movin' on out

i didn't think i would feel like this ... not so soon.

the movers came this monday and started packing up mama's things. it was all so definite. i felt a sinking feeling at the pit of my stomach. i felt my heartbeat and i cringed at the thought - she's leaving at last.

it's been a roller coaster of dates of departure. she was due to leave in february. she was extended till june then she almost went at the end of june and now till the end of july but actually leaving second week of august.

it didn't sink in that my mother and all the family i have in geneva are actually leaving. the movers have packed up almost 80 per cent of the house. tita minda doesn't have a bed anymore. there are no furnitures in the living room.

---

it's now friday and the movers have finally loaded all the things in the container. bye bye white toyota celica. bye bye everything. the neighbours will also be missed. it's all coming so suddenly.

now, the bluewin tv guy is here at my apartment setting up the tv. everything is happening at the same time, i can't feel sad yet. maybe it's better this way.

i will write more as the move becomes final and post pictures too.

stranger than fiction

the saying goes ... we watch drama (soap operas) to see real life and we watch the news to see drama.

i watched stranger than fiction with will ferrell and freedom writers with hilary swank the other day.

i thought to myself how life has become so unbelievable sometimes that even if you put it in a fiction novel, it would still seem surreal.

as i watch the news, i see the killings in iraq and i can't believe that the place where i used to live has been reduced to a statistical contest of who's got the most casualties: the iraqis or the americans? whose bomb went off to kill innocent civilians? and which sect of islam is waging jihad?

i see also the unfolding of madeleine's story - the poor kidnapped little girl and the media frenzy accorded it. i am glad that at least it's being covered but what hypocrisy as thousands of children disappear from their homes, from their driveways in third world or developing countries without as much as a milk carton photo? who gave them media mileage? is a white girl more important than a girl of color?

i can also just imagine the twisted plot of whoever kidnapped her to be so inconceivable and morally distorted or simply evil that it belongs in an agatha christie mystery with darker story lines.

with everything that could be seen in phantasmal stories, everyday life doesn't veer far away from it - with dark-clad men bringing evil to the land as the mighty burning bush has earned the ire of cold war russia, as colorfully clad men and women walk around as if an anime character, as the life that was unimagineable has become a drama worth writing a play script for.

life indeed has become stranger than fiction.

Deadly Philippine politics

i was reading the inquirer online and two of the breaking news are failed assassination attempts on political candidates. why is it so important to be in political power for some people that they're willing to literally eliminate the competition?

i don't get it! where is democracy? maybe i'm deluded and have an idealistic picture of philippine politics. but i'm just hoping that it will stop. that political killings will stop. that extrajudicial killings would stop. that dissent be tolerated. and maybe people would learn to let go of their positions when their time is up.

some want political offices because they want the opportunities for corruption built-in to it. some just like power. others really want to make a difference but are strangled by a rigid and corrupt environment. it seems like a vicious cycle.

miriam defensor who claims to have won the 1992 elections was made to look crazy for doing so. the opposition is painted in bad light when it doesn't suit the powers that be. i saw her on tfc the other day and she was being interviewed about pork barrel and how political office becomes a lucrative campaign fund-raising mechanism or just simply a source of corruption if the politician is not honest enough. she explained the allowances of the representatives and the ways that they can rechannel money into their pockets, i.e. cutting operational costs by hiring less staff.

it's interesting how philippine politics has become a mere popularity contest with actors running in the race for senators. i have nothing against actors but at least they should have some experience. cesar montano was in a debate with another senatorial hopeful and he was asked by the moderator what experience he had that qualified him to run for office. he said and i'm paraphrasing "we actors when we play poor roles, go to the impoverished places and see the poverty there". i don't count that as qualifying experience to run for office. a lot of politicians have gone to the slums but nothing has changed. internalizing your role as an actor does not make for a good politician. would it mean that he's just "acting" as a senator?

in the senate, we need people of substance. people that can really make a difference and are not afraid to make a stand on what they believe in. what is this "plant pichay in the senate". i don't know how far you can get with a campaign like that except for a laugh in the face with the play on words for a vegetable to be planted in the senate. i hardly find it funny. whoever came up with that campaign will surely make pichay the laughingstock of the senate.

i feel such frustration but i remain hopeful. some day, there will be people that will set aside their own agendas for the betterment of the philippines. the partylist system was supposed to empower the marginalized sectors of society. it has become another avenue of political dynasties with politicians creating their own partylists to ensure that they remain in power. it might not be at the forefront but surely they are the puppet masters in the background.

i hope the political killings will stop. i hope that there will be a fraud-free election. i hope many things for the philippines. some day, i know it will come true. i believe there is hope and we can all work towards that ideal.

