I woke up at around 5am today, a regular Wednesday. To many of you, this is the average week day wakeup time–to me, it’s absolutely 100% unexceptably late. But hey, I still made it out of the shower in under 15minutes so that’s a good thing.
I don’t normally blog about my life since it is, for you, neither interesting nor relevant, but for some petty unknown reason, before I left home, I resolved to write about this whole day — an average duty day of probably absolute boredome for you, my readers (in case you’re there and I’m not making things up).
Well, guess what? Acording to God’s plan, for some unknown reason, instinct had led me to believe that I will surely find something interesting to blog about. And I did.
Knowing that you don’t know me, I’d like to clarify. I’m Reese, and I’m an unemployed Batch 2013 Registered Nurse of the Philippines, currently volunteering at “Clinic ni Kuya,” a UNTV medical mission–the one based in Silang. Yes, every Wednesday, I’d travel about 1hour in the morning just to get there. And here I am, without my glasses (because I broke them yesterday, and don’t get me started on how much of my things I’ve broken this month), scouring about the world – I’m near-sighted a bit and have astigmatism, but I’m not legally blind – wandering into the streets and high ways, unknowing of my adventures and misadventures, believing only in the freakish sensation that I have to capture each moment of this absolutely mysterious day.
I’m going to be honest here and tell you I kind of slacked back after taking a bath, and left the house a little over 6am, which is not good because Vital Signs taking starts at 6:30 and I have 1 hour travel time at the very least. But what the heck.
I took a tricycle that had a man already sitting inside the cab. Didn’t think too much about it and took the seat behind the driver. We weren’t even halfway near the main road, Aguinaldo Hi-way, when the man went down and paid his fair. I happily transfered to the seat he left.
The tricycle driver was getting me a bit impatient, always stopping at points waiting for people to pick up. No worries. I can’t blame him that I’m late. A bit later, he stopped to pick up a woman probably in her late 50s. She was carrying a lot of things with her. But as soon as she was comfy beside me on the seat, she looked back at me. I didn’t hesitate to give her a bright warm smile, not that I was thinking of it at that very moment. I think I’m just the type of person who likes to smile at people who look at me regardless what their facial expressions tell about what they think of me. Some people return this sort of weird expression and body language that translates almost exactly to “I don’t know you, stay far away from me as possible.” But for some reason, and not because she just doesn’t have a choice, she smiled back and all that tiredness from her lifting those heavy baggage seemed to fade away for a moment. I was kind of happy.
Here is an almost-stolen shot of her less than 2 minute smile before she looked away. Okay, I’m not good with stolen shots… you’ll learn more about that later on, but I said to myself, “What the heck, I’ll just upload this picture for the sake of it.” Haha.
Getting a bus at the main road isn’t exactly difficultin the morning, but they’re very rare, it seems. And with my kind-of bad eye sight today, I couldn’t see from afar very well. Thank God the conductor saw me wave at the last minute and pulled over.
I went up the bus. It was hardly full. I picked the seat on the right next to the window in the back half where no one was sitting next to. I hardly felt the tap of an acquaintance, I call her Sis. Ana, who, by the way, was also on her way to the medical mission in Silang. And because I didn’t have my glasses, I definitely didn’t see her. She told me anyways when we got there. But it’s been a bus ride like no other.
At first I was gazing out the window at all the people, shouting a jolly Good Morning to everyone at every stop we made – kidding.. but I was seriously contemplating whetheror not to do so during the whole ride.
I took this picture earlier and hardly noticed that the one on the front-most right seat was actually Sis Ana, I think. Because, later, I totally missed my stop. She later told me how surprised she was when I didn’t get off the bus. She said she thought I fell asleep. Awkward. My bad.
Don’t think I overslept my ride because I absolutely didn’t sleep, even during the half-hour traffic passed NCST where I texted another acquaintance, Joanna, who so happily relieved me of the pitting guilt embedding deep into my soul (okay, exaggerating) of being the only one late for duty, kind-of. She has an excuse, I don’t, though. Jo’s a teacher by profession, an English Professor. She’s really fun. That’s her below.
I’m not going to go through the full detail about the whole vital signs and physician or patient assistance thing. Just that it’s as fulfilling as it’s always been. I may not have loved the nursing course the moment I entered college but I sure did develop a passion for it. I love the engagement, the chance to help other people, to not be idle and not know what to say or do all the time. I thank God for pushing me into this direction despite my original passion for teaching, public speaking and journalism. Not that I lost the passion for these things but that I think I didn’t make the wrong move either.
After all patients have been cared for and served, and the doctors have gone their separate ways, a few of us stayed behind at the clinic office, did a few wrap ups and decided to go for a “tusok-tusok” endeavor. Sorry if I made that sound like something big. We just headed for some “street food merienda time” although long-story-short, we ended up inside SM Dasmariñas. Pictures below.
We were here to commemorate a career opportunity of our pharmacist colleague, Alynn.
To add, it was also the birth day of Sis. Riza.
Honestly, it’s not everywhere I get to experience warmth and acceptance as I did with the CNK family. I just wanted to say this. Experiences and lessons I’ve had since had left an unfading smile in my heart.
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