A friend and I have been discussing confrontations lately. How does one confront someone? Not just someone. But a friend. Who seems to be acting like he no longer wants to be around you.
My friend and I narrowed it down to two things. When there's an issue or a problem between people, we can either:
A) Succumb to confrontation. Let it all out and hopefully reach a resolution...a truce...or in some cases a final parting also known under the lovers' dictionary as closure.
B) Gulp it all down. If you can't imagine the idea of a face to face, heart to heart, no holds barred discussion, then take it all in. wrap it in something inconspicious and store it in the deepest crevices of your being.
Option A is advisable for aggressive people. As of date I think I may have confronted a number of people. Sometimes work requires me to. But I've always believed I am not a naturally confronting type of person.
Some few years back, I was this girl who always chose to keep things to myself. Even pain. Even excruciating, bothersome, psychotic pain.
I used to know someone who was the exact opposite of who I was back then. He was strong willed and aggressive. When he wanted to say something he would say it. There were a number of instances when he would confront me about something and I would cower under his steely gaze...like the time I had acted weird and avoided him because someone from our theatre group liked him and well, I liked him too and I got irked at the possibility that he liked her too; or the time when he got jealous of my best friends..."You don't need me, all you want is to be around them". And although back then I hardly realized it, now I know he saw the truth clearer than I had; Or the time he broke my heart. There I was in front of him. Shattered into pieces. And because it was a confrontation...his confrontation, he bluntly advised me it would be "better in the morning" (which to me translated as: pick up yourself, tape all your pieces back together, and move on).
It worked for him. Yeah I think it did. Being confrontational made things snappy and clean-cut.
I, on the other hand, could not be any different. I had one opportunity to confront him. And he didn’t show up. And although I could’ve called him or I could’ve gone to his house, banged on his door and forced my way in (an exaggeration, mind you), I chose to get up from where I sat and waited for him, went home, and never talked about what happened that day until, let me see, a few years after.
Looking back now, I realize I was the one limiting myself to that one opportunity. I could’ve had a million chances. I could’ve made myself a million more opportunities.
But then I can’t help but wonder… would that have been better? For me? For him? For everyone else who came after him and marked my life forever.
Can I actually say that Option A is much much better than Option B?
No... Not really.
Because although it took me years to finally resolve the issue, although it took me years of being quiet about my pain, of taking it all in… I learned a lot in the process. I gained a newer, better me after that period of quiet.
So…I told my friend who is now facing the dilemma of choosing between Option A and Option B, to choose wisely. Because in all of life’s crazy antics, resolving relationships, resolving friendships is the trickiest. You don’t really know if what you’re doing is right. But you have to believe in what you feel is right. You have to know that whether you go with confrontation or not…you’d still have to confront yourself.
And unfortunately...there’s no Option A or B for that.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Three-Nineteen
I have a friend who recently confided in me regarding his issues at work. People have been spreading rumors about him dating one of his teammates...who is also a guy.
From what I've gathered, his officemates are making a festivity out of this rumor. And it bothers him because it has bothered his teammate, who has started to let the story affect his job and the way he works. More than that, the rumor has affected their friendship.
Even the people whom he has always treated as good friends have joined the bandwagon of spreading the rumor around and making an absurd and ridiculous story out of it.
He confided in me and asked for my advice as to whether he can bring this up as a complaint and discuss it with their HR department.
And I said: MOST DEFINITELY.
I gave him several points to reiterate when he brings up his complaints:
1. What the other people in the office are doing is harassment. If he and his colleague are already feeling uncomfortable because of the rumor and someone's work is already being affected, someone has to put stop to the nonsense people are spreading around.
2. This behavior among his officemates could serve as a precedent for other employees. My friend is one of the team leaders in his department. If other employees see that it's OK to spread lies and hurtful rumors and stories to their colleagues and even to their leaders, they can do that to someone else, some other colleague, some other leader in the future. And someone has to put his foot down and let them know that it is so not OK.
3. His officemates can reason out that they are just kidding around and all. But one's sexuality and preferences are not something to joke about. I told my friend, in certain groups or certain teams, rumors and stories like this may be acceptable. The parties involved may just shrug it off and say knowingly that they're officemates are just fooling around. Well good for them. The reality is, each one of us have our own limitations. And there's absolutely no reason why we shouldn't respect one another’s limits. My friend has already confronted several people regarding the rumor telling them to drop it...to no avail
of course. Some people would just rather thrive in putting other people down.
