Filed under Journal …

Jul 12 2011
12 Comments
Journal, Making Ends Meet

Ambitions

Last Sunday, over lunch, I told my parents and my older brother that one of my friends was going to Spain to take up her MBA. It was the same school that some of my other classmates in Ateneo went to, and it’s said to be the best business school in Europe. They then informed me that one of my “ate” in high school also went to Spain to take up her MBA, seemed to have grabbed a job there, and has now sent her parents on a Rome tour.

I became silent, and a little bit tense. I had an inkling where this conversation was going to lead to.

Why don’t you try applying for a scholarship abroad? Papa asked me. After which you can return as a the CEO of a bank, or an insurance company.

Or perhaps the governor of the BSP, Kuya chimed in.

Hmmm. I didn’t expect that response. Yes, Papa has always been vocal about sending me abroad. He believes that further success can be achieved by way of a foreign assignment. In a way, it’s understandable. We’ve always been a family of movers, nomads that travel from place to place, seeking for opportunities in lands more fertile than the last. Papa himself had begun his quest in Masbate, then travelled to Cebu with Mama, then on to Zamboanga (where I was born), and then finally finding his Ultimate in Davao. I guess it’s high time for me to find my Ultimate, which may or may not be in Makati, which may or may not be in the Philippines.

But I digress. The discussion about emigration has been tackled ad infinitum, but the CEO/governor thing gave me pause. I myself have not thought of reaching those lofty positions. I’d like to think that I have big dreams for myself, but learning that others have bigger ones for me is quite daunting. Should I be flattered because it’s one massive vote of confidence, or should I be terrified because the expectations are once again far beyond my capabilities?

It’s time to reassess my position, because I have always envisioned my future as this:

[WARNING: GEEK MODE AHEAD.]

I’ll take my final local actuarial exam in December 2011 and pass (MUST. PASS.), attaining local Fellowship by 2012, and then completely tackle the international actuarial exams by 2015. In between these sets of exams, I’ll take my insurance courses and attain two more designations. The CFA title is also swirling in there somewhere, but more important, I intend on taking my Masters degree in Financial Mathematics or Quantitative Finance. Preferably abroad, like the University of Technology in Australia. However, unless I get a scholarship, I don’t think that’s going to be quite likely, and taking time off from work to study is a pipe dream as far as I’m concerned.

In the meantime, I’ll work as Manager for whatever company I’m currently working for, then move on to foreign soil in five years’ time (just in time for my international actuarial designation). I have my eyes set on Australia or Canada. Like I mentioned to a previous boss of mine, I have no plans of working in Singapore or Hong Kong. I find that the environment there is, for lack of a better term, robotic, and I need a little flexibility in my professional life. In any case, I’ll be staying abroad for five years, then move back to the Philippines to assume a higher position. Not as high as the CEO or the BSP governor (goodness), but at the very most, the Chief Actuary of an insurance company.

[GEEK MODE ENDS.]

In two years’ time, I’ll be staying in a condominium I bought with my own money. A year after that, I will have bought a car to be used for everyday utility. Five years after that, perhaps the car of my dreams, and then within the next ten years, the condo of my dreams.

By age 28, I will have visited my uncle in Ireland. By the time I hit 30, I will have travelled the entire Southeast Asia, including China. To celebrate conquering this part of the world, I will be spending New Year 2015 in New York City with some friends, drunk as a skunk while watching the ball drop from Times Square. By age 35, I will have spent a few weeks in Europe, including Spain, where I will no longer be able to eat in the awesomeness that is El Bulli but perhaps can still visit as a form of reverence to culinary genius, and Greece, where I will have spent a few days basking in the beauty that is Santorini (and its people). Then it’s off to Maccu Picchu and Rio de Janeiro before I reach 40.

These are my dreams. These are my goals. These are my ambitions.

But the question remains: can I do it?

