The good news is, I'm smart about my finances, especially for a young person. The bad news is, I'm smart about my finances, especially for a young person.
I had just finished filing my 2012 taxes, and because of the messy, messy issues involved with co-signing a loan (especially with a not-so-responsible second party), I'm stuck paying a $3151 tax bill. I was smart enough to book a massage before going to the tax lady so I was calm and fairly complacent over hearing the news that by April 13, 2013, I had better pay the tax man $3151.
This is an outrageous issue in so many ways. One, I've been very, very responsible with my finances for a very long time. I keep out of debt, I pay my rent and bills weeks ahead of schedule, and I own everything free and clear. Two, this isn't my tax bill, not even close. The second party had taken out $32,000 against the home loan because she wanted to live la dolce vita, and she was accustomed to a certain lifestyle. All this is fine and all, except when other people are stuck paying the bill, and feelings (already raw and bloodied) are sent through the robo-coupe one more time.
Once again, the stroke of fear I had felt signing the loan is coursing through my veins. I remember the way I had issued a dire warning to all parties involved, you will regret this, you will regret your opulent lifestyle and taking out a loan, nothing is ever free and clear.
A few years and a battered checkbook later, my terribly sharp instincts have been proven right, once more. So was my uneasy feeling that a short sale will rid us of the house debt, once and for all. Once again, I was right, I knew all along that a bill will come along and slap us right in the face. Only, it was my face that got slapped and everybody else can move on with their lives.
A tax bill would never have been so terrible except that I've come up with the exact amount of money to pay for spring quarter in college. I was bouyant knowing I came up with the money, on my own, only for all of it to be taken away. I'm four months away from joining the graduation ceremony, and five months from officially receiving my diploma. My road to graduation is slowly turning into The Odyssey, and I can't even begin to tell anyone how much it sucks the hope out of me.
I'm slowly regretting not applying for another scholarship, because I was morally opposed taking from other people what they should have. My stellar finances stood in the way of erasing the tax bill. I was too responsible, too smart with my money, the tax lady had said to me. Most days loans and credit card debt are bad news, but not today, she said. Not today.
And so, I must pay for the tax bill in cash--my tuition fee next quarter remains in limbo. I had just sent my proposed independent learning contract earlier during the day, alongside my academic statement essay--two documents that will be sealed into my official transcripts.
I couldn't sleep, I started looking for part time jobs (selling coffee, at the least), but with my erratic work schedule and commitments at the NGO, I don't know how I'll manage to pick up a part time gig. I e-mailed my old staffing agency about keeping me in the loop for barista jobs, the hours are bad and the pay is terrible, but what can I do? I'm a mover, it doesn't do me any good sitting around enjoying my personal rain cloud.
I'm a shark, I have to keep moving.
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
Against the Grain: In Pursuit of an Intellectual Life
Henry Etzkowitz wrote in his book, “Athena Unbound,” about the statistics he came across, concerning minority women with STEM careers (2000). Columbia, India and the Philippines are one of the many developing countries, who employ a higher proportion of female university employees (in the Math department) more than any other place in the world (2000).
I’ve had a year of university coursework before
I migrated to the US, and based on my limited experience, a great majority of
my Math teachers were female. And as if to overcompensate for gender bias, my
female Math teachers were unforgiving, and gave rigorous exams as opposed to
the more ‘relaxed’ approach of the very few male Math teachers.
Gender-based achievement was less emphasized as
well. The consensus, collectively-speaking, was everybody needed to get a
STEM-based career, no questions asked. Boys and girls were all trained
vigorously in STEM classes and coursework. There were very few who didn’t buy
in to the STEM ideology, such as me, of course. We had required Pre-Calculus
and Analytic Geometry classes in HS, and I regret to say I don’t know how I
passed the classes, other than the fact that my teachers felt bad for me and
gave me a passing grade.
The sad truth was, no matter how talented of a
STEM student was (in the Philippines), well-paid STEM careers are practically a
myth. And when they migrate to the US, the crushing pressure to provide for the
family derailed everybody’s STEM careers, or at least their STEM education.
