long story short

1st anniversary of my 29th birthday!

As a random treat to myself (after all the cake and mojitos courtesy of my friends), I rewatched the Loki finale. Yep, three months later and I'm still processing it. Did I expect to feel as much as with WandaVision? No. Did I cry at the possibility of worlds, of entire universes, of unrealized selves opening up and becoming a reality? Maybe, a little bit.

Okay. A lot.

Would I want to meet another version of myself? 

I always catch myself wondering about - and often, wishing for - other universes. A slight inconvenience? "Other Karla wouldn't have missed this e-mail, ugh." A major detour? "Another Karla would have been at the finish line by now." A missed opportunity? "She would have taken the train as soon as the doors opened." 

It's not so much intriguing as it is oddly comforting. Other worlds laying tangent to our own. The infinite possibilities of more definite futures. Of lives lived more fully, of decisions determined more resolutely. Of huge choices made and left unburdened by the expectations particular only to this terrain. A totally different person who looks, thinks, acts, and maneuvers the world nothing like me.

But then, perhaps, in another universe, there exists a version of me that is only slightly different. One who made almost the exact same choices, got to the exact same point, living an almost identical life, except for that one single incident that didn't wreak literal havoc to my organs, and living happily just the same.

Am I the sum of my sadnesses? Am I who I am because I had to overcome? What if I didn't have to, and everything else on my plate right now I still had anyway? What would become of me, and what if we met?

Would I ask, "What's it like being 35% less sad? How does it feel not having all of life tied down to a moment?"

You know how in video games, there are certain crossroads that you just know will ultimately take you to the biggest, most important battles? And at that point, you choose to save the game so that in case you lose, you can always go back to that moment and redo everything? I think, at 30, I've lived long enough to know the "save points." And sometimes, I still wish I could go back to it. Maybe do better, think more thoroughly, make a different decision. Find out the life that could have been if I didn't press A or jumped over a cliff.

But this isn't how real life works, unfortunately. And no matter how many times Loki and Sylvie convince themselves that they belong to a different, better timeline - they had to grapple with where they are and where their choices brought them.

I guess He Who Remains said it best:

"Been a long journey for you, hasn't it? Lot of running, lot of pain. And you, you're a flea on the back of a dragon in for one hell of a ride. But you did manage to hang on. I guess that counts for something."

Perhaps this is the biggest lesson of growing old - and growing up: hanging on. It counts for something. When we manage to thrive despite the uncertainty and the ambivalence of it all. Life will keep throwing curveballs; the universe will keep dangling the past and the lost futures. But there is real joy to be found in flourishing. To bloom where fate plants you, and to find peace in being exactly where you are at precisely that moment in time.

*

This year may be different - a thousand miles away from home, missing loved ones, traversing the unfamiliar, in the middle of a pandemic. But different is also good: it means finding family in new friends, diving into new experiences, and seeing silver linings despite the roadblocks. I'm thankful and happy and incredibly lucky to be where I am. Who would've thought? Turning a new decade and finally crossing something big off my bucket list.

I'm so, so grateful. 🌸

Ahead of the release of Netflix's "Trese" adaptation, I decided to pull these out of my bookshelf and re-read these graphic novels on Philippine mythology. Coming to terms with the myths in our culture is imperative. So many of these stories were passed on to us orally by the older generations, but to most, they remain just that: old tales. What some fail to grasp is that they are reflective of our ancestors' beliefs and identities. Our forefathers devised these as a result of their unique and collective experience as a people who traveled, migrated, and traded throughout the Austronesian archipelagos. What seems to be fantastical and unrealistic was, to them, logical and compelling. And while rediscovering our myths does not mean that we must believe in them the very same way our ancestors did, it should give us a better understanding of our history and make us appreciate how our pre-colonial forebears survived — and even thrived — because of these. 

My third anniversary in the office is coming up (tomorrow, to be exact), and it just dawned on me that I haven't exactly written about my work life. Not in my old blog, and not even in my personal journal. I've shared snippets of it on Twitter, my LinkedIn profile is pretty transparent, and surely most people in my circles are aware of the kind of work I do. But it never really occurred to me to really write about what I do for a living - and more importantly, why.

I suppose it's mostly because I don't want to come off as pretentious. People who only talk about their work can come off as insufferable. Especially when they claim to be experts at what they do. And I still feel like there is so much I don't know, so what right do I have to be writing about it?

Then again, it's not as if I'm going to be throwing out random legal advice into the ether. Describing the job - and really thinking about why I'm in it - is certainly worth making some room for, even in my small corner in the digital space. After all, it's almost three years now. Milestones are milestones, and they're worth writing about, aren't they?

Being in intellectual property wasn't something I planned on before I entered law school, and it wasn't even something I considered in law school. Before my fifth year of law, I was dead set on applying at the Supreme Court, particularly in the office of then-Chief Justice Sereno, where I interned that previous summer. But we all knew how things turned out, and by the time I finished taking the Bar, they were no longer taking in new applicants, given the uncertainty of the situation. As such, I was forced to consider the more "traditional" route, i.e. firm life. 

