It's been four months since I came to Dumaguete.
I started here the first Monday of August, August 4, the kind of thing that makes me say my story can begin dramatically here. I arrived blindfolded. I didn't know what to do, didn't know the news sources, didn't know the continuing news items, didn't know the stories that I can lobby for airing over TV Patrol Central Visayas. I was, in fact, sleepwalking. It was altogether crucial because the June and July months I stayed in Cebu had me thinking, this is it, it's over, I can now leave.
But as it is, surprises always come for one who thinks she's been outsmarted by the world.
In all my communication with close friends and family, I always say, I'm ok here.
That "ok" really means OK.
You see, I've never been happier.
I've never had time to go back to all those busy days I stayed with the morning show, I never had time to review all the arguments, all the flops, as well as the minute but glorious victories.
Here, I have all the time to work, eat, sleep, read, and be with people I never imagined I'd have the patience to even talk to back in Cebu.
My boss told me I should start listening to news, reading news, and knowing the big stories of the day. Here, a bigger chance is given to do that, even swerve. What does the fruit vendor think? What about the woman who budgets the family's noche buena in this time of soaring prices and non-existent wage increase?
I am a late bloomer. Back then, I did not give the people on the streets a second glance, did not ask the right questions to those in office.
New Year is peeking, slightly unwelcome because there is still no definite year-plan. You see, I've never been much of a planner, and now that I'm nearing 24 I think I owe myself a bit of planning. But what the heck, it will be January 1 in two days' time. I better go grab myself a new book downtown and wake up again tomorrow, work and make sure the story I get will be in the line-up of tomorrow's stories. Negros Oriental is waiting.