken Thingy Omelette, here's what you need:
1/2 kilo chicken breast
chicken cube
1 onion, medium-sized
around 6 cloves of garlic
pepper
salt
4 eggs
cornstarch
What to do:
1. Boil chicken for 10-15 minutes or so. Add salt and chicken cube while boiling. (Yeah, yeah, cooking chicken with chicken cubes is redundant, but I thought it would add to the taste.)
2. Chop onion and garlic, then sprinkle some salt on it. It helps bring out the taste.
3. Beat 4 eggs together, add a little salt, and a little pepper. Depends on your preference, really, since I don't really measure how much crap I put in.
4. After boiling the chicken, allow it to cool down, then shred it into itsy bitsy pieces. Add the chicken, onion, and garlic to the eggs, and mix. Add some cornstarch, the quantity depends on how thick you want your mixture to be.
5. Fry!
6. The first omelette was my experiment. I tasted it after frying to find out what it lacked. Add salt/pepper to taste.
And that's about it!
Wehehe... post #01 as a housewife. Without a husband, though. Ah, life sucks sometimes. |
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| Nyaaaaaa~ |
[Jun. 4th, 2006|07:13 pm] |
I am so dead. I just got my assignment from the Beacon Newsmagazine. Two assignments, actually. Both of which are focused on the negative sides of the College of Nursing: low passing rate in board exams, and grade miscalculation.
Oy vey. Here I thought my blacklisted status in my college couldn't get any worse, but then along come the assignments. The editor is out to get me. (KITTY! YOU SHOULD BE HERE FOR MORAL SUPPORT, BIYATCH!!! THE WICKED WITCH IS RUINING MY LIFE!!!)
I suppose I could hand in my shifter's forms now. After all, after these articles get published, I might as well be persona non grata in the College of Nursing. *sigh* |
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| (no subject) |
[Jun. 1st, 2006|06:49 pm] |
I wonder why people pick jobs that require them to be of service to people, and YET, when they are required to wait on other people, they turn into horrible grouches. Take our librarian, for example. She's the high and mighty Queen of the Books, and she prowls the aisles of the library waiting for people to prey upon. She's right there, standing in the center, watching like a hawk, until time comes when she could descend upon us hapless students to scold us into high heavens. We're in the library to study (yes, there are rare times when I go to the library to ogle guys from behind a stack of microbiology books), and we cannot even have a group discussion without being sent out.
And today, I had to put up with the grouchiest people imaginable. They probably felt like they were sitting on porcupines, the way they ripped into us for disturbing the air in their workspace. Toopid.
Joe and I went to Zamboanga City Medical Center to get some lab tests done in preparation for our rotations in operating and delivery rooms. First, we submitted specimens for a fecalysis, and the guy who entertained us shoved tiny pieces of paper down his desk until it landed in front of us. When said slips of paper where under our nostrils, he jabbed his finger randomly to different spots on the paper, saying, "Name. OR Number. Age."
While we were staring blankly at the man, he rolled his eyes and said told us to hurry up because the lab is only open until 10 am. It was 9:30 that time. It took a few seconds before it registered in our brains (which, by the way, still have hangovers from summer vacation) that we were supposed to write down our names, the OR numbers, and our age on the itty bitty piece of blue paper. By the time we were done, he swept back into his dungeon which he calls a lab, and left us to fend for ourselves. Seeing other specimen containers on the table, Joe and I decided to just dump our own containers on the tray, along with our blue slips. They'll find it there, anyway.
After submitting the stuff for our fecalysis, we went up to the third floor for Hepa Screening. We gave our receipt to the woman sitting at the desk. She shooed us away with a wave of her hand and said in her imperiously nasal voice, "Downstairs."
I eloquently answered, "Huh?", to which I received my second eyeroll for the day. "First floor. Go down. Only drug testing here."
And so, we went back downstairs, and got in line for the Hepa screening thing. When it was my turn, the medtech asked me, "Hepa?" I nodded. She turned to her companion. "She's here for hepa." Companion replied. "Okay."
Long pause.
"You want to do it?"
"Do you?"
"You can do it."
"Yeah, but if you want to, go ahead."