Women, of course, were especially vulnerable. I was never a STEM student, but
my own college education was derailed to help the family. When once we were all
forced into STEM careers, the strain was alleviated; only to be replaced with
the pressure to take low-paying, soul-crushing labor in the healthcare field.
I’ve lost track of how many girls and women I
know who migrated to the US and ended up working as a Certified Nursing
Assistant. This job, for the uninformed, is a glorified cleaning lady job. The pay is terrible, and the hours and working
conditions are worse. I know, because I went from a published poet and
journalist in the Philippines, to a C.N.A. my first year in the US.
But the ignorance surrounding it is even more
debilitating, more so than anybody could fathom. The ideology that any STEM-job
is a good job crushes everybody’s potential. I have a friend who graduated with
a Civil Engineering degree from the UW, and he truly believes that his job at
the Amazon warehouse is a “good job” because it’s a Tech company. The ideology
has always been a STEM-job trumps any other kind of job; whereas my job in an
organic food store is a “bad job,” despite my excellent benefits, extravagant
pay raises and upward mobility, because it’s not STEM-based employment.
Nothing kills ambition and potential more than a
tainted ideology that’s been re-gifted and passed on to the next generation. For
decades, Filipinos have been herded into STEM jobs as if we had no control over
our careers and our personal fulfillment. Its concealed slave labor—the legacy of
the Spaniards, Americans and the Japanese who brainwashed our community into
believing we’re meant for offal, and not the rich fatty tenderloin steak.
I suppose there isn’t much hope in convincing
millions of people to pursue their true passions, and there isn’t a huge market
for intellectuals in a society that despises intelligence. Everywhere we go, we
are programmed to satisfy our visceral and basic desires and disregard our
cerebral and holistic selves. The take-away from this learning contract is to
embrace my intellectual self, and even aspire for an intellectual life—if only
to prove and exemplify that people aren’t disposable and replaceable, even in
the new economy.
Reference
Etzkowitz, Henry, Carol Kemelgor and Brian Uzzi.
Athena Unbound: The Advancement of Women
in Science and Technology. Cambridge University Press: 2000. Print.
Kincaid, Jamaica. A Small Place. Farrar, Strauss and Giroux: 2000. Print.
SEA Lobby Day at the State's Capitol
Emily
Dickinson once wrote, “why not have a big life?” these are the words I kept
close to heart when I joined the SEA staff and my fellow members of the SEA
Student Advisory Board Council for the SEA Lobby Day. I’ve never been to the
State Capitol, and the closest I’ve ever been to encounter a powerful lawmaker
is when I met Rep. Bob Hasegawa for an educational advocacy group’s annual
breakfast fundraiser. Little did I know, a few years later with SEA, I would see
him again in a Senate Hearing.
I’ve
been fortunate to have been awarded scholarships that are exclusive to
“bankable” majors, and to have even won any scholarships at all knowing the
intense competition for scholarships in academia. I told the Senate Majority
Leader Legislative Aide about the financial struggles facing students like me—ambitious
and driven, yet every semester or quarter in school threatens to be the last
one. Students like me work harder, and try to achieve more, because most of us
are pioneers of our communities, and we have more at stake than our
counterparts.
I’m the
first person in my family to interview for a tech company with a team of
Harvard MBA-ers. I interviewed at Boeing twice despite my Humanities degree,
and their aggressive hiring of STEM students. Most importantly, I’m the first
person in my family who has had the opportunity to meet with powerful lawmakers
in Olympia; people who can change the destinies of millions of low-income and
marginalized students.
“You’re
going to have my job one day,” the Senate Majority Leader Legislative Aide told
me a few minutes after speaking to me. That statement can only be true if I had
a college degree, and have the opportunity to pursue further training and
schooling. Exorbitant college costs are discounting most of us to even hold an
associate degree, and we can’t compete in a global economy without an
education.
I’m not
speaking for myself when I say that for SEA students, a big life means an
education and a chance to even be considered for powerful positions. Careers
that are immediately closed to us because of our immigration status, our
low-wages, and everything else that prevents us from our visions of success. I
encourage everyone, to join the fight against rising college costs and make
school affordable for everyone.