God bless the Philippines.

my Brother, the LAWYER

Yehey!!! The wait has ended ... The results are final and absolute! My brother, Salvador "Buddy" Escalante has passed the BAR! He is No. 661 on the list! He is a lawyer!

the countdown

everything boils down to time. how much time do you have for this? how much time do you have for that? time is an inevitable part of the equation at any stage of life - or death.

in a few weeks, my mom will finally leave switzerland. it will be the fulfilment of my dream to stand alone, be independent. be away from parental guidance. be myself. my mom has never been strict with me. she's not very hard on me at all. and with her leaving, i will miss every little fight we had, the endless conversations that are picked up in the morning in case sleep got in the way. i feel scared. but i know it's part of growing up.

i won't have my sounding board so close at hand. i won't have my kakulitan. no one will understand me the way she does. she's the only one that laughs at all my jokes. we have the same sense of humour. i feel sad. now, i have to contend with time differences. i hope that i will be able to make it. i get terribly homesick. i hope that i can manage the time that i will be away from my family. tita minda will be left with me but it won't be the same as having a full house. even with just christopher, my youngest brother, here it's enough to make the house as raucous. now, i have to contend with silence and a limited space where tita and i can see each other's every move. i have to get a new phone line. i have to apply for cable. i have to do everything. it wouldn't be such a burden if everything was done in english. but there's also a language barrier. i still haven't improved my french!

but time ... time winds down at the most crucial of moments. it seems to tick faster at the time you want more of it. and it seems to prolong every second when you want it to be quicker. time. the invaluable part of the equation.

***

MY BROTHER'S LAW BAR EXAM .... waiting ...

A certain degree of callousness

Moving around has many implications. One is the welcoming hellos but the more painful one is the many goodbyes.

Saying goodbye requires a certain degree of callousness of heart that enables a person to just be able to strike up a friendship without weeping at parting. It allows a person to go on to the next part of the journey invariably intact.

Goodbyes have the tendency to break the heart and wet the eyes as it wells ups with tears with the thought of imminent separation or departure.

A certain degree of callousness is required when you leave the people you love. Just enough to dull the pain or to keep one from suffering from breaking apart or being apart.

Just how much callous must one envelop his or her heart with so that contact will be cherished but removal won't be searing?

Just a certain degree, enough to let go when the time comes to say goodbye.

First snow fall in Geneva.

Pain – a catalyst of change

How much pain can we endure before we say “enough is enough?” How much suffering must one withstand before saying “No”? How much pain must one go through before doing something about it?

It’s an epiphany of sorts for me to finally realize that with enough pain and suffering, we are forced to change. If we bask in the pain, we either turn numb or become insensitive. We lose sight of the lesson behind the pain. Pain is not necessarily a bad thing.

I am no masochist or a big fan of inflicting pain on myself. I am also not a sadist to want to wish or give pain to others. But pain, at the most unexpected of moments from the most unexpected of people come like a thief in the night - the surprise of it makes it even more hurtful. But it happens.

I believe that everything happens for a reason and even pain is sometimes a tool or a catalyst of change. It speeds up decisions that we were too afraid to make. It puts things in perspective. Just like being burned at touching a stove, we are less likely to do the same things which wrought pain upon us. It gives us parameters. It helps us make a better life.

At the turn of this year, a new year is promised at dawn. It’s a time for change. Looking back at the years I have spent here, looking back at the pain I’ve felt all these years, if I never felt them, I would have never moved on.

Perhaps, if my boss didn’t make me feel like shit, I would have never found my new job. Perhaps, if I wasn’t hurt early on in life, I wouldn’t have been as strong as I am now. But that’s also because of God’s help. He is always a factor. But pain, if isolated in its purpose is analyzed, could’ve been the saving grace of many lives.

A happy person is usually a contented person. Not willing to move. Unwilling to change. I don’t think pain is a good thing. I think the absence of it is great but the reality of life is full of pain. One must face it. And for me, a good way of looking at pain is its potency and its potential for change.

