How to Find Love

Disclaimer: This isn't exactly a step-by-step guide on finding the love of your life. I'm no expert at relationships or whatever. These are just things I've gathered from my experiences and things I've learned from others.

1. Love yourself. It's clichéd and all, but that doesn't make it any less true. The first step to finding love is to love your unpretty/imperfect/boring/(insert negatively loaded adjective here) self. Love the dark circles around your eyes, the pimple marks, the double chin, the muffin top. Love the scars you got from the bike accident ten years ago. Love that you can't do Calculus and that you flunked high school Physics. Love that you got your heart broken at fourteen because you were too young to love but did so anyway, and loved the wrong person. One who couldn't see past the same exact things that keep you from loving yourself completely. Love your failures, especially if you learned from them. Love your mistakes but try not to repeat them. Love your crooked teeth, love the crow's feet. Love that you're tone deaf, that you can only draw people with circles and sticks. Love everything you wish you could change and change them. Love the things you're stuck with and accept them. As Stephen Chbosky wrote in The Perks of Being a Wallflower, "We accept the love we think we deserve." Until you accept yourself at least 80%, you can't love someone else. You can try, but there's a high chance you'd fail. Trust me.

2. Find someone. It doesn't matter where. Doesn't matter how. You could go out and party if that's your thing. You could hang out at a coffee shop, read The Great Gatsby while sipping on overpriced cafe latte, and wait for someone to notice and approach you. You could play an MMORPG and fall in love with a stranger hiding behind an adorable long-sword wielding 2D knight with green hair and gray eyes. You could read blogs and find someone who shares the same interests, who firmly believes ketchup makes any food taste better, even mushroom soup and chocolate ice cream. You could pick someone from one of your existing circles of friends. Notice how your heart flutters at their nearness all of a sudden and how your stomach flips when they casually put an arm around you, although they've been doing so since freshman year and both of you are now twenty somethings surviving from paycheck to paycheck.

I say find because it encompasses both the experience of discovering by chance and the act of getting something by making an effort. You could choose to do it either way. The method of finding is of little importance because what matters most in this whole finding-someone business is whom you find. You don't have to get it right the first time, but consider yourself very, very lucky if you do. But don't just sit there waiting for your soul mate to magically appear before you (I don't believe in soul mates though). Do something. Choose the more active definition of find.

3. Be realistic. It goes without saying that expectations don't always jibe with reality. The good news is, expectations are under your control. You can't expect the person you find to be perfect, because that's a surefire way to eventually lose interest in them. You can have an ideal, yes. You can write a list of things you want your future lover to be and to have, but you can't expect all the items on your list to be checked off. Some you'd have to rewrite. Some you'd have to drop. Remind yourself that perfect lovers exist only in parallel universes where people fall in love at first sight and get the happy endings they want. In the real world, love is a shapeshifter. On some days, it's as easy as a first grade spelling test. On others, it takes the form of a douchebag slave-driving boss who makes you want to pull off every strand of your hair and jump off the rooftop of your thirty-story office building.

And, no, you can't expect them to love you back, not only because doing so could lead to grave disappointment and unnecessary heartache on your part, but also because love, although ideally a two-way street, isn't always so. There are times when you'd find yourself treading a dimly-lit alleyway by yourself. You will get scared. You will want to turn around and dash back to the main street where you feel safe, along with other people who share the same fear. But you don't find love that way.

Which leads us to my next point.

4. Be brave. If the thought of getting your heart stuffed into a paper-shredder terrifies you, don't love. Okay, I kid. It's okay to be scared. Really. Because, as Nelson Mandela once said, "...courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it. The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear." Love like you've never had your heart broken. If you really haven't had it broken before, remember that hearts break all the fucking time, so why shouldn't yours? Granted, heartbreak isn't the easiest thing to deal with, but you have to remember that it's a metaphor. Your heart isn't literally going to break, goddammit, unless you're that princess in a fairy tale who has a heart made of glass.

Let's get this straight: you will get hurt. But as with expectations, you can control the damage a broken heart can deal. And I don't mean building a great wall of defense around you. Heck, no. It's the exact opposite, actually. Put your guard down. Feel naked. Be vulnerable. Acknowledge your fear and defeat it. Convince yourself that you're invincible, that no amount of hurt can paralyze you and keep you from loving again. Fall into the pits of unrequited love, fumble about in the dark trying to find a way out until you realize you can grow wings and fly. Soar. Rise in love.

