Today, my journey to Greece begins.

“It is not in the nature of man--nor of any living entity--to start out by giving up, by spitting in one's own face and damning existence; that requires a process of corruption whose rapidity differs from man to man. Some give up at the first touch of pressure; some sell out; some run down by imperceptible degrees and lose their fire, never knowing when or how they lost it. Then all of these vanish in the vast swamp of their elders who tell them persistently that maturity consists of abandoning one's mind; security, of abandoning one's values; practicality, of losing self-esteem. Yet a few hold on and move on, knowing that that fire is not to be betrayed, learning how to give it shape, purpose and reality. But whatever their future, at the dawn of their lives, men seek a noble vision of man's nature and of life's potential.” Ayn Rand

My name is gracee.

One time a close friend of mine suggested, out of the goodness of his heart, that I should drop the last ‘e’ of my name to make it more common, more discernable to people I will probably meet once in my life—like the baristas at Starbucks. But that’s not me, I told him. And he hushed me by asking if i would rather be mistaken as Tracy, Krissy, or even crazy (which kinda happens most of the time).

Would I?

When I was born, my mother said I had eyes that bulge out of their sockets—a thing that convinced my father not to take a picture of me yet, or a close-up picture of my face at least. The bigger irony, however, is in the fact that I was named after two of the prettiest and most renowned ladies at the time: Princess Grace of Monaco (Grace Kelly) and Princess Anne of UK. In a valiant effort to stamp his daughter’s character into the borrowed names, my dad punctuated the name with another ‘e.’ Because you are different, he told me later on.

It really bothered me that I was born different from the people I grew up with. For one, all my sisters can dance really well and I can’t. They all played with the dolls I ended up fracturing. They were pink 5, I was yellow 4. I was Purefoods, they were all Ginebra. They liked ten-twenty, I liked dodge ball (I used to be a boy trapped in a girl’s body). Even my susceptibility to disease had been the subject of my qualms. I know nothing about genetic diversity but despite the growing difference between my sisters and I, it never made me anyone worthy of special mention. I have no discernable talent, plus I never really had a “thing” to clearly define who I am and what I can do. Not that I am complaining but it could have been nice though if there’s anything to follow my name with like Gracee, singer; Gracee, pianist; Gracee, artist; and so on. This is one major concern especially for a girl who grew up in the Eat Bulaga era (Yah! There’s no cable yet!), when every little girl is groomed to be one day’s Little Miss Philippines by her stage-struck relatives.

A slew of cable channels after, my thing still hadn’t manifested itself to me. For years I was content with having nothing but a pretty face (forgive me for being too honest) and a sharp memory. I did well in class without even trying, which really was embarrassing in an environment where it’s “cool” to flunk.

Second year college. I had to choose what I’ll be doing for the rest of my life. I thought writing could be the best option for the indecisive. Writing is such a versatile and portable career and there’s a breadth of opportunities available to writers. Most men and women my age had a clear picture of what they will be 10 years hence. Mine was even specific. In my mind, I saw myself in the middle of an expanse, sitting on the lowest branch of a tree or propped up against the trunk of a palm tree by the beach with a pen and paper in hand. But since I can’t seem to break into the highly clannish (according to des) world of the creative writers, I turned down the call of fiction and headed to the glamorous world of the glossy, still armed with that picture of me in my mind 10 years hence. Only, the setting had changed. I was sitting in a plush coffee shop, facing a laptop, and sipping a cappuccino.

It was fun but it was never easy, working for a mag I mean. First I had to loosen the strict rules of objectivity I learned from journalism school. I had to be provocative more than informative, and that’s pretty difficult for a writer who doesn’t have a lot of soul. I do rely on my muse most of the time. But when inspiration is fickle, I had to force the prose to flow through my fingertips until I’m reduced to a prune. Then I had to work for long hours. By “long” I mean staying at the workplace, wherever that is, until a fashion shoot or a cocktail party is over, or giving up my “me-time” on weekends to go some place off the beaten track. Probably the most difficult of all is to rub elbows with the country’s bigwigs and socialites. In this industry, conversations are made of someone’s trip to Italy to witness the Milan Fashion Week, someone’s number of yachts, some chichi’s collection of Manolos, the hush-hush affair of a certain politician and a super mod, what’s brewing at this ridiculously priced restaurant, and so on. I mean, how could this company indulge me in such delicious tête-à-tête and not pay me much so as to afford a lifestyle as discerning as that of a tai-tai?! Talk about exploitation of labor rights!

So I had to leave the company, not only to evade the temptations of the material world but also to explore my other options, like copywriting. I thought copywriting is simply all about striking the right dramatic chord in order to sell. Turned out I was right except for the word “simply.” It’s not easy to hypnotize buyers nowadays. In this time and age when you can’t even see a one-peso coin lying on the sidewalk, copywriters need to think of more creative ways to loosen the buyers’ grasp to their dear cash. But then again, you can’t be too creative at copywriting. The rule of thumb states that you as a writer must disappear behind the product you’re selling. Which is why copywriting is a collaborative effort most of the time, and it’s also for this reason that claiming a piece of writing your own is almost impossible. Of course, this isn’t about winning an Ad award. At the end of the day, it all boils down to how much your company sold. And for me, this isn’t a good reason enough to stay. The thought that another Chinese is getting one step closer to taking over my country every day because of my…ahem…talent (whatever that is) irks me. No offense and pun intended.

I used to think that maybe I’m just not designed to thrive with the rest of the workforce. But the fact that my mother keeps telling me how I suck at house chores either makes me all the more confused. I seem to have accidentally raised my own standards and unfortunately, this biosphere has just decided to stop trying to live up to my expectations.

I wonder if I should have a separate category. Or put up my own industry. Maybe my designation hasn’t been invented as of yet. That has to be it. I only need to believe what my grade school science teacher told me once upon a time, that all organisms play a special role in the ecosystem, a so-called place under the sun, a unique spot where only that individual can thrive, a particular position in the web of life which only it can best occupy. Cockroaches in garbage bins (to break down dead matters and aid in the decomposition process), rodents in the mouth of a snake, sea urchin in the deep sea, bacteria in my intestine, limpet in a rock near the intertidal zone where it can be exposed to the air during low tide.

Luckily, I only need to get lucky again so I could get to that next job. For a person like me who has no discernable talent or preoccupation other than swimming in my own thoughts, landing in jobs I want—or thought I want—could only come from pure luck. The fun thing about this is that I can’t be held accountable for all my mishaps. I could say, hey Big Guy, don’t expect much from me ‘coz this is all I’ve got. But that’s a superficial way of looking at it, don’t you think?

Up to now, I still haven’t given up on my search for that “thing.” I have tried a slew of achievable pursuits that run the gamut from singing to swimming, arts to crafts. The fact that nothing has transpired didn’t even produce a tinge of surprise from me. I told you, I have nothing to lose and I’m not in a hurry. I have a whole lifetime to figure this out. And only then can I finally and fully live up to my name.