The honest response: I don’t know. And I don’t think I’ll ever know until I finally publish this monster of an entry that has already taken up 12 hours of my life, set my laptop aside, bring out my highlighter, pens, and book, and start scribbling my way past Chapter 5 of this voluminous Investments book.

And then perhaps I’ll have a fighting chance.

Nov 24 2010
4 Comments
Happy Happy Joy Joy, Journal, Stripped

The First Time

Here I am, seated comfortably in an airplane headed to a foreign land, and it is late at night. Rows of thin clouds are scattered across the sky outside, and to me they look like velvet– soft to the touch, exquisite to the core. Stars dot the horizon almost recklessly, and against the dark skyline they look like lost diamonds. Inviting. Enticing. For the first time in a long time, I am in awe.

Inside, the in-flight movie is about to end. The Young Girl has just stepped out of her house to meet the Young Boy in her yard, that boy who’s currently toiling under the sweltering heat to plant a simple but significant sycamore seedling, that very same boy whom she wished out of her life almost as fervently as she wanted him in. As they stare at each other across the lawn, she is reminded of how dazzling his eyes are; he, how gorgeous her hair looks. As their hands touch together in the soil beneath the sycamore and the credits start to come up, I find myself smiling. For the first time in a long time, I find myself feeling a strange warmth in my chest. Strange, but deeply comforting. Weird, but deeply relaxing.

For all the pains and confusion and heartbreaks I’ve experienced this year, what with the career crossroads and the exam blues and the failed attempts in searching for The One, I never thought that I’ll be able to relish such a rare moment of peace. In this gap and in this silence, I find myself appreciating the fact that things have turned around for the most part. Where once there was an option, there is now a resolution; where once there was doubt, there is now an absolution. For the first time in a long time, I can truly say that I am happy.

And now, as I listen to instrumental Christmas songs that remind me of family, of home, and of an innocent kind of joy, I rummage through my bag to look for a pen and a sheet of paper.

From the tip of my pen comes truth. From the tip of my pen comes beauty. From the tip of my pen comes, well, love.

For the first time in a long time, this feels like the first time.

Aug 31 2010
5 Comments
Journal

Kerwin (II)

Moving forward begins with the self.

I’m glad I started filtering your updates in Facebook. I have always been curious as to what you were up to, and every time your name appeared onscreen, I couldn’t help but take a quick peek at your page to see what was going on. Filtering? Brilliant idea. Not even a month has passed before I totally forgot that you even existed.

I’m glad I had the courage to tell you what I knew about you all along. I should have done it earlier, and perhaps met with you in person, but for a non-confrontational guy like me, those messages were a big deal and a big step forward. I’m glad that you’re fixing your life, but it’s a little bit too late for us. The good news? It might not be too late for you.

I’m glad I started to manage expectations. I’m no longer the eager boy I was when the year began. I realize that people do not always turn out to be the majestic angels I once envisioned them to be, so I adjusted my expectations accordingly. Too much time, effort, and money have been spent on people who disappoint you in the end.

I’m glad I’m a stronger person because of the pain. I’m glad I’m a wiser person because of the disappointments.

But most important:

I’m glad this phase is now over, because I’m getting sick of writing the same old tired words on the same old tired themes surrounding the same old tired phases of this same old tired life.

Aug 26 2010
6 Comments
Journal

Kerwin (I)

I have been living my life with my own brand of sorrow.

The year began with an abrupt awakening of the senses, a violent exposure of a vulnerable self. In one swift stroke (or one brief meeting, whichever is more appropriate), I became bare. Despite the pain, I embraced my nakedness. I persevered through the hazy and confusing rules of engagement in pursuit of an end that I knew to be uncertain. I did not succeed in meeting this end.

Several heartaches later, I find myself alone, all set up against a backdrop of a rainy evening and a soundtrack telling me that “good things come to those who wait.”

To all of you: you have hurt me, but I have moved on.

