Deep blue something

This morning as I drove to work at 6:30 am, I saw a pleasant surprise climbing up the C5 off-ramp. I was about to pass my old steed WHH687, my 1999 SX8 Honda City 1.5 EXi.

It had been neglected by the new owner, at least cosmetically. I saw only its left side and rear; the rubbing strip had come off the left rear door exposing the mounting holes beneath. However, WHH687 was still mechanically sound. It was nice to know that my trusty, wieldy SX8 was still purring along without any smoke from the tailpipe.

The encounter was all of five seconds, but it was enough for me. It's nice to see you again, old pal.

"Internet Channels was here 2004-2009"

Every time someone got rolled off from Barclays, or resigned from Accenture entirely, it used to merit a stoppage of work and at least thirty minutes of drama, saying farewells and looking back on the good times. For my first couple of years there that used to be the case.

When people started to leave en masse however, that drama went away. Everyone just bit the bullet and accepted the hard truth: that the recession was taking its toll on our client and there just wasn't any work coming our way. I used to think getting rolled off at Barclays meant that someone had screwed up, or someone didn't perform up to par. This time that just wasn't the case. We didn't fail the client. The client failed us.

For the longest time I had imagined how my own final day at Barclays would turn out like. I imagined that instead of going through the dramatic rituals, I'd just disappear in the background with only the leads knowing that I had indeed rolled off from the project. Hahaha. How prophetic. I never thought that's how I ended up leaving Barclays. One difference though: Everyone knew.

Looking back, I don't think I'd have done my final day any differently. It was in effect also the final day of the Internet Channels test team as we knew it. So few of us would remain behind. I decided to make a "shrine" out of the old nameplates that we still had lying around and slap them onto an unused whiteboard. Those with missing nameplates we just filled in with a felt-tip pen.

Jona told us there was a glimmer of hope for our team, though. We might just go back to Barclays by October if everything goes to plan. We'll see. I'm not really keeping my hopes up. I figure three years in Barclays is enough. I needed a change anyway.

It was fun while it lasted. Thanks, my friends.

Leaving March with a few kind words

I'm usually crappy at reading up on other people's blogs...and for that I apologize.

Proof of that is this belated New Year's post I read on Dynee's blog, which is one of the most unexpected yet touching things I've come across. I'm not used to people paying me any compliments, so this is a surprise I liked.

It's been so many years since she left that comment on this same blog, and never did I think that we'd end up working for the same firm or have a lot of things in common. It's a nice feeling, knowing that I've actually inspired someone else.

Hitting the spot

Perhaps I may have been wrong about people not appreciating me and my efforts at work. If the results of the recent "secret encourager" activity are anything to go by...apparently sometimes I know just how exactly to hit the spot.

My encouragee holds a special place in my photos of my colleagues for never smiling in them, save for one. Basically I compiled all of them and showed her how important smiling is. I kept at the "smile" theme the whole time. I left her a chicken empanada pie this morning because its half-moon shape can look like a toothy grin. I reminded her to smile because for all she knows she could be on candid camera.

Winning at this game meant your encouragee would have to be able to guess whom he/she was. I purposely downplayed winning at this event. To me this activity was a golden opportunity to do something nice for someone I didn't know very well. Turning it into a game was besmirching the good will. Then again, perhaps an incentive had to be in place for people to actually get around to doing it.

I won; she managed to guess who I was without me leaving blatant clues as to who I was. But winning felt strangely empty. I felt more of a winner when I got feedback from her a couple of days ago, that she was actually feeling encouraged by what I was doing.

That was a bigger victory for me.

Zero-G love fills my head

Most people know me as a huge Gundam fan. However, even before I saw one frame of animation from the seminal Japanese mecha series, I had already seen and been astounded by the second most famous: The Super Dimension Fortress Macross of 1982.

At the time I saw it in 1995, I was still about twelve years old, and I had seen it as part of the heavily edited "trilogy" anime Robotech. Robotech, as you may know, is a patchwork made up of three totally unrelated anime (including Super Dimension Cavalry Southern Cross and Genesis Climber MOSPEADA), adapted and rewritten to become one continuous story. As good as Robotech was, I wanted to see how director Shoji Kawamori originally intended Macross to be.