They were saying this while someone was already putting a tourniquet on my arm, without even looking. Amazing. If I wasn't so scared, I would have been angry. The first medtech was preparing the syringe while talking to her companion, and she was pushing the air out of the barrel a couple of times until she handed me another slip, pink one this time. "Name, Age, OR Number."
I knew what to do this time, so I wrote down the info, and handed back the slip even before she uncapped the syringe. This was about the time I looked away from the needle, because I am still scared of my own blood. After she drew blood, she pushed a cotton ball down on my arm. I was waiting for her to get some plaster for it, but no, she just looked at me, rolled her eyes (my third of the day), and pushed down on the cotton ball, and bent my arm at the elbow to hold it in place. Then the other medtech pulled my arm back down, and said, "Hey, didn't the American doctor say not to bend the arm, coz that would cause a hematoma?"
The other medtech replied, "We're in the Philippines. WHat would the American doctor know about stuff here?" And with that, she bent my elbow yet again.
I was still staring at them, wondering which one to believe, when the medtech who drew blood motioned for me to get out of my seat so they can accomodate another hapless victim. Making sure to act as insolent as I could, I took my purse, looked down on the vials of blood, and then at them, and walked out of the room to go back to the third floor for my friggin' drug test.
When we got back to the third floor, we gave our receipts yet again to that same dragon lady at the table. Finally, she took them, shoved some forms into our hands and told us to leave the room while we fill up the forms. If she sees people filling up forms inside the room, she won't entertain their requests. Or so, she said.
Joe and I filled up the forms, and gave them back in record time. The woman sighed, "You didn't complete them." And with that, she pointed to the blank space near the heading of the form, and said, "OR Number." Now, how were we supposed to know that we needed the OR number, when all that was there was A BLANK SPACE!!! Not the type where is says (INFO)________ but a totally blank space. We decided that it wasn't the time to start a fight, so we just complied. We waited for about half an hour before it was our turn for the test. We needed to give them urine samples by peeing in a container, which they duly sealed and labeled. There were strips of paper tape on the table, and the woman was tapping on one of them while she talked to her companion. Then she looked up at me and sneered, "What's wrong with you? Sign THERE! Don't you understand that when I point, you're supposed to sign?"
I signed it, and for the second time that day, staged another prissy walk-out.
I don't get it. Why do people take jobs that require them to be public servants, and when the public needs to be served, they act like we're wasting their time? I don't understand why people feel the need to work in an environment where they are required to interact with people, and yet they act like they couldn't be bothered. They don't tell us anything if we don't ask, and they snarl at us when we don't know what to do because of the instructions they didn't give. WHY???
I was complaining about this all the way down the stairs, when another student who waited a few hours for her turn just smirked and said, "They're always grumpy when they don't get any. Don't take it personally."
Ahhh. |
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| Gah |
[May. 30th, 2006|11:07 am] |
I spent the last two days suffering without my beloved DSL. I tried everything from reconnecting the modem to resetting the LAN card. Unfortunately, I missed the obvious reason as to why my internet wouldn't work.
Cookie chewed through the cable.
Toopid, toopid dog! If she wasn't so cute, I would have... I don't know, deprived her of dog food or something. Grrr!
The little pig!!! As if feeding her wasn't enough (she eats both her AND scrappy's food), she just HAD to eat the cable. GRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!! |
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| Dedicated to Queen Kong |
[May. 24th, 2006|06:03 pm] |
Since she loved the gender-endowed restrooms so much, I decided to take this pic in memory of one of the biyatchiest members of the Shades Brigade (I couldn't decide who's biyatchier between you or Joeness, so "one of the..." will have to do.) Come home, biyatch!
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| Things I learned this Week |
[May. 14th, 2006|09:50 pm] |
This week has been an educational one. There are a few things that I learned that is extremely helpful in my life as I know it.
1.) Never ever, ever, EVER be late to class when you need to pee.