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
Grace
Money goes to money, a wise woman once said.
Yes, I have an almost unhealthy obsession with money, wealth, and everything else involved with it. I suppose it's because I've never fully dealt with my money issues--no matter how much money I make, or how little, I always feel like a welfare queen (despite never being on welfare).
I was at HR Block a few days ago and I found out I made $10,000 last year than I did the year before, and this is on one-income, and going to school full time. After I went back to school, I dropped all my weird side jobs to focus on schooling, and I had worried about my plunging wages--only to find out later that I would double my salary in less than a year.
The irony of it all. I had briefly considered applying for food stamps to alleviate all my college costs, pick up catering shifts somewhere. It's a good thing I was too tired to seriously pursue any of these options, or I would have worked myself to my demise.
But money, I have the absolute lack of balance surrounding this issue; I want to say because there's been such an extreme cases of wealth, and lack thereof in my gene pool that to this day, I'm still feeling the ill effects of it. The petit mal seizure of lives lost, and lives forever altered by greed, money, and everything else in between ripples in my veins, almost everyday it seems like.
And so, I intentionally live the life of a pauper, at least on paper. My clothes are secondhand, and if not, they're on sale. My possessions are minimal, and I de-clutter way more than people do in a whole year. I give money to charity on a fairly regular basis, I look at the prices in a menu when I consider what to order.
Something I wish for, nearly every day: finding balance, knowing I have enough.
Yes, I have an almost unhealthy obsession with money, wealth, and everything else involved with it. I suppose it's because I've never fully dealt with my money issues--no matter how much money I make, or how little, I always feel like a welfare queen (despite never being on welfare).
I was at HR Block a few days ago and I found out I made $10,000 last year than I did the year before, and this is on one-income, and going to school full time. After I went back to school, I dropped all my weird side jobs to focus on schooling, and I had worried about my plunging wages--only to find out later that I would double my salary in less than a year.
The irony of it all. I had briefly considered applying for food stamps to alleviate all my college costs, pick up catering shifts somewhere. It's a good thing I was too tired to seriously pursue any of these options, or I would have worked myself to my demise.
But money, I have the absolute lack of balance surrounding this issue; I want to say because there's been such an extreme cases of wealth, and lack thereof in my gene pool that to this day, I'm still feeling the ill effects of it. The petit mal seizure of lives lost, and lives forever altered by greed, money, and everything else in between ripples in my veins, almost everyday it seems like.
And so, I intentionally live the life of a pauper, at least on paper. My clothes are secondhand, and if not, they're on sale. My possessions are minimal, and I de-clutter way more than people do in a whole year. I give money to charity on a fairly regular basis, I look at the prices in a menu when I consider what to order.
Something I wish for, nearly every day: finding balance, knowing I have enough.
Saturday, February 2, 2013
The King
Once when I was 18, an astrologer cum palm reader at the
Pike Place Market asked me about my father. “Is he in the military?” Her steely
blue eyes looked into mine, and I smirked, “no, but he might as well be.” I
never talk about my father, much less write about him. My mother has been the
subject of many an essay—it’s a lot easier to write about my dilettante mother.
She’s well past fifty and she still lives a Pollyanna fantasy. I lived with her
for many years, and after she decided to retire and move back to the
Philippines, I finally felt free of her and the crushing weight of her
unfulfilled ambition.
Most girls, especially Filipino girls, when they turn 18
they get a fabulous coming out party—not unlike the quinceniera. I’ve been
planning my coming out ball for years—only for my life to be uprooted and
transplanted into the US, and while most of my friends received balls, presents
and roses on their 18th birthday, I received an inheritance. Well, not quite an inheritance. The
moment I turned 18, my father decided he was finished taking care of his wife,
financially and otherwise. After I turned 18, it was understood, although it
was never discussed or never even talked about that I was to take care of my
mother, and my younger sister, and a few years later, her child born right out
of high school.