Given my exposure to Robotech, it certainly was hard to recognize at first. I noticed it shared a lot with the original Mobile Suit Gundam series of 1979: a distinct late-1970s musical vibe, some dodgy animation compared to today's standards, and an enduring appeal. Music greatly defined Macross, and while Robotech pared down on Lynn Minmay's translated songs and introduced American 1980s battle themes, the original series has a lot of blaring battle horns and gives us the full gamut of Lynn Minmay's songs in all their aural glory, as sung by Mari Iijima. Her sheer volume of songs in this series alone could easily fill a short CD, or comprise 2/3 of a long one.

Macross' trademarks are its transforming VF-1 Valkyrie fighter planes, and they're still as amazing to watch as ever. But the real reason why Macross is so desirable is its love story---it takes as much importance as the space war drama.

The complex interplay between Valkyrie pilot/protagonist Hikaru Ichijo, pop singer Lynn Minmay and superior officer Misa Hayase really influenced me as an adolescent. Between them, all kinds of awkward situations conspire to keep lovers apart, or prevent them from being honest about their feelings, and we see the poignant consequences. In the instant death of the battlefield, we are taught to seize the day as it comes and live it as fully as we can. If Mobile Suit Gundam had mortality as its major humane element, Macross has 1980s-style romance...and really, really good music. So good, in fact, that it becomes a shock-and-awe weapon against the gigantic Zentraedi aliens. I kid you not.

I cannot recommend this classic TV series enough. It was a big part of me while growing up, and it still is today.

The springtime of my contentment

For the first time in a while, I actually feel good about myself.

I am less encumbered by my numerous hang-ups, and it seems I've found my groove and niche. I have issues with a few of my coworkers whom I'd really rather not talk to, but for the most part I've learned to ignore them. I'm actually comfortable making jokes, and I've shunned my performance anxiety. I don't even have my self-pity or self-loathing any more. I'm just too happy to care.

My only quibble is all of this goodness and self-satisfaction came at a time when I gained a lot of weight. Grrrh. That's what a week full of celebrations gets you. I can't believe I've actually gotten sick of eating and feeling dumb and stupid and unbelievably lazy after overfilling my gut with chow one too many times.

A flat tire and a folded-up note

As usual, I pulled up to a parking slot at 7:00 am this morning at the lower ground floor of my building. As I maneuvered the rear of the Jazz into place and disembarked, I noticed the blue ES Civic in the slot to my left had its right rear tire gone flat.

Tearing a page off the notebook that serves as my fuel consumption journal, I scribbled a note to let the owner know of the puncture, and left the byline "A Concerned Motorist." I pinned it under one of the Civic's wipers before walking to the elevator lobby.

I pretty much forgot about the note for the rest of the day, until I walked back to my car twelve hours later. The blue ES had gone, but the folded-up note was now pinned under my Jazz's wiper...with a reply in cursive writing.



Thank you for letting me know - got a taxi driver to change tires for me - :)
A. Cortez, Accenture 8F

Life, age and bittersweet chocolate

I thought about a few things and it seems the perfect analogy for 2007 and my life in general nowadays is dark chocolate.

I remember having Hershey's Assortment chocolates over the holiday when I was a kid, and I'd pick out my favorite Krackel rice-crisp-studded milk chocolate over anything else in the bag. The last I'd touch were the nuggets of Hershey's Special Dark---they tasted weird. Well technically, they were still preferable over anything with peanuts in it such as Mr. Goodbar.

Nowadays, though, I've acquired a taste for the dark stuff. In my teens I lost my desire for milk chocolate and didn't really miss it all that much. It was only in my last couple of years in college that I tasted dark chocolate again, and was smitten by the full, bittersweet flavor and the way it never let go of my tastebuds. It's a world away from the sweet, creamy milk chocolate I used to enjoy as a kid. Often I purposely look for dark chocolate when we get these boxes of assorted chocolates and chocolate-covered biscuits once in a while.