This happened last tuesday. I was running late for class because I left the house late. Since I drank lots of water before leaving the house, I was needed to pee really badly by the time I got to school. Unfortunately, I couldn't afford to be more than fifteen minutes late, otherwise that would count as a cut. I couldn't cut any more classes because I was absent the entire first week of class. And so, as a result, I rushed to class, intending to be there by the time the teacher calls the roll, and then slip out to pee, and then slip back in just in time for the lecture. UNFORTUNATELY, we had an exam, and I couldn't leave anytime while taking the exam without handing in my paper first. SO, I rushed through my exam, finishing the entire 60-point, all-essay test in fifteen minutes or so. My bladder hurt so friggin' bad, I was tempted to gouge it out with a spoon.
2. Fizah's omelette is tasty.
Yes, I actually cooked something without burning it through the pan! I poured in too much oyster sauce though, but it turned out okay when I ate it with rice.
3. I need more sleep.
Someone complimented my on my "smokey eyeshadow". Trouble was, I wasn't wearing eyeshadow. I was wearing eyeliner. I thought it just got smudged, but then I took a trip to the restroom, and saw that not only were they smudged, they complemented the dark circles under my eyes perfectly! I realized I could save on make-up. I could lose more sleep, watch the circles grow bigger, and try to pass it off as "goth". Yeah, right. Goth, my ass.
4. Dogs get drunk, too.
Heehee! Gave Cookie some Brandy. Mwahahaha! She was uber giddy after some time. And she started chasing her tail. NYAHAHAHAHAHA!
Gah.. I forgot what else I learned that's important. Ahehe. Maybe next time. |
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| (no subject) |
[Mar. 29th, 2006|02:19 pm] |
I miss Manila.
Someone please send me a ticket for Manila!
PLEASE!!! |
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| To All Zamboangenios Who Come Across This Entry |
[Mar. 23rd, 2006|11:47 pm] |
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There was a fire this evening at Camino Nuevo, this city. Evacuees are now housed at the Ateneo de Zamboanga University campus. Donations, be they in cash or kind, are needed to aid the victims of this disaster. Please bring all donations tomorrow, March 24, 2006 to the SACSI office, at the ADZU campus. Thank you very much for your help. |
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| Disgusting. Absolutely Disgusting. |
[Feb. 26th, 2006|09:03 pm] |
The Philippines is turning into a fantastic craphill. Friday, February 24, 2006 marked the beginning of democracy's slow death. Presidential Proclamation 1017 was issued. The Philippines is officially under a State of Emergency.
Sunday, February 26, 2006, Gen. Renato Miranda, commandant of the Philippine Marine Corps is relieved of his duty. Supporters rally to the Marine Headquarters, openly declaring loyalty to Gen. Miranda. According to Presidential Chief of Staff Michael Defensor, "Marine HQ Tension spoiled lifting of 1017', stating that 'there is a basis for 1017 since there are forces that needed to be put under control.'
If our esteemed 'President' didn't cheat in the 2004 elections, these respectable officers wouldn't be so disgruntled. After all, who wouldn't be? All the while, they risk life and limb fighting for freedom and peace, and yet, here comes our president who willfully corrupts the system because of she is indebted to the corrupt officials who put her in power in the first place. She is evil and vindictive, and we, the Filipino people, have to pay for it.
What would it take for her to realize that the Philippines is in a downward spiral because of her? The stampede at Ultra that killed more than 70 people and injured hundreds of others is an indication of what people are willing to go through in order to rise above their poverty-stricken lives. They were standing in line for a dream, and got killed in the process. People have taken to going to the streets, to rally for a change in our corrupt government. Instead of getting a sympathetic ear, they got facefuls of water cannons with an extra dose of police brutality. Media reports are being censored, and a publishing house was raided. Military men are in a state of unrest. How long would it take for the Filipinos to snap? It seems like we're at the end of the thread, and the tip we're holding on to is too frayed for comfort.
Kudos to those people who have the strength, and the conviction, to stand up for what the believe in. May we have a better Philippines to look forward to. Right now, it doesn't seem too hopeful, since all the dreams of a better country lie behind the fantastic craphill. |
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| Huwaw!!! |
[Feb. 8th, 2006|09:23 pm] |
I helped deliver a baby today!!!