In the middle of my friend's rantings to me, he stopped to make one thing clear: He is not gay. He said people may have started the rumor about him and his teammate seeing each other because they've become good friends over the last few months. He said he was even glad he finally found a good guy friend he can share and discuss guy stuff with. He's got a lot of friends but most of them are girls (and no that doesn't make him gay either).
My heart ached for my friend's situation. Clearly the whole thing has caused him some insecurity. I wanted to give him a hug and tell him that not once did I ever think he was gay...And that even if he were, I wouldn't have given a sh**. I loved him for who he was. Whether he ends up being egotistically straight, or a closeted gay, or even weirdly bisexual. I don't care.
This got me thinking...how powerful words can be. And how a single flick of the tongue can wound hearts and lessen one's self dignity and confidence in a jiffy.
A few months ago, I met with my previous manager. Who happens to be a friend of mine. We were talking about my performance at work last year. 2008 was a memorable year for me. It was a year filled with struggles and tears and stress... lots and lots of stress. I handled one of the worst processes and teams anyone could handle in our business. And I had loathed everything about that role from the very beginning.
But I was requested it take it on. And out of respect for the person who requested me to handle the team and the process, I mustered enough energy to actually be passionate about what I was doing.
I was at the office 12-14 hours on a daily average. I had double, triple shifts. I brought my work home on weekends too. I literally bled for that job. Since there was a time when I had a severe cough that was at its 4th week already and my throat was inflamed and bleeding. I had German measles yet I still came to work (I was asked to stay in a different building where nobody was around at night).
Anyway, to get to the point, I gave everything for that job. I gave everything that year. It came to a point when I couldn't handle everything anymore and everything fell apart and crashed down...on me.
My manager told me I did not meet his expectations. Simple, blunt, heart-wrenching.
I did not show any emotion when he told me this. Truth be told I had not expressed any of my feelings to anyone about this until now. Until my friend got hurt in a similar way too.
You see, that manager was someone I was close to at the office. He was a friend. And I tried hard to justify and rationalize, why he would be so blunt and insensitive with the words he chose to describe my performance last year.
Was it because I told him that I had enough, that I've given everything and I wanted to get out of the role and do something else. (I had given my resignation letter, yet they requested that instead of me leaving the company, they'll just transfer me to a different department).
Did my reaching my limits overwrite all the things I sacrificed for that year?
There are so many other ways he could have told me how else I could've improved in that position. Telling me I did not meet his expectations was just something I was not expecting from a good manager, and certainly not from a good friend.
I mean, OK. He thought I could've done more. But I think I gave my all. And I even hit my head on the ceiling of my limitations.
Like I said...everyone has their limits. And mine was obviously not understood...or at the very least respected.
I felt demotivated after that. I felt that after everything I have gone through, I was still not enough. I will never be enough. So why try?
I hope my friend and I can find the strength and courage to look beyond other people's words. We've been affected. But the question now is, can we shake ourselves from this stupor and see ourselves as worthy of our own opinions, and not of others'?
My friend has to find the guts to fight the rumors and fix his friendship with that teammate of his.
And I have to find a way to know, to realize that I am still worth something. If not at work, then at least with my social life.
We both have to believe in ourselves now... More than anything else.
From what I've gathered, his officemates are making a festivity out of this rumor. And it bothers him because it has bothered his teammate, who has started to let the story affect his job and the way he works. More than that, the rumor has affected their friendship.
Even the people whom he has always treated as good friends have joined the bandwagon of spreading the rumor around and making an absurd and ridiculous story out of it.
He confided in me and asked for my advice as to whether he can bring this up as a complaint and discuss it with their HR department.
And I said: MOST DEFINITELY.
I gave him several points to reiterate when he brings up his complaints:
1. What the other people in the office are doing is harassment. If he and his colleague are already feeling uncomfortable because of the rumor and someone's work is already being affected, someone has to put stop to the nonsense people are spreading around.
2. This behavior among his officemates could serve as a precedent for other employees. My friend is one of the team leaders in his department. If other employees see that it's OK to spread lies and hurtful rumors and stories to their colleagues and even to their leaders, they can do that to someone else, some other colleague, some other leader in the future. And someone has to put his foot down and let them know that it is so not OK.
