A few days ago I was seated across someone who was born on a Wednesday, June 9. I know because she was named after her birthdate, and because we used to go to the same school--I think. I was pretty sure we recognized each other, but such recognition was left unentertained--as it should, because small talk inside a jeepney is the worst kind. (Mentally rehearsed) surprised reaction, a brief hi-hello-how are you, then a dismissive laugh about something that is neither funny nor interesting. The next moments until either of us have to get off would be torturous, as I would be needlessly fidgeting on my phone and doing whatever to avoid eye contact.

I feel weird writing this because we weren't close enough for me to be talking about her on my blog. Or anywhere else, actually.

But anyway, what I'm trying to get at is it was one of those random encounters that made me think back to something I haven't given much thought about. It's strange, yet fascinating. Having been to the same grade school, her presence made me remember my last years there: being pulled out of classes to spend the day in the library, training for the next round of journalism contests, enveloped in an air of false superiority because I wasn't busting my ass over formulas and historical timelines.

I was hell-bent on becoming a journalist. Me, a pre-pubescent kid with the terrible sense of style but with a heart that aches for the written word. So I guess it was where the fondness started. I tried to keep it 'burning' when I entered high school but there wasn't really much opportunities. High school was a wasteland.

And, well, in college I took pride in calling myself a journalism student. Then shamelessly trampled on that identity by involving myself in a sketchy website for the bucks, but let's not talk about that. So I had journalism and advertising classes. It was draining but I wanted nothing to do with production classes so, there. The (exhausting but fulfilling) combo turned out to be a great decision because it opened up for me a lot of opportunities to explore.

It's been almost two months since graduation and I'm still exploring. It's a bit uncomfortable for now but every time I feel like I'm about to shift gears again, I go back to what a client has told me--about taking small but necessary steps to get to where I want to be. It doesn't always have to be a huge leap--which is a great point because me? I'd probably fall hard on my face.

I feel like I've already achieved something just by being able to hold on to my childhood aspiration of being a writer. And things may not be as rosy as I'd hoped it would be but that's okay. I'm definitely more patient now with things in general, but most imporantly with myself.