Wednesday, August 29, 2012

Baptism by fire

Since we last spoke, I have made a couple of changes to my life.

One, I got older.

Two, I got thinner. Still fat though, just smaller. And just as short.

Three, I made a career change.

Know how I was a magazine writer? Yea…..I jumped….to the news desk. And for the last 7 months ladies and gentlemen, this drama queen you have come to know and adore and worship and most definitely missed…have been covering the business end of the news spectrum.

Finance news spectrum.

Bitches, I am a legit financial journalist. And I have never even taken a damn account or even economy or even an “Intro to Finance 101” class in my entire life.


However, my white, straight up corporate business card (no longer sparkly pink one) now says:

Constant Drama
Financial Journalist

I had the most intense, batshit crazy three-longass probational months where I was thrown head first into the financial world. The first week started innocently enough. “CD, write a 50 words brief out of this press release.” “CD, we need an update of that bank’s statement. Check the database and just rewrite from there.”

Life’s pretty smooth sailing sailing when you’re a so-called financial journalist with no finance background whatsoever when all you have to do is rewrite press releases. Pretty, fucken smooth.

So yeah, the first week was…paradise.

And then it begun;

“We need someone to cover the stock exchange today. Who’s not busy? CD, you know where Bursa Malaysia is? Get your ass there.”

“CD, I want the exclusive with Bank A’s CEO. By 4pm today. Get it done.”

“CD, what was the financing structure of that syndicated deal? What was the loophole? No loophole? Bullshit. Find it.”

“Eurozone. Interbank money markets. 1000 words. 9am, my desk…..Why are you still standing there gawking at me?”

To say that it was rough, was an understatement of epic propositions. The intense deadlines, the yelling, the running all over the place, the whole harrasing CEOs for interviews, chasing economists for comments and all the while learning about finance as you go was just fucken batshit insane man.

The first month, I spent 6 lunchtimes crying in the restroom. How utterly pathetic. But it happened. And I’m not ashamed that it did. It was that bad. It was that intense. It was that stressful that I was up at night just hanging out at the stock exchange page just so I’m updated and won’t be caught surprise on Monday on whatever the fuck crashed over the weekend.

It didn’t helped that the copy editor was a complete beast. Up to three rewrites on most of my pieces, looking over her glasses and asking “And…you have a degree in journalism?”  in a spiteful condescending way.

It was bad. I thought of quitting a couple of times. But I didn’t. Just kept going. Just kept learning. Just kept doing the rewrites. Then, it was three months. Was confirmed, got a raise and suddenly…things were rosy. 

Apparently, baptism by fire is the way they do it here. And as it turns out, that’s just the way a newsroom, a proper newsroom work. It is a fucking warzone everyday and if you can’t fucking take it then you can pack up your shit and leave.

There’s still yelling now and there’s still a shitload I don’t understand but these days instead of being completely blindsided by the finance world…I actually know what the fuck I’m talking about. Sort of.

Well, it has only been seven months. And I haven’t cried in six. So…it’s good. I'm good. Good enough to have left over time to be back to blogging again.

Wednesday, January 25, 2012


I remember how you were once.

I remember when you first came back bout five years ago. I remember you all fiery and angry. Upset with the opression, pained by the subjugation, angered by the truth.

I remember you walking tall, talking loud and standing firm in what you believed in. I remember your arrogance, your temper, your strength.

I remember it well.

Today you stood in front of me. Dejected, humbled and beaten. The world have chewed you up and spit you out.

Your life is passing before you, the years have turn you into a man but not the one you have envisioned yourself as.

Almost three decades old and nothing to show for. You took a chance, you gambled it all and none paid off.

You're down on your luck, and you can't hide it from me.

It pains me to see you this way. It saddens me to my being.

The love I bear for you is yearning for me to reach out, to hold your hand, to make the monsters go away. But the love I bear for you also know that I should not acknowledge your pain nor your defeat for pride is in the way.

Pride is all you have now when everything has gone away, when even your looks are fleeting away.

You are not defeated for this is not the end.

I wish you could see that, could see things my way. I wish you could see that you are more than the chances you gambled away. Much more than those who betrayed you. I wish you could take the pain, the loses and turn it into your armour. The armour you wear to brave throught the shitstorm that is this life.

But most of all, I wish you could see the man I see in you. The man who one day will be somebody. The man who will fight through all this and comes out on top. The man who will wear his battle scares proudly, but quitely.

The man of quite strength others stood in awe with.

Fight, fight for another day and the day after and the day after that for it is not the end.... till death comes to claim you.

And till that time comes, know that I am here. That I am here always to catch you when you fall and to propel you back up.

Wednesday, January 04, 2012


Just a short update on the cop front:

It is over. I gave him a month, and it was just not working. Plus, he was getting irritating that in the end I thought "You know what... I much rather dying alone and be eaten by the 49 cats that I will (inevitably) own then deal with this fuckkery for another minute."

So I did. Call it quits that is.

And then I went home and watch Band of Brothers on DVD. Nothing heal a non-broken heart from a non-relationship like heterosexual men doing heterosexual things while making things go boom; all while running around in period costumes.

2012 is starting with a bang, you guys. A motherfucken bang.