3. His officemates can reason out that they are just kidding around and all. But one's sexuality and preferences are not something to joke about. I told my friend, in certain groups or certain teams, rumors and stories like this may be acceptable. The parties involved may just shrug it off and say knowingly that they're officemates are just fooling around. Well good for them. The reality is, each one of us have our own limitations. And there's absolutely no reason why we shouldn't respect one another’s limits. My friend has already confronted several people regarding the rumor telling them to drop it...to no avail
of course. Some people would just rather thrive in putting other people down.
In the middle of my friend's rantings to me, he stopped to make one thing clear: He is not gay. He said people may have started the rumor about him and his teammate seeing each other because they've become good friends over the last few months. He said he was even glad he finally found a good guy friend he can share and discuss guy stuff with. He's got a lot of friends but most of them are girls (and no that doesn't make him gay either).
My heart ached for my friend's situation. Clearly the whole thing has caused him some insecurity. I wanted to give him a hug and tell him that not once did I ever think he was gay...And that even if he were, I wouldn't have given a sh**. I loved him for who he was. Whether he ends up being egotistically straight, or a closeted gay, or even weirdly bisexual. I don't care.
This got me thinking...how powerful words can be. And how a single flick of the tongue can wound hearts and lessen one's self dignity and confidence in a jiffy.
A few months ago, I met with my previous manager. Who happens to be a friend of mine. We were talking about my performance at work last year. 2008 was a memorable year for me. It was a year filled with struggles and tears and stress... lots and lots of stress. I handled one of the worst processes and teams anyone could handle in our business. And I had loathed everything about that role from the very beginning.
But I was requested it take it on. And out of respect for the person who requested me to handle the team and the process, I mustered enough energy to actually be passionate about what I was doing.
I was at the office 12-14 hours on a daily average. I had double, triple shifts. I brought my work home on weekends too. I literally bled for that job. Since there was a time when I had a severe cough that was at its 4th week already and my throat was inflamed and bleeding. I had German measles yet I still came to work (I was asked to stay in a different building where nobody was around at night).
Anyway, to get to the point, I gave everything for that job. I gave everything that year. It came to a point when I couldn't handle everything anymore and everything fell apart and crashed down...on me.
My manager told me I did not meet his expectations. Simple, blunt, heart-wrenching.
I did not show any emotion when he told me this. Truth be told I had not expressed any of my feelings to anyone about this until now. Until my friend got hurt in a similar way too.
You see, that manager was someone I was close to at the office. He was a friend. And I tried hard to justify and rationalize, why he would be so blunt and insensitive with the words he chose to describe my performance last year.
Was it because I told him that I had enough, that I've given everything and I wanted to get out of the role and do something else. (I had given my resignation letter, yet they requested that instead of me leaving the company, they'll just transfer me to a different department).
Did my reaching my limits overwrite all the things I sacrificed for that year?
There are so many other ways he could have told me how else I could've improved in that position. Telling me I did not meet his expectations was just something I was not expecting from a good manager, and certainly not from a good friend.
I mean, OK. He thought I could've done more. But I think I gave my all. And I even hit my head on the ceiling of my limitations.
Like I said...everyone has their limits. And mine was obviously not understood...or at the very least respected.
I felt demotivated after that. I felt that after everything I have gone through, I was still not enough. I will never be enough. So why try?
I hope my friend and I can find the strength and courage to look beyond other people's words. We've been affected. But the question now is, can we shake ourselves from this stupor and see ourselves as worthy of our own opinions, and not of others'?
My friend has to find the guts to fight the rumors and fix his friendship with that teammate of his.
And I have to find a way to know, to realize that I am still worth something. If not at work, then at least with my social life.
We both have to believe in ourselves now... More than anything else.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Strings, Knots and Clasps
Believe it or not, I’ve taken up a new hobby. It’s something I have always wanted to do… and as I reasoned out to Mark, it could prove to be therapeutic.
I’ve been beading and making jewelry. Necklaces to be specific. Statement necklaces to be more precise and explicit. I am a fan of the like and I own several of them myself. But to be able to make some for myself…out of my own bare hands… well, that actually makes more of a statement.
