Riria's Space!

Tag: life

  • What is Empathy?

    What is Empathy?

    It’s been a month since my last journal entry. I’d say not a lot has happened since then, aside from me passing training, I guess. I also got a Kindle, which I absolutely love. I haven’t found the time to get fully absorbed in it yet, but my brief moments with it are truly special. I expected it to be a better experience than reading on my phone, but I was surprised by how much more comfortable an e-reader is compared to a smartphone, which bombards your eyes with glare and blue light, especially when it’s quite dark.

    I don’t want to talk too much about my Kindle, but I must mention how beautiful it is when you turn off the front light and add an anti-glare, paper-feel screen protector. It’s almost as if you’re reading a physical book, which is amazing. You can tell I adore this new trinket; I’m just very happy with it.

    Now, to something that’s been bugging me lately. What is “Empathy,” really? I used to love using that word. It was one of my top three, alongside “Altruism” and “Kindness.” However, I keep encountering “Empathy” at work, and I must say: that place is one of the least empathetic environments I’ve ever seen. I don’t want to use such strong words here, but I wouldn’t be lying if I said the place is a disgusting, hypocritical environment. I feel sick just entering the premises. I work in Customer Service, yet there are only a handful of times when I feel I’m actually helping someone other than the company.

    In one of my support chats, I encountered a mother whose son had fallen from a high place and was being rushed to the hospital. Naturally, she wanted to cancel her order. To say I had no problem with that is an understatement. But due to company policy, I cannot simply cancel an order without the restaurant’s consent. I called the restaurant, and they rejected the request. The mother insisted, and I understood her desperation. I tried calling the restaurant again, explaining the situation this time, only to receive a loud denial and a hurl of insults.

    I went back to the mother to apologize and explain that cancellation was impossible. Out of options, I suggested she message the rider to leave the food in a safe place or deliver it to the hospital; I didn’t want the food to be wasted and hoped she and her son could eat once things settled. But through some stroke of bad luck—or perhaps a misunderstanding—the mother lashed out. She asked how she was supposed to enjoy lunch while her son was in excruciating pain. She told me how heartless I was, how awful the company is, and that I should be ashamed of my hesitance to cancel. Despite my attempts to de-escalate and show I was on her side, it was to no avail. She threatened to post our conversation on social media to show the world how “disgusting” I am.

    I am at a loss for words. What could I have done? This is not a call for sympathy or an opportunity to display self-pity; I am truly eager to know what I could have done better. Was it because I am still not proficient with the English language? I am genuinely curious. I am hurt. I must let you know that my attempts at kindness and “empathy” weren’t just unheard during my contacts; they were dismissed. I have to admit that no matter how gently I speak to my co-workers, some of them still take my words the wrong way.

    I recently passed training and was endorsed to a team last Wednesday. Unfortunately, my team leader was away and would not return until Friday. Coincidentally, I was unable to go to work on the day of her return. I don’t know if this was the cause, but since I’ve been back, she has been staring daggers at me, particularly when I have a question. This has made me hesitant to reach out whenever I am lost. It is totally normal for a newbie to have questions, don’t you think? And it’s not as if I’ve been performing poorly. For a newcomer, my ratings are actually very good, even when compared to my more tenured workmates. So again, I must ask: What could I have done better? What am I doing wrong?

    I am so tired. I truly am. Just the idea of going back to work tomorrow scares me, but I have no choice. I have to pay for my bills, I need to eat. The fatigue of the previous week still lies on my shoulders, making them feel extremely heavy. I wish for it to go away, but how?

    I have lost my faith in the word “Empathy.” It was a word that gave me strength for a long while, but it now disgusts me that such a beautiful concept has been defiled by people who hardly know its true purpose. It disgusts me that I have to power through corporate talk, corporate slang, corporate art styles, and corporate everything else.

    Dear me: I implore you to find solace away from this wasteland, and if you ever do, please don’t look back.

  • On the Mundanity and my End Goal

    On the Mundanity and my End Goal

    It was almost exactly around this time yesterday when it came to my mind—though it was definitely sunnier then—I once again found myself facing the mundane. Of all the possible paths, I caught myself taking what other people would call modern slavery, especially in this country. This thought, as pessimistic as it sounded, was actually an optimistic and romantic approach, or so I’d like to believe.

    The mundanity and the sense of “normality” that it brings are what I believe to be essential in my story as a unique human being: my slow-burning road to academia and Philosophy—the struggle against the mundane toward my dream.

  • To my Grandparents

    To my Grandparents

    It’s been three days since I departed from my grandparents’ house, a place I called home for about a year. Naturally, this departure brought gloom upon me. How could a year where nothing noteworthy happened be so mundane, yet pass so quickly?

    There is guilt dwelling inside me; it feels as if I’ve done my grandparents a disservice. All these years, I have barely visited them—there were instances where I almost had to be dragged just to show up. My memories of their place were filled with images from more than fifteen years ago, which should not have been the case since their home is just a few minutes away from ours. Of the twenty-five years I’ve lived, fifteen were spent almost without a hint of my Lola Lourdes and Lolo Jun. Even when they were present, it was usually them visiting us in our abode. Yet, despite all this, they welcomed me with open arms, granting me a place to call home for a year while I tried to carve a path for myself and learn more about who I am.

    Originally, we were supposed to have a fun and simple video blogging page. When I first arrived, I was surprised by the verdant garden they had cultivated in the months prior to my arrival. I was deeply moved by their passion and teamwork toward this greenery project, which convinced me to start a Facebook and YouTube page for them and their garden called “Lourdes and Jun’s Farm.” At first, I uploaded a video several minutes long, showcasing their current plants and harvests. I believe the plants were cucumbers, green bell peppers, bottle gourds, red chili peppers, and a few others I cannot recall at the time of writing this. I kept up with the uploads for a short while until I stopped due to a lack of motivation and the distraction of other pursuits—mainly video games.

    This pattern of starting new projects and abandoning them continued until the day of my departure; I would even argue that some of them were never started at all. I planned on growing mushrooms, lettuce, garlic, and other food plants, but it was all for naught. Everything was forsaken in the name of video games. I also failed to help them aside from the most basic of tasks; beyond washing dishes and the occasional sweeping or mopping, I did almost nothing else. This is one of my biggest regrets: Why did I not help my aging and ailing grandparents?

    Though they repeatedly announced that they were still fit for such chores—and that I should not concern myself with trivial things but focus on studying or working—I know they still needed help. They needed a hand more than ever as age slowly creeps up on them, particularly for my grandfather, who my mother says is terminally ill.

    I changed a bit too late. I know I will no longer have a chance to live with them—not because they would not accept me back, but because my path has already diverged from theirs. I must now walk my own path again for myself, my parents, and my siblings. I might be able to (and I certainly should) visit them from time to time, but ultimately, my life is already pointed in a direction away from them.

    My dear grandparents, Lola Lourdes and Lolo Jun: I am sorry for my previous lack of gratitude and respect for the shelter, food, comfort, love, and care that you have given me. I will forever cherish our short conversations—the stories of your past and the hardships that came along with them, the lessons you taught me, and all the sacrifices you’ve made for me and for our family.

    Thank you for being there for me as I sought a path of redemption. I wish I had stayed with you when I was in a healthier emotional and mental state, but alas, my stay was over before I knew it. I know you were quite surprised, too.

    I love you deeply, Lola Lourdes and Lolo Jun. You are some of the strongest people I have ever known and probably ever will know. You are inseparable, and to you, nothing was ever impossible.