Brooding in Bangkok

Friendly warning: In this blog post, I will make several allusions to my favorite Greek guy again, launch into yet another existentialist angst-ridden reflection, and bitch about my latest trip to Bangkok once more. Proceed at your own peril.

In Homer's classic Odyssey, Odysseus is a battle-weary man who yearns to reach the shores of his beloved Ithaca, where his faithful wife and stalwart son await his home-coming. This was the Odysseus I introduced to my students in my 2 years of teaching English, the Odysseus I came to know, admire and love. In Kazantzakis' modern sequel, Odysseus is a restless, ruthless warrior whose wanderlust drives him to heed the call of the sea, and the endless possibilities that lie beyond. This is the Odysseus I am getting to know, an Odysseus I am beginning to loathe, yet still regard with the same fascination. And this is also an Odysseus I can relate to, indeed perhaps more so than his former noble self.

In one of my more intellectual (read: nerdy) discussions with Maddy, I once surmised that my affinity with (and abnormal affection for) Homer's hero is rooted in my being Atenean. After all, Odysseus does fit the profile of your typical annoyingly cocky, fiercely loyal, my-Trojan-Horse-is-bigger-than-your-Trojan-Horse Atenean, and I can certainly relate (and be attracted) to that. But I didn't think I would be able to relate to the other Odysseus-- Kazantzakis' Odysseus-- until last week, while I was in Bangkok on another excruciating, grueling business trip. On September 7, ICA was celebrating Teachers Day, and I was several thousand miles away, suffering in Bangkok, bearing up under my mom's incessant nitpicking and deathly dull meetings with suppliers. To offset my negative energy, I splurged on international roaming charges by texting all the ICA teachers in my phone book to greet them (Fara called me "crazy" for doing so, but hey, it's the time-- and money-- you waste on your roses, right?). To my surprise, I received SMS greetings of my own from 3 former students (Tiff Hong, Kri and Cla: love and hugs!), wishing me a happy Teachers Day even if I'm no longer one officially, and thanking me for having been theirs.

The timing couldn't have been better... or worse, depending on how you look at it. I had been having a stressful time in Bangkok (I swear I can never fully enjoy the city ever again for as long as I live, work has totally ruined it for me), so stressful that for the very first time in the year and a half I've been helping with the family business, I seriously considered quitting (at one point, when I really felt like I was going to scream from sheer frustration, I even texted my dad that I wanted to resign). I was that tired, and that drained, and that sick of dealing with countless forms of mental, physical and psychological torture my job has been inflicting on me the past few weeks. So in that moment after I received the first text from Tiff, I felt my first real, so-real-you-can-almost-touch-it, pang of-- not regret, I sincerely do not regret making the decision to help my parents-- my first real pang of longing, longing for what I had left behind: being a teacher, living out my Personal Legend. And in that same moment, I suddenly understood with painful clarity why they call it a "calling"-- it's something that summons you so strongly, so insistently, that it's almost audible. In my case, I had already answered that summons, then chose to leave it and move on elsewhere, and I thought that had been enough. But that day in Bangkok-- ICA Teachers Day in Manila-- I heard the call again, crystal clear, tugging irresistibly at my heart.

Whenever people ask me why I stopped teaching, they usually follow the question with automatic assumptions of "Hirap no?" "The students were a pain in the neck, huh?" "The pay was too low, wasn't it?" And I always wish I had enough time to explain to them that no, I didn't care about the lousy salary because the rewards were unquantifiable, and far more valuable than money. And that no, my students were wonderful and sweet and smart and funny and I adored them. And that no, it wasn't difficult because I loved teaching, loved it more than anything I have ever done in my life, more than anything I will ever do in my life. I quit teaching for the only reason I would ever leave something-- or someone-- I love: my family. And that has always been a sufficient answer for me, even up to now, even as I am still hearing the bittersweet echoes of my true calling.

But the second question people usually ask, would I ever go back to teaching, that seems much more complicated to answer now. I know that for all my mom's aggravating tirades and ceaseless disparagement, what I am doing for our family business does not go by unappreciated. I also know that my dad is confident that I have what it takes to survive in this industry and run our business. But I just do not see myself doing this for the rest of my life. My mom herself said that I am not cut out to be an entrepreneur, I'm too much of an intellectual. And I suspect she more than anyone realizes that I gave up the one thing I am truly meant to be doing. The question remains, do I return to what I am meant to be doing, or do I give it up for good, ignoring the plaintive call that will always resound in my soul?

I probably won't quit tomorrow, nor next week (even if 2 of our brand managers will be on leave for several weeks, which means my workload will triple over the month), nor even next year. I may be AVP of our company for the next 2, 5, 10 years. My siblings may join me and reinforce our ranks, or they may stay out of the business, partially or completely. But one thing is for certain: regardless of how long I stay, regardless of how long I'll be doing this job I alternately enjoy and detest, someday I will return to where I really belong, living out my life's dream, fulfilling my purpose in this world, answering my true calling.

It's no wonder Odysseus headed back out to sea. And I won't stay anchored in Ithaca forever either.