The exam is drawing near, and right now I’m just sitting here, in front of the computer, for about four hours now. 

There’s been a lot of things boggling my mind. Yesterday I met with an editor from a big media organization. Just after getting on his car and being introduced to each other, he started asking me questions. Questions that would leave you dumbfounded like, “So you are…?” which apparently means “Tell me about yourself,” which would leave you more tongue-tied. Or questions as short but heavy as “So?” which apparently means “What do you think and what’s your decision?”

But the most unacceptable thing is that I never expected that part that I would be sort of interviewed. I thought this is freelance, that there is no need to apply; hence, I never expected to be questioned! And the worst thing is to be interviewed by a journalist! He threw heavy questions that you were expected to answer and when you answer you should speak more. I ended up revealing humiliating things like, what I’ve been doing these past few months that I was unemployed, and why I still hadn’t applied.

Also, I was expecting to meet him just to talk about the arrangements: working hours, what kind of articles I’ll be writing, work environment and conditions, among others. But no—-he was asking me whether I checked the website yesterday when he asked me to, despite the fact that I had told him earlier that I wasn’t available at that time. Maybe he thought since I’m unemployed I’m not doing anything at all. And he gave me a good dose of sermon, too. Hell, he wasn’t even my boss yet! 

So at that moment I wanted to go out of the car. The ride from QC to Makati was the most awkward, torturing moments of my life. But then after a while it was OK, again. We went into their office and it was nice. In his room there were two men, and they’re nice but I know I won’t be comfortable working with men who are way senior to me. The editor also told me that usually they’re not at the office but out in the field looking for and covering news, which would make it harder for a newcomer like me. We arranged to meet this coming Sunday to cover a news on Filipinos watching the Pacquiao fight. And another meeting so he could see me work and write on the spot.

As we were about to leave the building, he told the guard that they’re still “courting” me to work for them, because, he said, it seemed like I wanted to work where *hint* Willie and Shalani are. (DISCLAIMER: I told him about a deal my friend told me, but my wanting to work there is NOT true.)

He sent me home and even showed the way. I was about to go with them to cover Clinton’s talk at the Manila Hotel. I was even dressed up for that! But he said it could be dangerous. You know, the terror threat. But actually I’m guessing he just changed his mind. He thought I could be of no help right there right that moment. (Talk about not looking for the website he told me about and not even reading anything on the main site.)

As I was walking home, I remembered text-messaging my friend who used to work at the same media organization. I remembered her complaining about her boss and that they had an argument and eventually she left that media organization. What I wasn’t sure of, however, was who her boss was and whether she worked at the same office or another (since they have other offices, if I am correct).

Her reply came, and, as it turns out, her boss was the same person I just talked to! So…that was him! I panicked. It never crossed my mind the whole time—from the moment the friend who referred me to him told me about it until the time I went home. I wanted to  hate the friend who gave him my contact details. I wanted to hate her because she knew that about our friend’s experience under this person, but I still ended up in this situation, like a bait!

I went text-messaging my friend who worked there more, and she told me about the good things about her experience: that it was a good training ground, a good exposure; and then I compared them with the things that scare me: the editor, the time pressure, the pressuring of the editor, the ‘having to work with men on the field, while I was the lone woman, very new and almost inexperienced.’ I could almost see myself: the lamb among the lions, the fiercest and ravenous of which would be the editor, demanding, bossing around, giving unreasonable orders despite being told a reason why I could not do it. I shook it from my head and gave up the idea.

I very much know how prestigious, how big it is, as he claims it is, and how great it would be working for it.

He also said I could start as soon as I say yes. But now, I want to say no. I’m still thinking about the good things and am still haunted by the bad things about this work—-if I take it. I want to say no, but I also wish I could say yes. Imagine how hard this is for me.

(Why do I always have this kind of dilemma???)