April 30 2014 Wednesday

Today I got a shitty jacket. It seriously smells like shit. (I'm not sorry for the "vulgarity". I think 'shit' is the aptly strong adjective I need, and it would be an insult to language and a waste not to use it.) It was not ironed out. It has more creases than waves in the ocean. It looks like it hasn't received as much water as a desert lately, yet has probably more molds than trees in a rainforest. But the most outstanding feature is still its stinking smell. I had no choice though, I have to wear this and clean it before returning it.

Anyhow, the jacket isn't the saddest part of the trip. The working conditions down in the plant are terrible. The vapor smell permeates the air all throughout. These vapors are no mere nasal irritant though: some are carcinogenic, while others nibble on the olfactory system. Some are skin and eye irritants, others cause impotency, many are flammable and explosive and a select few could instantly kill in a single dose.

Not to mention the constant noise that eats up the eardrums, the body, and the mind.

I think PPE is not enough against such things. There should be a technology upgrade or landscape architecture or something. A few yellow-green plants pop up here and there once in a while, but they look more like annoyances than relief.

I'm starting to rethink my stay here. I still want to teach children. Or maybe back in Pisay or in UP ChE Dept.



Today we studied the CCRU (Continuous Catalyst Regeneration Platforming Unit). It was sooooo interesting! I guess partly due to the instructor, who was very enthusiastic as well! What was his name? Mr. Cruz I think? Anyhow, he really knows a LOT, especially taking into account that he was only operating for what, 5 years??

Nonetheless, I still think the design of the unit is fascinating in itself. Very complex, yet everything fits like an enzyme to its substrate. I guess I can't detail it here now, since this entry is plenty long already.

Also, today tita was sent to the hospital. I pray that she gets well soon. I didn't know her last name until now. Dabu. I guess that also goes for ate Jem. Jem Dabu. Has a nice ring to it.

We cooked our own food for dinner but I guess I'll be signing off now.

April 25 2014 Friday

Today I colored a PFD!! It was just Petron's BASIC Process Flow Diagram but it was complex as a flagella. Each unit works harmoniously with the others; each important but none indispensable. There is always a back-up, except for the CCRU (Continuous Catalytic Regeneration Platforming Unit), that is, since its old partner the PWF (Powerformer) is rather old.

Anyway, I color-coded the PFD to 6 classification of equipment: blue for hydrotreaters, violet fo separators, red for reformers, yellow for crackers, orange for the isom unit, and green for the merox (mercaptan oxidation) units.

Why was it fun?? I'd say our work is beautiful. But the act of coloring has somehow pulled me in the wonderful imaginative world of kindergartens.

I'd like to do it again some other day.

April 24 2014 Thursday

Today I got my safety hat. It looks very neat! It had a single fin which ran through it from front to back. It was a shiny white even though it was a bit dusty. It smelled like  some weird plastic, probably from the material it was made. So I had to clean it with alcohol to remove the dust and cover the smell.

I also went to a newly opened Starbucks branch in Balanga, Bataan with a few of my friends. I didn't buy anything, though I did manage to taste a drink. It was just a sip though. I didn't know which was it, but it was a very sweet, creamy, mocha flavored cold coffee. It was good, I must admit. Also the place was very classy. Clean sofas and smooth, shiny, plastic wooden tables lined the windows. The land area isn't the largest, but it looked quite spacious nonetheless. The comfort room was grand too. Quite spacious for a single person capacity. Motion-sensor automated lights and faucet, and the dark, shiny tiles left a feeling of being in a hotel.

But I'm still no fan of starbucks. I still think it to be overpriced, if not overrated.

Anyway, it's interesting that I walked into starbucks carrying a humble sandwich from Burger Machine. Not to mention I was wearing a shirt I recycled from monday, and pants from yesterday. Oh, and the brief too. Hey, I was despserate you know. At least noone seemed to care.

I thought I wouldn't have time to review for tomorrow's exam, butt turned out it only took 30 minutes to study. Well, the night is quite deep and I should go to sleep now.

I Don't Need Your Inspirational

Don’t tell me to just believe. Don’t tell me that if only I believed in myself, that if only I believed hard enough, tried hard enough, then I could be anyone I want. Then I can do anything. Anything.

What good does believing do? And what can faith accomplish? If my faith in myself is as big as a mountain, can it move a mustard seed? After all, it is not so much about faith, as it is the object of faith.

I don’t want to hear you saying “you can do it!”, when clearly, I can’t. I hate how you force yourself to think positively, how you believe baselessly on optimism as if it were a god. I hate how you chant your words like some mantra of an obscure religion. I hate how you only look at the positive side, not facing the reality of the situation.

Let me tell you: false hopes could be more destructive than hard criticism. It does not kill in one blow after which it is possible to recover. No, it whittles away the life, little by little. It keeps me ignorant. It keeps me from growth.

“Everything will be fine.”

Why?

“It’s okay.”

But it’s not.

You call it inspiration. Positive thinking. All I see are half truths and baseless lies, statements that can’t even stand up to a little scrutiny. So stop feeding me your sweet poison. I’d rather swallow whole a raw bitter gourd.

What I need is the truth. I need the encouraging word of truth, not the desperate hopes of a disillusioned mind.

I need you to tell me that truth, that I sang terribly at the karaoke last night. I need you to tell me that I skate well. I need to hear how embarrassing I was in front of her. And tell me I’m funny. That my breath is bad. Tell me I cook well, and that my fashion sense is terrible.

I need that bloody, excruciatingly painful truth.

So tell me that it’s not okay. Cry with me. Tell me that even this is for the good of those who love God. Tell me that I’m wrong. That I’m wretched. And that I have hope. Remind me that I’m forgiven. Tell me that I am changed.

I don’t need a placebo. I need that bitter medicine. I need that bloody, excruciatingly painful heart surgery. I don’t need your inspirational.

April 23 2014 Wednesday

The dolphin fell from my roof yesterday. A glow-in-the-dark, flat dolphin stuck with magic tape. It glows rather faintly at night. I suppose it's been stuck there for a long time.

This dolphin is my moon. In the utter darkness of the night in our room in this boarding house,  it glows a faint, lonely, gentle green. Along with seven stars: 2 big, 5 small. I sleep on the upper deck; they are stuck together within my arm's reach.

I remember the dolphin was on the floor yesterday morning. It was on the cabinet yesternight. But now it's gpne.

It's a little more boring now. And a little bit darker too. Only seven stars to light my night ceiling. No moon, no dolphin.

It's a little more sad, actually. Maybe I should sleep now.