I want everyone to read this.

by Yas Jayson Saturday, August 07, 2010 8 palagay people are people randomness she says

To keep the fire burning
Marbbie Tagabucba
Philippine Daily Inquirer
August 06, 2010

WHEN I resigned from my job as a writer, my parents rejoiced. They were not the least surprised that I left even though just months earlier I had been filled with glee upon learning I bagged the job notwithstanding the daunting challenges it posed. All-nighters, skipping meals—these are just some of the stuff parents’ nightmares are made of. My parents’ fears revolved around their certainty that the job held a different kind of future from the one they had in mind for their first-born. If for me my resignation was only a setback, for them it was a chance to change my mind about the career path I had taken.

It seemed like the job and I were set for life, but our honeymoon ended too soon. I wrote and doubled as a fashion assistant for two publications, taking away time that could have been spent with loved ones. But when I set that drawback aside, I loved what I did. My job provided endless challenges, and I reveled in the opportunity to hone my writing skills.

Outside of work, it was a different story. To humor everyone, I took the admission exam to a law school, only to fail. My family showed no effort in masking their disappointment. My boyfriend, who had proudly boasted to all his friends that I would be a lawyer someday even though he knew I was planning to start a career in writing, turned cold on me and soon just disappeared. My friends poked fun at what I did, considering it rather frivolous as they were steadfastly on the road to becoming lawyers. I would tell them I was writing for a women’s lifestyle magazine, and they would wonder aloud what worthwhile contribution I was making to society. How were my efforts helping to alleviate world hunger, they would ask, or bridge political divides, or heal cultural rifts, or advance world peace?

These people did not even bother to read my work. Soon my job suffered. I became more listless every day, until in one moment of weakness I decided to give it up.

To my family, going corporate or working in a government office was the only way to go. To them, what I wanted to do was a joke, and they told me so to my face a couple of times. My mother complained about raising a “punk” for a daughter, so she approached my spunky aunt to knock some sense into my head.

My aunt—multi-titled before 40, fresh from marriage annulment proceedings, and a single mom of two No-Boyfriend-Since-Birth daughters—told me frankly, “Being a writer isn’t anything to be proud of.” And that set her off on a long monologue on the advantages of having a title affixed to my name, with “Atty.” being the best of them. To her, writing was only a tool for advancement in a “useful” field. She cited a friend who was a department secretary and occupied a “good place in society” because he can write well.

I bet she would hate my friend who, at 24, is set to marry next year. The grapevine says there’s a love child. She denies this and explains, “We’re in love and he can afford to marry.” When I asked her what she would do with her degree in Political Science, she said, “I’m simply the domestic type,” and gave me a smile.

Women seem to be in very competitive spirits these days, racing against men in the corporate field, or competing against each other in classic girl-versus-girl fashion. If a woman wishes to become a homemaker, what is wrong with that? I grew up wishing my parents, especially my mom, had more time for me. My mother was a boss, and when her travel agency closed, she was a housewife for a while, and it was then that I saw her looking most fulfilled. It was a pleasure to have a mother around. My sisters and I promised to grow up as mothers first, with our career ambitions coming second, when the time came.
I refuse to accept that one works to live for that means barely living. The average worker complains about his boss, his salary, even those who get paid more than they should. There are those who are ashamed of what they have to do just to put food on the table. And there are those who have more complicated problems, like living for power, recognition, endlessly seeking the approval of everyone, from neighbors to in-laws.

I wish we could reject the notion of working to live, at least for the youth. Take for instance our unemployed and underemployed nursing graduates. Most of them (or their parents) chose the course to enjoy the good life through remittances. Many of them have callings and potentials for some other careers, and I think they are wasting their time.

I believe that if one is happy with what he does, whatever or wherever it may be, he will thrive. Unless you dream of swimming in an infinity pool of dollar bills, I don’t think everyone is cut out to become a millionaire. Not everyone truly wants it anyway. People see money in different ways. Some see it is as security, happiness or fulfillment. But I have seen people who found all these in lending a helping hand as a social worker, or in sending a healthy child to school. It isn’t always about money or title.

Nobel Prize-winning economist Edmund Phelps linked sinking employment rates, job dissatisfaction and poor work performance to the attitude people brought to their work. Instead of seeing employment as a means to a comfortable retirement, he emphasized the importance of regarding employment as the “fulfillment of a goal, the mastery of a task.”

I mention this because it serves as a valuable reminder to those who are doing what they love, to those who don’t, and to those who probably don’t remember. If we remind ourselves of what is good about the work we do, why we want to do it, wouldn’t our work be more pleasurable and definitely more rewarding?

Since I was little, I dreamed of becoming a writer because I wanted to become better at writing. I wanted to become better at writing because I wished to share ideas, whether they were mine or not. I have been inspired by the writings of those who came before me, and I think we all have. Some of us retain a vision of making the world better because we have imbibed someone’s ideas put in writing or someone’s thoughts from perhaps a different time or place that ignited something in our hearts. This is how I wish to contribute to the world: I want to become a writer because I want to write better, so that I can share ideas with people, and keep the fire burning.

Marbbie Tagabucba, 20, is a writer for a women’s fashion magazine.