It was fun, and scary, and educational at the same time! Fun, because I almost never feel like I'm a nursing student except when I'm doing things like checking blood pressures or giving injections. Scary because... I'm scared of blood. And educational, obviously, because I finally get to see what my teachers keep yacking about during boring lectures.
I am starting to love Mercedes Health Center. It seems like I get to do a lot when I'm at that particular health center, like today.
It was amazing. At first, I only volunteered to keep track of the contractions that the mother was having. It was exciting, feeling the abdomen stiffen and contract every few minutes or so, until suddenly the contractions were almost nonstop. And then the midwife convinced her to walk to the delivery room from the lying-in room... yes, she had to walk, because there are no stretchers, funds for stretchers, or room for stretchers at government-supported health centers. Yes, we're that poor.
Anyway, the mother had to get up, and start walking toward the delivery room. Then, suddenly her water broke, right as she got up. There was no other choice, but to let her lie down on one of the beds in the lying-in room. The air was suddenly alive with anticipation, knowing that another person was going to come into the world. I stayed and watched, and wanted to call my other groupmates in so we could all observe the delivery, but all of a sudden, someone was pushing a pack of gloves into my hand and telling me to maintain sterility while putting them on. My hands were shaking as I struggled to get them on, and my Clinical Instructor was already pushing me toward the bed where the midwife and nurse were already attending to the mother. I was struggling with my gloves, and when I finally had them on, the mother was already bearing down. Barely a minute later, a little baby girl came out of her vaginal canal. The nurse held the baby, while the midwife used forceps to clamp down the baby's umbilical cord. Then the midwife ordered me to pick up the surgical scissors and cut the umbilical cord.
It was like cutting through a thin garden hose. The cord was slick with fluids, and a bit slippery, and I was so afraid that I'd cut through it and slice into the midwife's finger. My hand was shaking as I cut the cord, but it was finally over. I cut through, and as minor as the procedure may seem, I felt accomplished. I thought that my work was done, but the midwife told me to wait for the placenta to come out. So, I stood there, coiling the cut umbilical cord around the forceps, and moving it in an up-down, left-right motion, until the rest of the cord came out of the mother. Then I had to keep coiling, and moving up-and-down-left-and-right, until there was a gush of blood. The nurse pushed down on the globular bulge on the mother's abdomen, and the midwife gently pulled on the rest of the umbilical cord until the placenta was expelled. She gave it to me to put into the kidney basin. I almost felt like crying. My eyes were tearing up, because up until that moment, I have never seen a woman's vagina up close, or smelled so much blood that had such strong metallic odor, or held an organ expelled by one's body in my hand. Plus, I am... or was, rather, scared of blood (though I'm pretty sure the experience cured it). With a bloody placenta in my hands, it was a miracle I didn't faint, although my groupmates were all laughing about how pale I was, or how violently my hands were shaking as I carried the placenta away.
The placenta looked like an engorged heart. It was this solid mass of bloody tissue, and it was still incredibly warm as I deposited it into a plastic bag and gave it to the midwife to give to the baby's father. Here in the Philippines (or at least, in rural areas in the Philippines), there's a belief that when one gives birth, you'd have to take the placenta home with you. The placenta is said to be the baby's twin soul, and culture and tradition dictates that the family has to bury the placenta under a banana tree. The rationale behind this is because the banana has a somewhat semi-hollow, cool, water-filled stalk, and burying the child's "twin" under the banana tree would make the child grow up to be cool-headed. A lot of people still believe in this, and it even comes out as a question on the board exam. Although, I'm sure my mom didn't take my placenta with her when she left the hospital, and she certainly didn't bury it under a banana tree. She confirmed this when I asked her about it when I got home.
Witnessing a childbirth was incredible, but to actually help out... it was amazing. It's like magic, where it starts of with everyone scurrying around, everyone trying to do everything, and the excitement that builds up while everyone waits for that breathtaking moment that the child comes out, and then there's a lull in the activities when all anyone could hear is a baby's faint cry. It's like time stops at precisely that moment, and then the clock starts ticking again. And no matter what you're doing, if you're cleaning the baby up, waiting for the placenta to come out, or wiping the mother's brow, everyone around you feels the same. There's indescribable happiness that comes only when a child is born. |
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crammer's journal