Memories

New poem, inspired by my bubble keeper's recent musical composition. Thanks BK!

I SEE YOU EVERYWHERE
BUT YOU ARE GONE

HOW CAN I SAY I LOVE YOU
WHEN YOU'VE LEFT ME BEHIND

I'M LEFT WITH NOTHING BUT MEMORIES

MEMORIES

MEMORIES PAST, MEMORIES OF OLD
GOOD MEMORIES WITHOUT A FUTURE

HOW CAN I MOVE ON?

YOU LEFT SO SUDDENLY,
I ONLY HAVE THE WIND TO HEAR
HOW MUCH I LOVE YOU

WHY DID YOU GO,
WHAT DID I DO?
IT WAS TOO SOON,
YOU TOOK MY HEART WITH YOU.

Anger seeps from my veins

It flows through every capillary

I AM IMMOBILIZED WITH WRATH

Red from unCertainty

Ex-Files

It was a late night out ... The usual Friday gimmick with friends. Before it an empowering and enlightening SFC teaching by Des at Tito Oca's house.

Aimee dropped me off near Manor so I can go to Café Bizarre. Saw Christa, Faryal, Aries, Jazu and Haider. We left the café after an hour or so. They had been there for quite a while. Christa needed to move her car before we all went to Le Phare.

It was a leisure walk among friends.

Then ...

I walked into Le Phare. There were no seats nearby. We saw our friend Salim and said our hellos. Then we walked on ... stop ... she was there. My dreaded ex. The ex I had been avoiding and hoping not to meet. But Geneva is small. But I didn't know she'd be back from England doing her masters. But she was. Stop. "Hi. How are you?" she said. I said, "I'm ok." Cut. I grabbed some seats and grabbed Christa, "My ex is there." "Where?" she said, "give me some indication, 12 o'clock, 6 o'clock". "There," I said, "in the corner, 12 o'clock". I don't know the exact words that followed but as my friends knew, they started comforting me. Christa hugged me and kept close all night making sure to keep me company. Same with Jazu, Aries and Faryal.

I felt so weak in the knees. I felt like vomiting. I felt sick. I didn't know she still had that effect on me. I was thrown back in a time warp ... dry mouth ... uncertainty ... fear.

We kept a civil hi, didn't talk to each other except to say goodbye. She wished me a good night. I just smiled.

When I got home, I cried my eyes out, slept at 5 a.m. and turned the events round and round ... why didn't I wish her Happy Rosh Hoshana. Afterall, it was their new year. But I was stymied.

I prayed and I cried. I had just asked Des how to let go. Then came this. An unexpected meeting with my ex.

Good thing I was surrounded by friends and I was at my top form. I looked pretty Jazu said. At least, I had something to show. But I didn't need to care. It was a long time ago. A year and a half to be exact.

I have always been on good terms wit my exes. I don't know why we ended like this.

Certainly unexpected

I had the most wonderful birthday anyone could ever wish for. I turned 26 today (Sept. 8) and I spent my eve with the family and friends I have here in Geneva. I thought they would never be able to pull it off. After all, I was always on top of things. I had bionic ears and hardly anything could ever pass me without being noticed. But they were so good. Under the leadership of my mom, Aries and Jazu, they pulled off what I thought was unimaginable. From the KIS group, Roland, Ate Mercy, Kuya Ramil, and Diane were there on that eve of Sept. 8. Faryal and new friend, Christa, was also part of the surprise. Nikki, my oldest friend here, was also part of the scheme. Tito Roque, Ate Virgie, Ate Julie, Tita Minda, pitched in. Haritz made their appearance. Christopher went home on time.

My heart could have exploded from the adrenalin the surprise produced. It was certainly unexpected. I am so blessed to have good friends.

On my birthday proper, Faryal, Melissa, Christa and Jamie made it even more special. Taking me out on the town, in our dressed-to-kill wear, we danced ourselves out at Pickwicks where Melissa threw out her knee. Faryal was ever cool and Christa ever so friendly.

It was a very blessed 26th birthday. I went to Mass twice. I am crying from sheer happiness. I never expected it all. Thank you God for all the blessings and friends and family that think of me so dear. I am really happy. I still can't sleep from all these happiness.

Thank you all.