My sister gives me this weird look as she observes me all throughout the weekend. I guess she’s probably wondering how the heck I can tolerate just sitting on my bed staring into the different colored beads and stones. Little does she know that my therapeutic activity has actually given birth to several thoughts I have been pondering on in the pretense of stringing one bead after another.
First and foremost, I have discovered that I have become a worrier. Yes, me…the girl who claims to love not having to conform…worries. Ew. But there you have it. And to much of my dismay, I have further discovered that even in my worrying, I am analytical and I string things together effortlessly.
I worry all the time about the string. I question myself over and over…in fact every time I start on a new piece, I wonder if the string I am using will be strong enough to hold everything together. Would a wire be safer? Something hard and much less easy to bend? If I wear this necklace in public, the worst horror imaginable would be that the string and the lock would give out and the whole thing will fall into pieces all over the place…And in a way, this is parallel to me worrying about my relationships. With my family, as I have missed out on most familial occasions and obligations for the last three years. Are my ties with my sisters and my mother less tight because of the birthday celebrations and countless Sunday lunches I have missed? I worry for me and Mark. Three years and yet when we have our fights they are still as intense as before. Is this a sign of us truly being passionate for each other? Or does this mean our clashes will sooner or later get the best of us? I worry about my friendships. My “office” friends are the best bunch I could ask for. But recently, I have been going through the same shit I went through last year when I realized I was completely miserable with my job (this is an entirely different story though, and will just be mentioned in passing). And now as I ponder and contemplate on what I really want to do with my life, I have this absurd idea that I should distance myself from them to keep my decisions as objective and practical as possible… Should I be tougher like a wire? Or remain more fluid and flexible, patient and forgiving, compassionate and loving, as a string? To wear this in public, to lay out the cards on the table, to share my bothering thought of anxiousness, is exactly the same horror as the fiasco of a rain of beads and stones and pearls down the front of my shirt. Am I just scared of losing them? Or am I just scared of admitting they’ve already lost me a long time ago?
I worry about the stones I am using. The beads. Their shape. Their color. The pendants, if any, attached to them. Do they fit together? Do they look good? Do they take form into the feeling, the intensity, the creativity I am or I should be allowing myself to express? The same way I worry about my appearance. I am vain, yes. But it is more than that. When my eyes are all swelled up from crying from the previous night, the right concealer, the right highlighter, is necessary to show up to work the next day seeming perfectly fine. When people walk by my desk and say hi, I plaster a smile to my face even when I am utterly bored and feeling sullen and surly. When I get a call from a colleague, I have to sound chirpy about the non-work related stuff. We are friends after all. But if I am so together on the outside, yet so broken up on the inside, how will I ever make everything fit together? How does anyone make anything fit together? Is it all about the stone’s color? The concealer’s shade? There’s this tiny voice inside me saying no… they do help on keeping things looking put together, but they’re transient solutions to a much more permanent concern: my happiness. How can I make sure that the life I live takes form into the feeling, the intensity, the creativity I deserve to be allowing myself to express?
And finally, I worry about this one dreadful question: Will anyone aside from myself like the necklace I am making? I had asked Mark this question even before I started making my first piece. And his answer was: We can’t be sure. But so what? Do this for you. If you know this makes you happy, then that’s all that matters.
I have called Mark selfish and bratty and self centered and self absorbed during our worst arguments. But for someone so selfish and bratty and self centered and self absorbed, he hits the point at the exact place and at the right time. And I adore him for loving me enough to tell me to not give a damn about what others think and live my life the way I want to live it.
That itself is reassuring…and yeah, therapeutic.
But it doesn’t mean I have stopped asking the questions and it certainly doesn’t mean I have stopped worrying.
Like a jeweler’s journey to his masterpiece, my little therapy’s success will most likely take time to occur. We’re talking about months, hell, maybe even years… But I am looking forward to the day when I can take a step back from all the beads and strings and clasps and stones…take a step back from all the worries, questions, tears, and pain…and marvel at the life I have created and be able to say this to myself: The strings are tight enough, the stones match each other, the whole thing is a beauty and it will make everyone smile when they see it…when they see you… you finally got it right.
3/2/09 – EPR.
I’ve been beading and making jewelry. Necklaces to be specific. Statement necklaces to be more precise and explicit. I am a fan of the like and I own several of them myself. But to be able to make some for myself…out of my own bare hands… well, that actually makes more of a statement.
