From Newsroom to Therapy Room: Finding my Path

Writing has always been my passion. Well, it started with reading. We have tons of books at home, from encyclopedias, almanacs, academic references to novels, poetry, short stories, and essays. In gradeschool, I was already reading Edgar Allan Poe, Hellen Keller, F. Sionil Jose, N.V.M. Gonzales, Kerima Polotan-Tuvera, even Greek and Roman mythology. Because of them and many other prolific writers, I was inspired to write. I wanted to do it as a profession someday.

In the fourth grade, I was introduced to Campus Journalism and had, since then, wanted to become a journalist. Fast forward to 2012...I graduated from UP with a degree in Journalism, eager to write about things that matter from the micro to the macro level. I wrote so many stories over the course of my training as a Journalism student. Some papers would return bloody, others with a more positive remark. I went to almost all government agencies, interviewed countless people including politicians, entrepeneurs, people in authority, people from almost all walks of life. I was suddenly pushed out of my comfort zone and got sucked in unexpectedly to a whole new adventure that both scared and surprised me. That time, I was idealistic as my youth and my UP education have filled me with the propensity toward making a difference. "Iskolar ng Bayan. Para sa Bayan." I wanted to change the world one story at a time.

But the realities of life hit me like the basketball that never failed to bounce on my head whenever I was near the covered court in high school -- inadvertently but hard. (Rant: Bakit favorite akong tamaan ng basketball noon? Why? Why me? hahaha!). And so I became a part of the work force when I was 21. I haven't even marched or gotten my diploma (because Octoberian baby) but I was already working a 7am-4pm shift, toiling away in a, well, rather spacious cubicle. A little after a year in the corporate world, I had an existential crisis. What am I doing in this corporate jungle? Where did all my ideals and hopes and dreams of changing the world drift away? What am I doing with my life? Intense, I know. (haha!)

That was when I thought about Psychology. My Psych 101 class had a big impact on me and so I took several Psych classes as electives in college. In 2013, I finally decided to apply for the MA program in Psychology at UP Diliman. Luckily, I got in and so the loooong journey to becoming a clinical psychologist began. Through and through over the course of completing my MA degree, I found my calling. I will be a good, if not the best, clinical psychologist. I will change the world one person at a time.

People would sometimes tell me how envious they are of me because I've found what I want to do for the rest of my life, or at least until I retire haha. But it wasn't easy. Journalism is my first love. It molded me into the person that I am today, taught me things I wouldn't have learned had I followed my parents' wishes of me pursuing Business Economics. I will always be grateful and forever proud of my training at the UP Journalism Department. But things change, hearts sway, and dreams evolve from the bubbles of idealism to the realms of the inevitable socioeconomic realities in this awfully capitalistic and highly competitive world.

It is not easy to change careers. But weighing both advantages and disadvantages (including economic and personal variables hehe), I decided to dedicate my life to the helping profession.

And every year since I started in the MA Psych program, I feel transformed as a person and as a clinician-in-training. Every learning, every experience brings me to realizations and to a personal resolve of how I can live my life better. The most tranformative and life-changing experience in this journey has been my practicum. Doing actual counselling/therapy was overwhelming, exciting, exhausting at some point, but it was during these times that I realized I've made the right choice of shifting to this career. I've never felt more alive, more needed, more useful, more important and valuable in this society. While I struggled in the beginning, eventually, I found each client/patient as a challenge. I would learn more through reading, talking to people, friends and other counsellors/therapists. I felt that, finally, I was in the right place.

I've never been more sure about what I wanted to do in life. This is it. This is my calling. This is where I feel I belong and I am genuinely happy. In the therapy room, I found chaos and peace, light and darkness, being and becoming. I found the convergence of life's questions and answers as well as the in-betweens. I craved to learn more, to improve, to help more and become more efficient and effective in my craft. I was a ball of positive energy, confidence, courage. I was again full of idealism - that I could make a difference - but with more realistic viewpoints and expectations. I was full of life...until a death occurred.

Pipe Dreams

I've always imagined myself withering away, rather gracefully, in some secluded beach in the coast of southern Peru. I'd be listening to stories of people that come by for the beach, for the seclusion, for that irrational longing for a place they've never been to, or for the illusion that everything is okay because they're somewhere far. I'd probably still write, a lot. I'd walk by the beach in the morning just to see the sun rise; with cigarette in one hand and coffee in the other, if neither of them has killed me yet. I'd learn to make cocktails and chase my morning coffee with vodka by 10 a.m. I'd knit or crochet in the afternoon, maybe take a nap, and hopefully stay away from any kind of meds despite the frailties that old age entails. I'd wake up to some old playlist I used to listen to when I was younger and then remember some people who, hopefully, are still part of my life. I'd dance to the music while making my afternoon tea. Tea is always best in the afternoon. Then I'd write, maybe letters or essays, a poem, or a short story based on a random traveler or stranger's life story. I'd write until I tire and I'd walk again by the beach to watch the sun set. I'd wonder how many people have gone to the moon by now; did another planet get demoted? How far have we gone for science? And what about the arts? By nighttime, I'd be reading a book on my porch facing the sea. And as I get attached to a character, as I devour each page with fervor and ardency, I'd smile. I'd smile and probably cry a little for the innocence in my childhood, the impulsivity and intensity of my youth, the triumphs, blunders and struggles in adulthood, my either strained or unfeigned platonic and romantic relationships. I'd chase off the thousand thoughts that have always plagued my mind for as long as I don't remember anymore. I'd write in my diary and drift off to sleep as my memories live again in dreams, in figments. What a modestly splendid life. 

May 2, 2019