Au revoir mon frère

At exactly 9.25 a.m. my brother will board a KLM flight bound for Manila. The litany of goodbyes will begin shortly before it. Gallons of tears would have fallen and the familiar goodbye will be said stabbing our hearts like it did when at the age of one he was also sent home to the Philippines.

It is the same situation now. It is for his future that he has been sent home. It is because he will have a better life there. And we will be watching him in pain as he leaves. We hope he will study well and find his dream – whatever it may be. We hope in the company of his elder brothers, he will become a better gentleman.

Our family has been apart more times than the common parting. It is not just weeks of vacation but of years of separation that plague our lives. It is for our own good. It is Gorby’s turn to go home for his future. He makes the trip alone, literally and figuratively, but knowing him, he would have made many friends on this flight home. He is called “congressman” here.

He is just that – a congenial young man, full of ideas with a bright future ahead. Exceptional and unique in his own right.

As the tears flow from its cask, a new leaf will be turned.

I will find my brother - a man - on our next meeting.

I will miss him. We will all miss him.

Au revoir mon frère. May God always be with you as you start a new chapter in your life. I love you. See you soon.

Imminent death

What would you do if you knew you were dying? What would you do if someone close to you is ill and you don't know if s/he will die? Would you talk to him or her even in their sleep? Would you give up all hope? Would you just sit there for death to claim him or her?

Isabel Allende's Paula speaks of such an experience. At the bedside of her daughter suffering from an illness that put her in a coma, Isable writes her autobiography, the story of her life and Paula's life and traces back their lineage so that Paula will remember when she wakes up.

I haven't finished the book but my colleague said Paula dies.

What happens to the book? How could a mother feel when her daughter dies?

Culmination of disappointment ...

Or blessing?

I received my answer last Friday. The Cantonal Office will not give my return visa unless my boss or personnel gives me a certification that I will have a new contract when I come back. "IN THEORY" is a word often used in the UN, so in theory, I am going to have a contract when I come back from vacation but nobody wants to sign the paper saying that I will have it. I don't get the logic. How hard is it to sign a piece of paper that says I worked from this and that period and will work again from this period to that period. It sounds elementary to me. ILO did it for me, I don't understand why the UN is so uptight. UNCTAD does it. So, what gives?

That same day, that Friday when a friend of mine from Milan was about to come for a visit, the long-awaited feared answer reached my ears. I remained numb or maybe I was just too jaded. Then later that Friday afternoon, from out of the blue, a colleague of mine from the ILO calls to ask would I come back if they would offer me a fixed-term contract. I said, "Of course!" That is my long-term goal after all. I cried from excitement and from a sheer overwhelming feeling. God was there. Then came the worry. What shall I tell UN who's expecting me back and my colleagues who I have come to appreciate? I didn't know how I could possibly smile when I met Joy. Good thing Nikki was with me to absorb some of my worry. In the end, the three of us shared a wonderful meal at Al-Ameer. The worry dissipated until Monday came.

Joy left on Monday morning. I was going to tell my supervisor about ILO's offer. I had to give ILO an answer. Work was piling up. I had a hangover from my coffee. Didn't sleep a wink. A bad aftertaste of Jazu's outburst. But it would soon come to an end.

Joy left, I felt sad. I told my supervisor, she wasn't pleased. She spoke to the personnel assistant which will try to extend my contract. I feel like I'm in a tug of war. My hangover was almost gone but left me breathless. My eyes were falling at every word. Jazu's outburst seemed like a distant memory.

Monday came to a close. Another workday completed. I have until the weekend to give an answer to ILO. I am pondering whether my not being able to go home at this time is a blessing. I have savings at least. I will probably go to Milan without a visa and spend my holiday with Joy. What am I supposed to learn from this experience?

A rollercoaster of yeses and nos. Of would'ves and could'ves. But now, the answers slowly come: No to Philippines, Yes to Vacation, No to Certification, Probably No to ILO, Yes to Prayers, No to bitterness ...

I am tempted to be very bitter. To wallow in the self-pity of my not being able to leave Switzerland. My household sister being stopped at the border because she didn't have papers. I felt like that.

I felt like a nobody, a nobody that no one wants to guarantee with a piece of paper that says I am working again with the UN, ILO or wherever.