Imagine my surprise when that eternal favorite, Nestle Crunch, actually comes in a dark variety...and tastes pretty damn good! I'm still not the connoisseur type, though: I shirk from Meiji's 86% Cacao ultra-dark chocolate because it tastes very very bitter, with an earthy taste.

I've acquired a taste for dark chocolate, much the same way as I've become a little more serene and accepted the bitterness of living as a twentysomething. Perhaps my loss of appetite for all the sweet milk and extra-creamy chocolate I used to enjoy in my childhood was an indication of how well I had things going for me. My expectations kept getting fulfilled, I have to admit it spoiled me for a while. Enjoying the bittersweet things, I guess, points to making the best of what comes my way and trying to enjoy it as much as I can.

Perhaps I'm not quite there yet, but I can certainly say I'm along the way.

My long-overdue PETA and thesis photos

After two years, I finally have the photos from my thesis and PETA OJT days out of my old Nokia 6600 cellphone.

These photos are pretty much my pride and joy from my college days, so I'm posting them here.

I won't be around later on as we'll likely be somewhere else tonight, so I want to take the chance to greet everyone a merry, merry Christmas. I'll post again real soon.

So this is what it feels like.

(one.)
The feeling of independence, of not having parents or anyone else to help. The experience of boarding with colleagues---not on some summer outing, but because we're all teammates doomed to committing overtime hours for an extended period. The shock of missing objects or things instead of family members. The quirks of having to iron your clothes without an iron. The irritation of being awake at 4 a.m. while everyone else is snoring away. The power of a caffeine overdose---and its crippling, mind-burning consequences.

For these I have to thank Joel, Candice and Sara. We still have a long road ahead and it is fraught with disappointment, frustration and bewilderment. I am glad I had to share it with you three.

(two.)
The feeling of helplessness and being lied to. The disappointment of seeing you being hailed as our representative for our concerns, when you've done nothing to stand up for all our sacrifices and grievances. The abandonment from other teams that are supposed to be doing their jobs; instead, all the blame, pressure and effort is piled on our shoulders yet again. The weariness from being asked to play superhero all the time when we so obviously are not, nor did we deserve to be treated as such. The empty promise heaped on us for our effort and sacrifice when it is obviously not enough compensation. The growing urge to give up and refuse flat-out.

How long will this go on? When will it all end? I refuse to believe you any longer. Your words are as empty as your ass-kissing soul. Let's see how good a leader you are when not one among your subordinates believes you.

(three.)
The feeling of having a confidant friend in the craziness of the Internet. The reassurance that there is someone willing to listen to whatever screwed-up idea pops up in my head. The appreciation one can only get from having an audience---one very willing at that.

Thank you, Grace. I have much to learn from you and I will keep on asking you questions. And yes, I really do want to sing for you one of these days.

(four.)
The will to make something else out of my time, but not the resources nor the freedom to do so. The vanishing of whatever little social life I used to have. The desire to be somewhere else.

Is this what being burnt out feels like?

(five.)
The unpleasant feeling that rears its green head when you see the women you used to cherish being happy with men who aren't you. The lingering question that stabs you in the head and heart with a glass dagger: "Why not me?" The onset of doubt: "Am I destined to be alone forever? Have I met my quota of learning experiences of what true love is like?" The self-loathing. The broken self-esteem.

So this is what it feels like.

Things and people I miss

Playing video games.

Not worrying about money.

1995 and the "golden age" of modern OPM alternative rock.

Playing really long video games, especially the epic RPGs that take 80-100 hours to finish.

My friend Denise Melendres.

My dad's old ten-speed Peugeot road bike.

Recess and lunch breaks with my friends from senior year high school.

Bro. Arian Lopez, FSC.

The De La Salle Zobel Publications and Public Relations office.

PANTONE 121 CVU.

Making layout for Counterpoint.

Everyone that became part of the staff of Counterpoint.

My youth.

Falling in love.