I did enjoy IP in law school, in large part due to my professor (and one of our sorority's most esteemed alumni). Something about it made sense to me, mostly due to my undergrad. CAL taught me to value the artistic and creative integrity that comes with each piece of art, innovation, or technology. And considering that I was in deep denial about no longer being a literature major for the entirety of law school, taking this path felt like coming home in many ways.

My law school thesis was actually on fair use. And the topic was serendipitous, in that, all the pieces wouldn't have come together had it not been for my background. One desperate, fateful night in 2016, just a few hours before the deadline for submission of initial thesis proposal topics, I came across several Facebook posts (and links to some blog posts) about an ongoing copyright issue with one writer and one local publishing house. (The writers on both sides included professors from our department.) It was a very interesting, unique, and novel issue on copyright, fair use, criticism, and appropriation of literary works, and one that I had a unique viewpoint from which to see the action.

Two years later, it got published in the Philippine Law Journal. And that very same thesis also landed me my current job. During my interview, one of the partners asked me about my thesis. It caught me a bit off-guard, since none of the firms I previously applied for asked about it. I went into great detail about the topic, arguing passionately for the writer/artist. In another twist of fate, turns out, this law firm represented the publisher! I was so sure I would not get the offer, considering my stand. I walked out of there thinking, "Okay time to search for other IP firms!!!" But I got invited to a second interview, and was eventually given an offer.

And now here we are. To borrow from another great KB (Kate Beckinsale, in Serendipity): a fortunate accident.

Since then, I've handled cases on copyright, trademark, and patent enforcement and litigation. I am also assigned work that deals with the policy aspect of intellectual property. We assist in the drafting of university and institutional IP policies and agreements, as well as give advice on certain government-funded technology projects. I also do contract reviews and provide legal opinions on franchising and licensing agreements, artist/producer/director contracts, and other IP related matters. We handle local and foreign clients, and we provide opinions on a variety of novel issues. You'd be surprised at how much IP intersects with a lot of other fields.

Last November 2019, I was selected by my firm as a delegate for the Licensing Executives Society (LES) Young Members’ Circle Asia-Pacific Conference in Seoul, South Korea, where I learned more about global licensing particularly on beauty, healthcare, telecommunications, big data, artificial intelligence, and entertainment. It was such a privilege to have been selected to attend that short conference. I got to meet other IP practitioners from Manila, and all over the world. But I'm not going to lie, my favorite part of the whole thing was the fellowship with other attendees. We all went to a cozy, underground jazz bar and drank all night. (All while trying to squeeze trite trademark-related jokes in between.) It was a blast. 

Something I'm most proud of during quarantine was being part of the Technical Working Group in the Supreme Court that worked on the amendments to the Rules of Procedure on Intellectual Property Rights Cases. One of our partners was part of the TWG, and he tagged me along. Before the start of the pandemic, we would regularly attend meetings at either the IPO or the SC. And during quarantine, we had bi-weekly Zoom meets to discuss, go through, and align all provisions and proposed amendments. Since my boss was the expert private practitioner in the group (even the justices deferred to him on some matters), we worked double-time on ironing out the kinks, while consulting other laws and even rules from other jurisdictions. And yes, even on weekends. But it was so satisfying because it felt like a significant contribution to the practice. I have to admit, I cried a bit when the Rules were finally published on the newspaper. My name wasn't there (my boss' was though), but deep down, I was like, "I helped!!!" 

And just this week, our boss again tagged me along to join him as part of a TWG in Congress, this time for the amendments of the IP Code itself. I can anticipate a pretty long, gruesome, and thorough process again. But it all sounds exciting. 

Exciting. I guess that's the important keyword right? The last twelve months have been stressful as f*ck. For about two-thirds of 2020, we were only two associates. (Two resigned pre-pandemic.) There were days when I'd literally cry myself to sleep, then cry myself awake. Highly unusual for masandal-tulog, parang-mantika-matulog me. But... I don't know. I still very much enjoy the work. As much as I hate litigation (I really do; but my frustrations about it are for another post altogether), I still like everything else I'm doing.

I like doing what I do. Which isn't saying a lot for most people. A friend once told me that your mission is where your deep happiness meets a deep hunger of the world. I don't know if I'm at a point in my life where I can say that about being a lawyer. Or this practice, even. The truth is, I've never fallen in love with lawyering the way everybody - including myself - expected. I crawled my way out of law school, desperate for affirmation, lost as to purpose. But somehow, surprisingly, I managed to find a good, comfortable place that I actually like. Me, liking the intricacies of the law? Who would've thought? Maybe I'll be elsewhere years from now. Maybe I'll come across a field or a job that is truly representative of all my interests (and that does not involve appearing in court). Maybe not. But right now, I still like this.

And maybe that's a good thing.