Maybe there is something I am not seeing. Am I to feel the whole range of emotions that an OFW must feel? Is this a test ... is there a silver lining to this storm?

Perhaps ... it is a blessing in disguise.

Feeling OFW (the saga continues)

I don’t remember who told me to call the Swiss mission but it sure was good advice. I called but didn’t get an answer so I asked my mom to phone them. Fortunately, she got a hold of the person concerned, Ms. G.

I had given up all hope of going home but made a bargain with God. I promised him that if he would let me go home without any trouble or damage to my work, I would give up a certain part of my life. This was also a test whether God existed. I believe in Him that’s why I made the bargain.

So, the Swiss mission said that there was another possibility. For my chief to sign the letter stating that I would be getting a new contract when I come back. This was the original letter that I requested which my boss didn’t want to sign because in her words and quoting her boss “if personnel won’t do it, then you shouldn’t do it”.

It was a very safe answer which removed all responsibility from her hands. It left me disappointed but I was so numb that I hardly reacted.

My mom got an answer and asks me to call the Swiss mission. I call them. They tell me to make personnel call them. Personnel calls them. I call personnel to follow up. Personnel says that the chief can sign but that personnel will not give any attestation. The personnel assistant comes up to the chief’s office whilst me in it. We talk. "I better not get sacked for this," she says. I say, "it's only a formality." The chief drafts the letter but has to call the Swiss mission first. She talks to the Swiss mission. She faxes the letter. I get a call from the chief. Call the Swiss mission on Monday she says.

I wait.

Feeling OFW (part 2)

As if working for my family was not enough responsibility and a source of heartache, my working abroad has been plagued by visa restrictions. I just spoke to my boss and she said that personnel would not issue a certificate allowing me to obtain a return visa from the cantonal (municipal) administration here.
I took the news with a smiling face. I did not know how else to react to such grave news. I feel quite jaded now.

I have been in Geneva for a year and a half without going home. I know it’s not as long as 25 years or even as short as some people’s five years, but it is grave for me whose longest time out is usually eight months and then going back home to recharge.

I still feel calm now and no tears have fallen. I think I’ve cried it out in the previous days and my sleepless nights were premonitions of my imminent disappointment.
I can bitch all I want now but I think it will be a waste of my time and energy.
It is difficult when people depend on you and you are not free to make decisions that only suit your happiness. My family’s finances are hinged on my working abroad. Some of my friends are working abroad too but they like what they are doing. I might be a little impatient but I do like what I’m doing here, I just want to be able to go home. And even that I am not granted.

If I leave for my vacation, there is no guarantee that I can come back. Not even my mom’s diplomatic status can help me because I am independent of her in the eyes of Swiss laws.

What do I do?

Anger Management

Do you ever find yourself just blowing up at anything that triggers your anger? It's a cumulation of angst and anger and then that one little thing breaks the camel's back.

I succumbed to that. I feel so sorry and feel like I've sunk to the lowest depths.

My brother's friends come over at 10:30 p.m. It's late by Geneva standards. It would have been alright if they had called first or rang the bell respectfully and didn't scream at my brother from the other end. All that I heard as my brother came to the speaker phone.

So, I decided not to take it lying down this time. I had been quite angry with this "friend" for a while now. He was very rude and I had just been keeping it civil. But I had enough. I waited for them at the door and greeted them with a resounding "why did you scream at the speaker phone?" He adamantly denied it but I felt myself rising at the sound of his voice and his rude way of talking. I walked away.

Then my brother makes an excuse for my behavior saying that I had had a row with my mother and that I was taking it out on them. I felt like I've been sold out by my brother. It wasn't entirely untrue that I had had some discussion with my mother but it certainly wasn't the cause of my newfound anger. It was because my brother's friend had been so rude.

So, I butt in saying that I wasn't angry at my mother but at them for screaming at the speaker phone. The friend reasoned out which made me even angrier. I told him to not answer back. He said, "Why shouldn't I, if I'm in the right?" At this point I was on the verge of crying from anger and he decided to walk off. Good thing.

But it left me feeling bad that I had stooped so low as to go down to his level of rudeness. I was out of place to accuse him that maybe my younger brother had acquired that same rude behavior from him. He was my main suspect. He denied spending time with my brother. Then shortly, walked into the elevator.

As they left and as I heard their voices downstairs from our open windows, I felt a surge of guilt at my behavior. I should have known better to be calmer and to get my point across without seething anger.