The price of detachment is one of conscious isolation, but the rewards can be enticing: no waiting, no sorrow, no fairy tale expectations. This is what I did last year, to much favorable result: 2009 turned out to be one of the best years in recent memory. I sailed through the year armed with a carefree attitude, a body that was 20 lbs lighter than when the year started, and a career that was well on its way to peaking.

A wave of a hand and the career nosedives into a place of insecurity and unhappiness. A snap of a finger and the pounds come rolling in. A blink of an eye and the confidence vanishes into thin air.

How easy it is to lose what one just had.

I am Kerwin Ray Sentillas, and I reappear six months later, broken and torn. But I am not gone. I have not given up. Although I am only the shadow of the king I once was, I will pick myself up, piece by piece, until I am whole again.

This is me, picking up that first piece. Watch me.

Feb 20 2010
7 Comments
Journal

Explaining A Disappearing Act

When your last entry’s two weeks ago, something’s definitely up with your life. Either you’re a) terribly busy; b) terribly sad; c) terribly infatuated/lovestruck/crazy-to-the-point-of-rabid; or d) terribly uninspired. Guess what? I’m three of those things. Whoever gets them right wins a nibble on the ear from me. You should be excited! I nibble extremely well.

I kid. But seriously, this depresses me. Remember I paid for the maintenance of this site? I should be filling it up with entries and pictures and widgets and what-nots, not empty spaces and long gaps between posts. Ah, but zee life eez strange, eez eet not? For the past three weeks, my mistress– let’s call her “Office”– has seen more of me than my wife– let’s call her “Boarding House”– has. Not that I’m complaining about my work, but I’m just pointing out that every time I come home from a busy day in the office, there’s no time to fool around with FB, WP, and Tweetie.

That’s right. You can tick a) in your checklist. Reason for lack of entries: a career path that requires me to churn and churn and churn.

How about lack of inspiration? Is that a consideration? Yes, yes, one big mighty YES. Part of it might be justifiable because of the above-mentioned tiredness, but, ceteris paribus, the lack of a driving force is one major obstacle to writing. To put it simply: nothing comes to mind. To put it accurately: nothing comes to mind that I can transfer to this 14″ screen. Ideas are a-plenty, sure, but it fizzles out before the thought gets into my tippy-tappy fingers. I’m a few axons short of a complete synapse.

Kiddies, kindly tick b) in your checklist.

So what’s the last one going to be? Infatuation or depression? Love-craziness or sadness? (Man, the nibble’s getting extremely easy to get.)

Okay, I will admit it: I am in love. I am truly, madly, deeply in love. I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, I can’t even freaking breathe because whenever I see this person, or get a text message from this person, or, OR GOD FORBID be with this person, my heart leaps to my motherfreaking throat and stays there until I die of asphyxiation or something similarly defined as suffocation.

WHERE’S MY BROWN PAPER BAG I NEED SOME AIR.

But I kid. Again. (This is so Ellen DeGeneres.) I’m not even in love– are you crazy?! But I’ve been hit. By this truck. Called “crush.” And while it’s not the knee-weakening type I’ve so elegantly described, it still packs a heavy punch. Check my entries before I left the blogosphere temporarily. The evidence is there. Of course, being the stealthy little boy that I am, I coated the words with much enigma and mystery that it’s completely possible that I’m talking about another thing entirely.

I wish I can be as open as other people.

That’s not the point, though, and I digress. The point: this crush has rendered me at a loss for words. Which is partly the reason why I disappeared in the first place. I can’t really fill this blog up, at its early stages of infancy, with lines about hope and rejection and fanaticism because that just wouldn’t be me. Or rather, that wouldn’t be realistically me. Or rather, that wouldn’t be wholly me.

Whatever. This journal-type word diarrhea has got to stop at some point, and the 570+ mark seems like a good spot to do it.

So that’s a), c), and d). Now take the hair off your face and show me that ear…

Kidding.