5. Love someone. When you find someone who makes you feel like you're twelve again and are having a crush for the first time, love them. Indulge in the electric feels. Get lost in their words and drown in their eyes. Never mind that their eyes are probably just puddles. See past their occasional interchanging use of your and you're. Smile when they text you good morning, smile more widely when they tell you good night. Find someone and love them the best way you know how. Give them gifts if that's your style. And if you could afford to, of course. Tell them upfront. Praise them. Give them all your attention. It doesn't matter how you do it, as long as you don't tie a rope around their necks and strangle them with it, either literally or figuratively. Don't be a fucking sadist because love should be about being happy and making the person you love happy. If you can only find happiness and satisfaction in hurting your lover, go see a fucking shrink. Take this same advice if you're on the receiving end of an abusive relationship. Or, you could save yourself time and money and go back to point number one because, most likely, you're suffering from low self-esteem and have a distorted self-concept.

Love someone who makes you feel complete. I didn't understand this until much later, because I always thought, what the heck, I'm not incomplete, so why should I look for someone to complete me? Well, they don't have to; they just have to make you feel like they do. But, again, don't expect them to love you back just because you love them. Sometimes, you have to see love as a role-playing game with mind-numbing puzzles and monstrous bosses that would take you ten tries, or even more, to defeat, and victory equals getting the girl or guy of your fantasies. It's not Pacman, kid, but you're lucky if you find a love that is. Love someone who makes you happy, but don't rely on them too much.  Speaking of happiness...

6. Be happy. I think most people would agree that love is all about being happy. Isn't that what we're after anyway? Find someone who makes you happy, love them, and make them love you. If you succeed, work hard at staying happy. Together.

If you fail, feel hurt, cry, move the fuck on, and find someone else. Rinse and repeat.

And, please, remember:

7. Don't give up. Just don't. Okay?

(Work) Rage Against the Machine

When I became a teacher, I didn’t think I’d experience the things I am going through at present. Some of them, I did foresee, like being requested to remove my nose piercing because it’s not very teacherly and being questioned on my giving research breaks to students. What I did not see coming was being instructed to tell my gay students they shouldn’t wear makeup or earrings because, essentially, they were still men. I never imagined being asked to require students to purchase a book written by another teacher in the college, which I honestly think is not very well written.

“How much does it cost, ma’am?” I asked.

“It’s two hundred and five, but you tell the students it’s two hundred and twenty. Fifteen pesos goes to you,” I was told.

I didn’t want to require my students, but being a new teacher, I wasn’t too keen on going against the people who had been in the institution for much longer. So I said yes. For weeks, I postponed breaking the news to my students because, first, I already had a book on which I based my course syllabus, one that was not only well researched and well written, but also practical and easy to understand, and second, I thought there was something very wrong about what I was asked to do.

I teach in a public school, a state university, in Pampanga, my home province. When I graduated from college, I thought, I want to teach at this school, but did not immediately apply because I decided to spend a year doing things I probably won’t have the luxury of doing once I started teaching. This year, however, I decided to give it a go. I got in. And this is where my story begins.

When I applied for this job, I took all my piercings off, concealed the tattoo on my upper back with a collared blouse, knowing I probably would not get accepted if the people who interviewed me saw them. They have expectations, of course, and coming in wearing a nose stud and a tongue ring, and flaunting the Japanese character for dream inked on my skin guaranteed a failure. I wanted to get in.

I needed to get in.

And I did. Fast forward to my first week on the job, I was summoned into the dean’s office by the dean herself and was asked to remove my piercings.

“I hope you don’t take this negatively,” she began. “You’re pretty. You really are. But I think you’d be prettier if you removed that thing on your face and the one in your tongue. Our students might get the wrong idea. They’re not like students from other colleges. These students are future teachers. Why do you wear those anyway? Is it because they’re fashionable?”

I was offended. There I was, a newbie teacher, facing the dean of the College of Education alone in her office with the door shut behind me. “No, ma’am,” I said. “It’s not because of that.” But I didn’t say any more. How was I going to make her understand that my piercings weren’t simply accessories for me, that they were a part of me? My voice was shaking. I was scared.

I called my best friend and told her about it. I called my boyfriend too. I didn’t know what to do. It may seem like a small thing to some people, but it was a big deal for me. The reason I wore my piercings to school was because I wanted my students to learn that just because a person doesn’t fit the stereotype of a teacher, doesn’t mean they can’t teach. I did my best to speak well in front of them on my first day. I wasn’t trying to be cool or different, I was just being myself. I was celebrating my individuality, and at the same time, I was attempting to teach my students not to judge people based on appearances.