An angry person loses much credibility unless it's righteous anger. Mine was nowhere near righteous. It was just plain old boiling blood anger. And I am sorry for having let myself be poisoned by it.

Tomorrow night, hopefully, we will make amends as my mother had to call a meeting so that we could all clear the air. I hope it goes well. I don't ever want to have a repeat of tonight's Mount Vesuvius eruption. It's definitely not a pretty sight.

Responsibilities

Responsibilities

The saying goes “To whom much is given, much is expected”. As people discover you can do many things, they expect more from you, extracting every bit of your talent. Some people rise to the challenge, others prefer to keep their talents hidden and far far away from prying eyes who might someday want to exploit them.

I have some talents, or so my mother says. I am constantly getting myself unintentionally involved in this and that project by happenstance. I don’t usually complain when I like what I’m doing.

Recently, I was invited to help out in a farewell project for our long-time parish priest. I didn’t know how I could be of help but I suspected I would be doing the computer stuff and much to my un-surprise, I did.

The people are pleased with what I’ve done with the layout of pictures and texts. I find it quite simple. Of course, to them it probably looks difficult. But it really isn’t. I feel like a newbie in front of techie greats or the proven tech-savvy.

What I’m trying to say is, I’m afraid. I’m afraid of building their expectations and then letting them down. In my younger years, I was very self-confident. I always knew the extent of what I can and can’t do. I put my foot down for things I knew were not my expertise. I was adamant in saying NO.

As I entered linguistics in college, I thought this must be easy sailing. I had always excelled in school so I thought, piece of cake. When I got my first almost-failing grade, I was on the brink of a nervous breakdown. I didn’t know what to do. I eventually got the hang of the subject but I decided to shift to journalism. There I was initially getting good marks, acing the homework, then all of a sudden, I got a failing mark on one of my articles. I was utterly crushed. I remember being randomly asked, “How are you?” by a classmate of mine and I broke down right there and then at the walk between the College of Social Science and Philosophy and the Faculty Center. She must have thought me mad. But it was the start of the incessant self-doubt and decreasing self-confidence. I didn’t know what I was really good at. I seemed to get good grades by sheer effort. I wasn’t as smart as everybody portrayed me to be. I felt like a cheater letting them think it.

But I guess at some point, God must have put something there in my head. I did know what I was doing. I got by even if I had no idea how to go about what I was supposed to do. It all worked out. It always worked out. But I was always afraid. I woke up late in the mornings. I became complacent. I lost my edge.

Now, I am here at a job that expects only excellence because it is simple enough. You have to be in on time so no late nights or sleep-ins. But despite my rigid schedule now, I still feel doubtful about my other responsibilities. As I complete each task, each activity, if I come out slightly triumphant, I am expected to do it again, even better next time.

All this thinking began because I did a good layout for the church and I was praised for it. I wonder how I would feel if my boss at work actually praised me. I would probably cry.

"What a waste"

Not a lot of people have openly expressed disappointment about what I'm doing right now. It's not to say they don't like it, they just think it's a waste of my talents. It's the first time I actually heard it out loud. She said "what a waste" when I told her I worked in the English typing pool at the UN. As if it wasn't bad enough that I've been feeling frustrated the past few days because I know that I could really be doing something more suited to my skills. But I have no choice at the moment. I haven't had proper time to look for other jobs and I can't afford to take time off so I can look for one. It's one thing chained to another thing and it becomes a vicious cycle of cannots.

I just hope I can get out of this rut soon. I look at where my batchmates are right now and I compare myself, which I shouldn't do. Everyone is different and we make different choices. Right now, I still don't know what I want to do in life. Five years ago, I was so sure. I planned to finish my master's degree and I was going to be some big shot somewhere. Well, I didn't know exactly where but I was going to be.

I'm at the UN now with a clerical job. Some people would say it's a real blessing. It is of course and the pay is not bad. But there is still something missing. As I go through the tedious task of encoding corrections after corrections from the translators, I am inclined to think - can I do better? Shouldn't I be doing something more?

I guess I compensate with all the extracurricular activities that I do. But it still doesn't feel right. Maybe I'm just complaining. But I really hope that something will come of my life soon. Something I can truly say I love to do. Something I can do for the rest of my life.