I take after my father, in so many ways. I have his exacting
perfectionism, and his absolute inability to forgive people’s shortcomings. He
has a strong obsession about his health, and this has lead him to try every
kind of new age cure there is. His medicine cabinet, if he had one, would look
exactly like mine—a pharmacy of pills, potions, and liquids to drive away all
the maladies waiting to strike us dead.
He’s a Chief Engineer, I’m especially proud of telling
people. He started making serious money at the age of 30. Not bad for a boy who
is one of nine children, and his only way out of the farm is a two year
vocational degree. He’s third of nine children, I’m third of four; but somehow,
the chronological order of our births is skewed—we both acted like the oldest,
the one which had to care for everyone else. Everybody else can do as they
pleased, but not us, we were the responsible ones.
It’s a great childhood to have lived in a massive house,
with cars, and clothes and candy bars that came from America. All our neighbors
were poor, most of them so poor they lived in a cardboard house, but we were
not. Our name was synonymous with money, a hateful giant house, and cars that suck
up petroleum. I would have lived in that cardboard house in exchange for a
father who was at home most nights. I would have given up the cars and the
private schooling, to have a father who saidI
love you, and didn’t look so angry all the time if he had to spend time
with his children.
In grade school, I had gotten a zero on an assignment asking
about my parents. I was seven, and I knew nothing about my father. My mother
told me to lie and come up with an answer. I vaguely remember saying, “I don’t
know what fathers do.” I do remember the awe I felt, looking at other people’s
homework. Pages filled with stories about their fathers, and I had nothing to
write. Not one word. For other people, having a father around was normal. I
guess I was lucky, he wasn’t around because he was too busy making all that
money. Some people don’t have parents at all, and some, walked away in the
middle of the night and never came back. What people didn’t know was, despite
his placid appearance, he had the temperament of a jealous Greek god. You never
knew when his outbursts or angry, spiteful words would fly out.
He reminded me of King Midas, he’s had tremendous material
success but his own family can’t touch him—his callous heart could ruin anyone.
I suppose, one could say the same thing about me. I’ve had tremendous success
with the physical, and the material plane. Just don’t let me near anyone—my
angry, bitter heart poisons quietly and without much notice.
I wish he knew that I'm one of the highest paid Filipino
employees in a notoriously clique-ish, Euroamerican midlevel company. Even
better, there are less than a dozen Filipino employees in a 500-employee strong
company and I happen to be one of the highest paid. My ascent to the top pay
scale is extraordinary, less than a year and my name should be on the company
record book somewhere. This is the kind of accomplishment that would make any
parent proud, but he's always looked at my work choice as something akin to
migrant labor, or even prostitution. He has zero respect for people in the food
industry, despite the fact that I've been running restaurants with P&L
statements upwards of $5 million, and I have an arsenal of people under my
command.
Replace food industry with the words "shipping
industry" and inflate the P&L figures, and you have his career. A
couple years shy of 30, and I've been running businesses for so long it's
become thankless, derivative. Unlike him, I started making good money at 28. He
started at 30, and we both had to fight off bottom feeders, more than anyone
would stand for, to get to the upper wage scale.
When I think about him, which never happens at all, I think
about the wall of ice around his heart. A man whose money mattered most to him,
more than anyone, he’s like Thierry Le Tresset in The Girl with No Shadow, he never lights up. For all his material
wealth and success, so many people’s lives he can’t touch.
Works Cited
Harris, Joanne. The Girl with No Shadow. New York, NY: Wm Morrow. Second Edition. 2008. Print.
Strayed, Cheryl. Wild. New York, NY: Alfred A. Knopf. 2012. Print.
Sundeen, Mark. The Man Who Quit Money. Riverhead Trade/Penguin. 2012. Print.
Works Cited
Harris, Joanne. The Girl with No Shadow. New York, NY: Wm Morrow. Second Edition. 2008. Print.
Strayed, Cheryl. Wild. New York, NY: Alfred A. Knopf. 2012. Print.
Sundeen, Mark. The Man Who Quit Money. Riverhead Trade/Penguin. 2012. Print.
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