My Future is Like Koko Krunch

And I doubt I even spelled my future right. 0.o

Afternoon. I rushed to the tambayan because Julian had scheduled another round of Harana Express promo | pakapalan-ng-mukha-for-a-cause, this time by the Chem Pav. I got to FC first, but when I texted him, he said he was still at the Job Fair. And I didn't mind the 'gig' being cancelled - just trudged back to the tambs.

I got there before he and Ands returned from the Job Fair, bearing company freebie pens and stories about how they got rejected-at-first-sight because they had apparently graduated from the wrong course. And as Luka, and then Mer, joined the conversation, I just sat across the table from them, trying to focus on Volume 1 of True Philippine Ghost Stories, trying to ignore the fact that I haven't even considered sending my resume to any companies.

Truth is, I don't want to weave the corporate circuit. I love the power dressing, and the power lunches, and the power tripping - so much drama, like Gossip Girl for adults - but it's not the type of world I see myself carving my name into. Truth is, I've only considered two career tracks in my life: teaching, or becoming a glorified bureaucrat.

Scratch the first option, obviously. Although I love teaching, seriously, there is nothing I'm good enough at that I can share to other people - because who'd pay 3K to listen to someone rant about how twisted the Onii-chan no Koto series is? And, well, even if I knew how to teach, to quote the lovable [albeit fictional, sadly] Lucas Pineda, "the salary is (sic) the pits." Unless, of course, you teach in the Ateneo, or somewhere else just as considerate.

So joining the government is my goal now. I really really want to work for the Philippines. Never mind the slow promotions, and our infamous brand of corruption - I've seen my parents at their jobs for as long as I can remember, and they seem to be having kick-ass fun making people's lives better. As for the money... well, it's not as if I'm planning to get married anyway. So no kids' tuition, no car installment, and on weekends off I can actually plant vegetables in my imaginary backyard to sell for extra income.

... The point is ...

How do you tell people you think you're about to graduate from the wrong course? I don't think it's a case of me not studying enough, and being a lazy bum - I'm just one of those lax personalities who don't put effort into anything they don't find particularly appealing. And believe me, I've tried to find Econ appealing. I've tried fooling my inner child, I've tried reading Freakonomics. But my inner child's too whacked to think pragmatically, and Jenny never gave my copy of Freakonomics back. Basically, Econ is not my future.

And the million dollar question: What is?

heartache

When I’m depressed, I tend to eat a lot of noodles. I know they’re difficult to digest, and so they clog up in one’s intestines, but it’s either that or coffee – and there are times when I’m just not in the mood to see coffee. Take tonight for example.

This morning, my thesis partner S and I went to this Stata workshop our batch representatives organized. It was truly fascinating, taking all those commands in – one of those rare moments when I found joy in my course. Although I understood most of what our speaker had been explaining, however, it seems – irony of ironies – that I’m still unable to apply a certain theory on my own. That one crucial theory. And the worst part is, my thesis partner doesn’t know what to do either.

Stupid dummy variables. To think it’s just a case of dividing the data into responses from males and responses from females. It’s just a case of labeling one 1 and labeling the other 0. It’s just a halving of answers. But it’s giving me such a heartache – hardly a headache, really. My pride can’t accept having come this far into my course yet still being unable to execute this simple step that should be standard knowledge for someone of my educational background.

I could always just ask for help, of course. Problem is, I don’t have too many friends in my own department, and the friends I do have aren’t familiar with Stata either. So maybe, just maybe, in a fit of dramatic depression, I’ll just sit here in my hard wooden chair, and try to keep myself from adding one more pack of my noodles to this evening’s mistakes.