clumsy

it seems that when you get excited for a certain thing, heavens fall apart to give you that hard blow.

i woke up early this morning, with eagerness in my heart, to pick up my I.D. from the office of the daily broadsheet where i am spending my 200-hour OJT. i am not into flaunting my press I.D. in congress or anywhere else, say, when walking along the streets of batasan or outside the area. my intention is clear: i want to avoid obstructions. why? it is of popular knowledge that the house of representatives is an ultimately-secured institution (i just wonder how the security team overlooked the tricksters, who were responsible for the death of Basilan Rep. Wahab Akbar in the batasan bombing just last year) that's why visitors have to log-in and out. without an I.D., i am still a visitor. for two weeks since i started reporting, i languished under the sun in a long line with our folks, who were asking for assistance from the congressmen, for whatever purpose they desired, until i was given a media pass for the month of april. i know everything else after the issued date falls into my responsibility of getting my press I.D.

...and so i got it. i also asked for jaycee's, since he was tasked to cover something in U.P., at 10 a.m.

i had a wondeful day in the press office, that i thought everything would turn out fine. jaycee and i met at mcdo q.av at around 5:30 p.m. we stayed for about an hour, taking about our OJT experiences, and spying at the cake-boy from McCafé.

true. everything's fine today, but.... no. i JUST THOUGHT everything's fine today.

i got my I.D. laminated before i went home. i was in high spirits! my day was wonderful... WAS WONDERFUL.

i forgot to put my signature and the "in-case-of-emergency" contact number in it. chickenfeed! i knew i could do something about it. so i started to peel off the edges with a cutter... slowly... carefully, until i had half of the I.D. rewritable, then scribbled my signature. i didn't care about the "in-case-of-emergency" thing. i could just stick on a piece of paper in it. then there came the ever almighty heated iron, steered by my very own hands on top of a paper, as i pressed the plastic smooth. presto! i had my I.D. back in its decent impression. but i grew mad and kept on rubbing the iron against the paper, with the hope of making it harder than it was, until small bubbles appeared on the surface of my photo, and what the heck was i doing?! my picture looked like i was a hard-scaled reptile or a cast of zuma and galema! hell! i even had blisters on my fingers!

now there's no escape from the batasan security team. i still have to play patintero with the soldiers to get inside the north wing! i'm so clumsy! i'm so clumsy (but not in love)! haha!