My sister gives me this weird look as she observes me all throughout the weekend. I guess she’s probably wondering how the heck I can tolerate just sitting on my bed staring into the different colored beads and stones. Little does she know that my therapeutic activity has actually given birth to several thoughts I have been pondering on in the pretense of stringing one bead after another.
First and foremost, I have discovered that I have become a worrier. Yes, me…the girl who claims to love not having to conform…worries. Ew. But there you have it. And to much of my dismay, I have further discovered that even in my worrying, I am analytical and I string things together effortlessly.
I worry all the time about the string. I question myself over and over…in fact every time I start on a new piece, I wonder if the string I am using will be strong enough to hold everything together. Would a wire be safer? Something hard and much less easy to bend? If I wear this necklace in public, the worst horror imaginable would be that the string and the lock would give out and the whole thing will fall into pieces all over the place…And in a way, this is parallel to me worrying about my relationships. With my family, as I have missed out on most familial occasions and obligations for the last three years. Are my ties with my sisters and my mother less tight because of the birthday celebrations and countless Sunday lunches I have missed? I worry for me and Mark. Three years and yet when we have our fights they are still as intense as before. Is this a sign of us truly being passionate for each other? Or does this mean our clashes will sooner or later get the best of us? I worry about my friendships. My “office” friends are the best bunch I could ask for. But recently, I have been going through the same shit I went through last year when I realized I was completely miserable with my job (this is an entirely different story though, and will just be mentioned in passing). And now as I ponder and contemplate on what I really want to do with my life, I have this absurd idea that I should distance myself from them to keep my decisions as objective and practical as possible… Should I be tougher like a wire? Or remain more fluid and flexible, patient and forgiving, compassionate and loving, as a string? To wear this in public, to lay out the cards on the table, to share my bothering thought of anxiousness, is exactly the same horror as the fiasco of a rain of beads and stones and pearls down the front of my shirt. Am I just scared of losing them? Or am I just scared of admitting they’ve already lost me a long time ago?
I worry about the stones I am using. The beads. Their shape. Their color. The pendants, if any, attached to them. Do they fit together? Do they look good? Do they take form into the feeling, the intensity, the creativity I am or I should be allowing myself to express? The same way I worry about my appearance. I am vain, yes. But it is more than that. When my eyes are all swelled up from crying from the previous night, the right concealer, the right highlighter, is necessary to show up to work the next day seeming perfectly fine. When people walk by my desk and say hi, I plaster a smile to my face even when I am utterly bored and feeling sullen and surly. When I get a call from a colleague, I have to sound chirpy about the non-work related stuff. We are friends after all. But if I am so together on the outside, yet so broken up on the inside, how will I ever make everything fit together? How does anyone make anything fit together? Is it all about the stone’s color? The concealer’s shade? There’s this tiny voice inside me saying no… they do help on keeping things looking put together, but they’re transient solutions to a much more permanent concern: my happiness. How can I make sure that the life I live takes form into the feeling, the intensity, the creativity I deserve to be allowing myself to express?
And finally, I worry about this one dreadful question: Will anyone aside from myself like the necklace I am making? I had asked Mark this question even before I started making my first piece. And his answer was: We can’t be sure. But so what? Do this for you. If you know this makes you happy, then that’s all that matters.
I have called Mark selfish and bratty and self centered and self absorbed during our worst arguments. But for someone so selfish and bratty and self centered and self absorbed, he hits the point at the exact place and at the right time. And I adore him for loving me enough to tell me to not give a damn about what others think and live my life the way I want to live it.
That itself is reassuring…and yeah, therapeutic.
But it doesn’t mean I have stopped asking the questions and it certainly doesn’t mean I have stopped worrying.
Like a jeweler’s journey to his masterpiece, my little therapy’s success will most likely take time to occur. We’re talking about months, hell, maybe even years… But I am looking forward to the day when I can take a step back from all the beads and strings and clasps and stones…take a step back from all the worries, questions, tears, and pain…and marvel at the life I have created and be able to say this to myself: The strings are tight enough, the stones match each other, the whole thing is a beauty and it will make everyone smile when they see it…when they see you… you finally got it right.
3/2/09 – EPR.
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