(Say hello to my Kobo Glo HD, a New Year gift to myself)

“You can write it all down, you can put it in your book of facts, but the truth is no one can ever really understand the tangle of experiences and passions that makes you who you are. It's a secret collection, a private language, a pebble in your pocket that you play with when you're anxious, hard as geometry, smooth as soap.”

I don't think I have highlighted and bookmarked a book as much as I did this one, at least in recent memory. So many passages I wish I could press onto my skin, words I truly wanted to physically carry with me every single moment if I could, like a neon sign that says, "Yes, this is how I feel."  Raphael Bob-Waksberg's short story collection is a brilliant, unique, weird, and absolutely enjoyable ride. I read it in two days. 

I loved BoJack Horseman. I loved it so much I don't think I can watch it again any time soon. The way the story unfolded was so painful, realistic, and dark. But it was the perfect encapsulation of human fragility. And human resilience. We all just want to keep trying to be better versions of ourselves. And that includes accepting the worst parts of us too.

This sentiment is carefully crafted into each of the stories. That feeling of hope: hope that the wounds of past loves heal, hope that we can learn from our mistakes, hope that we find meaning again, hope that love sustains. Even when it's heartbreaking, it's uplifting. 

So unlike the show, this is definitely something I want to go back to again and again, to read when I'm sad or happy or when I feel like I need to be reminded of how beautifully devastating and fleeting life is.

"Every other night will have been rehearsal for Friday 18 July - we had to be ready. Everything was pushing us imperceptibly toward this moment - if I hadn't missed that train, if you hadn't moved for the job, just imagine." 

The best stories in the collection were those that leaned toward the more absurd, almost science fiction. Bob-Waksberg has a very careful hand when it comes to ludicrous premises. He's done it successfully in BoJack Horseman, and he's an even better architect of it in fiction. The surreality of these stories is heightened by the fact that they're being told with a straight face: here's an AntiDoor to a different universe which you can step into during your lunch break. Oh, just another day of planning a wedding with twenty-eight sacrificial goats. A band with a slightly modest following is forced to choose between touring Portland or staying in San Francisco, and oh, by the way, they have superpowers. Two people who found each other on a train but never spoke to each other for six decades. It's all so crazy, and yet, it's precisely the right amount of crazy that amplifies just how vulnerable and foolish we are as humans. It won't change. Put someone in an otherworldly dimension, a world so completely different from their own, and you can expect them to be themselves. 

No circumstance is so bizarre that it will force you to become someone you aren't - in fact, you will turn out to be exactly who you are.

"And I think about how loving someone is kind of like being president, in that it doesn't change you, not really. But it brings out more of the you that you already are."

Thirty-one pages in and I was already crying my eyes out. A little spoiler alert: the fourth story, about a missed connection on a train, really hit home. I've never personally experienced that, but I think the many heartbreaks in our family certainly revolve around those feelings. Of missed chances, of having spent a lifetime with a person and still not knowing them. Another story, about jumping into an alternate universe and meeting a different version of your beloved, was quite compelling too. It was an exercise in futility, an abstraction of curiosity and guilt. It's about pushing the limits of what a transgression can be, using regret (or the lack thereof) as the compass. It's fascinating and heartbreaking. You know where it's going, but just like the character, you still have to go through with it.

"But no, you were gone. And I realized most likely I would never see you again. And I thought about how amazing it is that you can know somebody for sixty years and yet still not really know that person at all."

A lot of the other stories in the anthology contain that same eagerness to just live through it. Pain and misery are just around the corner, but who's to say that's the only thing waiting for you? The first story is actually a great metaphor for this entire premise. A man gives a woman a can of cashews. She knows from her past experiences that it can be a practical joke: open it and a spring-loaded snake will jump at her. And yet, and yet. He promises that it will be different. The canister says it will be cashews. Her heart wants to trust the moment but her memories say otherwise. It's a tug-of-war between going for it and walking away. But one thing that is absolutely clear however - she wants to. 

This book is mostly about the wanting. Some characters follow through with it, most of them don't. In the end, they are defined by the choices they made when the universe - bizarre, and absurd as it was - led them to a fork in the road. And while it can be terrifying to look at life this way (Will I forever be haunted by the weight of every decision??), there is also a kind of liberation that comes with it. That there are so many opportunities to be brave, to take a U-turn, to change course. There's always room to move forward.

"But if there’s a silver lining here (and you’re not sure there is one), it’s the assurance that what you had, whatever it was, had weight. It made an impact. You can put to rest the fear that you were a blip in this other person’s life, a footnote. What you did was important. You hurt somebody, and somebody hurt you."

But it's not so bad to look back, fondly embrace the past, and burrow in the weird, dull, aching satisfaction of remembering. 

"And I thought about how, actually, if you wanted to, you could say the same thing about life. That life is terrifying and overwhelming and it can happen at any moment. And when you’re confronted with life you can either be cowardly or you can be brave, but either way you’re going to live.

So you might as well be brave."

(P.S. This is actually already my fifth book for the year! Yay, resolutions, progress, yadda yadda.)