I think the reason why Plana Forma, a mixture of yogalates and ballet, is my workout of choice is the fact that it doesn’t require any athleticism– just the sheer force of will to keep going.
The truth about me is that I’m not very good at anything. Nothing comes natural to me– everything is learned. I learned web and graphic design, because HTML was basically a language, and all I had to do was make myself fluent. I learned how to look at magazines, because I’ve read so many over the years that if at this point I hadn’t learned how to, it would just be weird. I learned how to write because I wrote and wrote and wrote all the time as a child– useless things, stupid things, but I wrote nonetheless, and even when I don’t know if anything’s worth the effort of putting something on a page, even when I’m not very good at it, I do it anyway, because it’s what I know how to do.
Strong, lithe arms and legs help in Plana Forma, but those are the things that develop over time. Skills can be developed, acquired– and I am particularly skilled at acquiring things.
I was at my friend Millie’s house the other week, and she had a ton of shit written on the mirror she looks at everyday: a large arrow pointing to where she would stand, labelled “CUM LAUDE MATERIAL.” Another was “Work hard. That’s the different between smart and MAGIS.” And true enough, Millie graduated last March with a Bachelor of Science in Management Engineering– cum laude. Belief is a great motivator, but even better is the ability to push yourself: knowing your limitations, but at the same time knowing how you can surpass them.
Although it pales in comparison to Millie graduating cum laude from a tough course, in my first semester of college, I was literally a few points away from failing Algebra. For some reason, Math makes perfect sense to me outside the classroom, but when faced pen to paper, it was Ds and Fs and, once, a C. So, with only my final exam left, I did something I had actually never done before then: I studied my ass off. I did 9AM-5PM at my Philippine Fashion Week internship, and then I’d run to Katipunan after to solve Algebra problems until my brain was fried. One week later and ta-daaaa– I kicked my final grade up to a solid C.
I know school isn’t the standard by which anyone should be judged, yadda yadda yadda, but that was my wake-up call: (1) that I’m not as naturally gifted as I thought I was; and (2) that despite other people being more intelligent than I was, I knew how to work smart.
Unfortunately, “knowing how to work smart” isn’t something you can put on a resume. Sometimes I wish job interviews required a brain scan so they’d see that by the time I sit down for one, I’d already rearranged the office layout, restructured their communications flow, and corrected the grammar on three posted signs. I don’t have intricate knowledge of the stock market, and I can’t dismantle and reassemble a computer, and I wouldn’t be able to tell you if an element’s non-radioactive or isotopic form would result in nuclear meltdown… I’d always assumed there was time to learn things.
It doesn’t help that I absolutely have no idea what I want. I spent too much time dreaming and not enough time scheming– and holy shit, it’s six months after graduation, and I’m still a sitting duck. The problem with lacking a natural propensity for anything is that if you don’t take the time to keep at it, you lose it. That about sums me up right now: I bummed around too fucking long. I partied too often (and long) (and, fine, hard), drank too much. I did so much pointless shit– I mean, today, I used crappy makeup I wanted to throw out to do a page of my Andy Warhol colouring book. WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK? I am really too bored. And bored has never been a good look for me.
Coming into the end of this rant (this is somehow how all my entries end up): #SilentSeptember. Billie Joe Armstrong said to wake him up when September ends, so in the meantime, I’m just going to tiptoe around– stay home aka not go out, read books, get a fucking job, put my life on track, and be something.
I actually have ten goals that you now have no choice but to read:
- Learn how to do my eyebrows. Okay, this sounds ridiculous and useless, but I swear to God, it’ll be like discovering the fountain of youth.
- Do enough cardio to outrun a zombie. I have to admit, this is some deep-seated psychological fear of mine– I can’t count the number of times I’ve had zombie nightmares where I’m running away, and just as they’re about to catch me, I think, Fuck, I fucking should’ve gone to the fucking gym. And then I wake up.
- Read two books a week that don’t have pictures. My weekly novel has been whittled down to twenty comic books. It’s pretty embarrassing.
- Attend a class of some sort. My brother told me to stop getting into “stupid hobbies,” but I can’t help it. Last one, I swear. Like, I really need to learn Chinese calligraphy….
- Put more money (saved from not going out, like the angel that I am) into trading. Imagine if all the money I put toward alcohol was instead out in the stock market, playing push and pull between failing economies and OFW remittances. Wait. Actually, don’t. Maybe it would be better if we didn’t compute that.
- Go to at least 4 job interviews. :(
- Learn how to drive. This totally the hardest thing on this list, second to the eyebrow thing. Although I secretly think I’m a badass driver, and the bloody A-1 driving instructors are just jealous of my potential.
- Learn how to handle a dangerous weapon. The one I’m most excited for.
- Throw out at least 1/4 of my wardrobe. Needless to say, this is the one I’m least excited for.
- Make one new friend. No more creepy club friends, period.
Even if this all ends up becoming total fucking bullshit in the end, I think I just need to know I tried to make myself right– and that it was the sheer force of will that kept me going.