Some people complain about their  hometowns, the traffic, the horrible drivers, the dust and pollution, the noise.  I have a number of things that I don't really care for about Dumaguete, but there are some things about this city that just take my breath away. For example, the way the sea becomes a large vibrant swathe of blue under the harsh sun when its an hour or two past midday,  how a gentle layer of cool air descends upon the Boulevard right before the sun starts to set, and how the sky  turns into various shades of red, orange and purple when it finally does. I love how to lights from the motorcycles, the restaurants, the pedicabs, and the streetlamps that line the shore all come together to turn Rizal Boulevard into a sparkling strip filled with music, conversations, and the relaxed pitter-patter of feet. Last week I found myself hailing a pedicab that would take me to the boulevard after I found out that I didn't have a class for the day. I missed the boulevard, its sounds and its smells.  My timing was perfect, since I came across a beautiful rainbow stretched out over the shore. The sun was just about to set, and as it was setting it covered everything in a soft, warm, pink-orangy glow. It is afternoons like these that I will always look for and I know I'll find nowhere but in Dumaguete.

Tucked in the foothills of  Mount Talinis in Negros Oriental is a small wooden house that is hidden from the street by tall rambutan trees. This is the mini World War II museum in Valencia, kept open by  a local who has been collecting World War II relics since he was a little boy. The house is identifiable to passersby by the small white wooden sign that bears Japanese characters (which, unfortunately for me, I could not read).

It is  every freelancer's nightmare. Paypal decides to limit access to your account for  virtually any reason, as long as they smell something fishy. In other cases,  there is absolutely nothing wrong with your account and Paypal decides to  limit access just  the same.  Having this status put on your account can be the death knell that heralds the fall of many a website. For one,  a lot of online merchants  buy  and sell using Paypal. In my case, the company  I work for only works with Paypal when it comes to sending out my weekly pay. So imagine my horror when I found the dreaded  red banner splayed over my Paypal homepage. At first I didn't know what it meant. Then I scrolled downward and saw  the  things that you can  and cannot do  when your account is limited, and  my jaw dropped. It was equivalent to having your account frozen-- you can keep receiving money but you cannot withdraw or send.  I almost burst into tears then and there, before I  realized that I needed to  comfort myself  in order to look back at this moment and say that I was no crybaby.


So I took a deep breath and started searching for posts on this sort of  thing, hoping to find  forums where someone successfully lifted the limit. But the more I read,  the more I got discouraged.  People all over the world were  swearing off  Paypal after the site limited their  accounts. Some  even advised  grief-stricken online entreps to close off their accounts since it usually takes Paypal 180 days to lift the limitations, especially if withdrawals were involved! The really unlucky ones may even have to accept the fact that they may never get to open their accounts ever again.

MY prospects looked bleak.  I didn't know what to do. I contemplated going to the bank and opening a new acount, but that would not do me any good, since Paypal only allows one account per person.  I contemplated  contacting my editor to tell her that I needed my account frozen so that no money will be sent to Paypal, but I wasnt likely to get any response right away.

 I did rermember reading in the forums that you get a better chance of having someone from Paypal look into lifting your limited access status if you call them.  This was a problem for me, since I  live in the Philppines and long-distance calls can cost you an arm and leg.

My next option was  my boyfriend's Skype, since he had free credits and could make overseas calls.  When he told me that  the credits expired,  my heart sank. Again.  I was ready to bawl. I was ready to rip my hair out, and that is saying something because lately, I've been taking great care of my hair  since they got a severe beating with a recent hair relaxation  adventure that we  had  a few months back.

Then I saw this post. In it  the  posted details on how you can call Paypal through Skype. For Free!   I followed her instructions, and sure enough I got Paypal, but  it ws the answering machine.  Turns out  office hours starts  at 6 AM Central Time, and  it was thirthy minutes past 5:30 in the morning back in the States. I waited patiently, biting my fingers, crossing and uncrossing them, and generally feeling like I was grasping at straws. Two minutes after 6, I  rang Paypa through Skype again. The automated voice, after asking me to say my phone number, connected me to a real person. At last! A real, breathing, live person! A Paypal person! A person who answers phones for PAYPAL! I  was never happier to hear from someone who answered the phones, but this was a  PERSON!!!! A PAYPAL person!  Not a Paypal email address, not a  Paypal forum, not a Paypal notification. A PERSON!

Paypal actually had a voice. It was a guy's voice, and he actually sounded very sincere and friendly. I was half-expecting a grumpy voice with an Indian  accent, but it wasn't. The guy asked  about my Paypal info so  he could pull  my account off the database, so I provided my email, my phone number, and account number. Then he asked  if I could send him a photo of any valid ID, and call back once I'm done.  I scrambled to have my PRC ID scanned. Thankfully my brother was there to do the scanning for me.  A second call later, I was talking to a  woman.  She was equally sweet  and chirpy, which I attributed to the early hours of the morning... I was guessing the later the day, the more irate customers they talk to, the more irate  THEY get.  The lady  asked me  a few questions about my proxy server, and then told me to  log in to PAYPAL  using a connection from the Philippines. Since Globe was still down at home, I raced over to my cousin's house and connected to their internet there. I changed my PAypal password and security questions, as the lady had ordered, and made the third call.

 A third call later, this time I was talking to a young guy.   It seems like he already knew what my problem was, and  two minutes into the call, he told me that he had already restored full access to my account.  (MAJOR MAJOR MAJOR sigh of relief!) I couldn't believe it at first, so I asked him to repeat what he just said, and he did. I thanked him profusely, and not quite believing my lucky stars.  And that's how I got Paypal to lift my limited access status. In five hours, no less!!! :D
( this post is in no way an ad for Paypal, haha!)

I do not normally post reviews about books or articles I have read, but this time I'll make an exception. It's a Sunday morning, and one of my morning rituals is to browse through my reading list  of motivational blogs like ZenHabits and Thinksimplenow. I was browsing through the latter's list of past articles and The Cab Ride I'll Never Forget caught my eye. I remember reading it a few months back, but I couldn't recall the details of the story. So I read it again. A paragraph into the article and fat, large drops of tears were falling down my face. For various reasons, I guess. For the sad reality that there are some people who have nobody in this world, and some of these people are old and frail and could be anybody's grandmother or grandfather. For the sad realization that most of the time I let tiny frustrations ruin my day and I take it out on the people around me, and I end up being unkind and coarse and thoughtless, never realizing that other people are also silently facing their own battles. 

 (*sigh*) I still get teary-eyed thinking about the story. The story was told by the writer who spent some years as a cabdriver. There's a beautiful realization in this fact as well. To quote the author: 

"Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living.