“My nose has nothing to do with my brain,” I remember saying. The students burst into laughter and, much to my surprise, started applauding. I was embarrassed because I did not expect that kind of reaction from them, but at the same time, it made me think that maybe, just maybe, I’m doing something right.

Until that incident involving the dean happened. I went home that afternoon with conflicting feelings. Both my best friend and my boyfriend said I shouldn’t remove my piercing because there’s nothing wrong with wearing it. But I was scared. I didn’t want to antagonize my superiors, mainly because I didn’t want to dislike or fear going to work. On the way home, I came up with a plan. I was going to purposely lose my nose stud in the shower, tell my mother it probably went down the drain, in case she asked, but when I finally got home, I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

I went to the bathroom and started to cry. I cried for a long time. Bawled, even. It turned out I was angrier than I had myself believe. I couldn’t do it so, the following day, I removed the stud as I soon as I got to school, and then put it back on as soon as my classes were over. I still do that every school day. And this is something I hate myself for. Another is agreeing to sell my students that book. Only, I told them the truth about it.

I don’t know if I did the right thing, but I felt the students deserved to know what was going on.

“I’m not taking money from you,” I said. “I admit, I’m broke and I’m desperate for money, but there’s no way I’m taking anything from my students. Fifteen pesos is just fifteen pesos, sure, but with all the students I have, I could easily get four thousand pesos. I just can’t do that.” And then a student revealed that a teacher from another college sells the book for two hundred and fifty. Wow.

Just recently, I got in trouble again. I gave my Mythology class one meeting off as a research break and got a lecture from the dean again. Apparently, when students do research, the teacher has to accompany them to the library because, according to her, they might make noise and disturb other people. I was stunned. When I got over it, I politely informed her that I did not send my students to the library, that they were probably not at school and are doing their research elsewhere. I don’t remember exactly what she replied, except that she said something along the lines of “This is how we do things here.” And I remember her saying something about UP, which, I must admit, irked me.

I didn’t like telling people I was from UP. I didn’t want people to think I was bragging about it, or that I was being arrogant. I was scared of being judged wrongly, I guess. But that has changed. I’m not scared anymore. People can think whatever the hell they want, they’re probably doing that already anyway.

I’m not scared anymore. Well, not really. I still am, because I don’t know what sort of trouble I might get into next. Just today, a student told me that a teacher from another college stopped coming to school because he started asking students to open up to him regarding their problems at school. The student said it’s unclear whether he resigned or he was terminated.

I jokingly told the class, “I’m next.”

And maybe I am. My college friends never fail to remind me to be careful because “you know what happens when you challenge the status quo.” When I imagine what I could possibly get subjected to in case they find out what I’ve been doing and telling my students, I get scared. But that’s okay because it means I’m being brave. I’m doing something in the hope that things in this university would change for the better, regardless of the risk of losing the job I love, the job I’ve dreamed of having since college. But I realized I can’t be the teacher I am aspiring to be if I turn a blind eye to the things I see happening around me.

Once, a teacher celebrated her birthday at the faculty office and brought lunch for everyone. While I was in the kitchen, my student, who, I learned, works as a househelp, came in and said he was going to wash the dishes.

I was repulsed.

You do not make students do that. You just don’t.

And you don’t make students clean classrooms because this isn’t high school. They don’t have homerooms, so the cleaning is not their responsibility. You don’t ask them to buy you lunch because you can do that yourself. You don’t impose your beliefs on them because these students are not blank slates. They are people. Individuals who can think for themselves. You don't go around telling your gay students to act like heterosexuals because that's disrespectful.

Sometimes, I just want to cry because I feel so powerless. I chose this school because I knew a lot of the students here come from families that belong to the lower middle class or to the lower class, even. I want to help them. I want to give them the kind of education I received in UP. I want to teach them the things I learned as a student of UP and as a citizen of the Philippines. I want them to love the Philippines as much as I do. I want them to be proud of who they are, to celebrate their individuality. I want them to realize that they are capable of changing the world if they put their hearts into it.

I don't know. I'm sorry if I'm being incoherent. I could probably come up with something better if I tried harder, but this is all I can come up with right now. I'm still scared. But more than that, I am angry. I'll be honest. I don't know what to do. Which is why I wrote this note. This is a cry for help, I guess. So, um. Help?