#org work

[hckzee]

me: FINALS ARE OVER! I COULD FINALLY RETURN TO MY FANFICS <3

my org responsibilities tagging me while i was cramming my revisions:

[urbtchass]

I hate doing anything besides what I want to do. When i was in senior high, i thought to myself that when I'm in college, I'm gonna join orgs and stuff because I feel jealous of my mutuals when I see them posts about doing their org works. But then, I'm in college and I realized that being in an org takes a lot of your time and it doesn't even have any additional points on your grades.

(I feel like I'm thankful that it doesn't have a bearing on your grades because my classmates who join orgs will have additional credits and I won't). ( I know that its a bad thought but I wanna be honest in my little diary so).

I'm ranting because I just did my first ever org work and I didn't enjoy it. I didn't even mean to really join an org but because I thought that we were required to join and so I did.

To anyone who reads this, pls feel free to correct me if I use incorrect grammar rules and punctuations. I want to improve my writing hehe.

[bdarfler]

Jade Rubick - Organizational work and the second job

Organizational work is how to make an organization get better over time, instead of the opposite.

“a leader [has] two jobs: The first job is the job you were hired for. You have the results you are expected to deliver. Projects, and people management, and the stuff on your job description. You also have a second job. The second job is to make things better around you, to make things easier for the next person.”

[ac-collection]

🎭 Publication Materials and Template Designs for Organization Work

👩🏻‍💻 Design, Pub-making, Template-making

Being the Associate Secretary-General for the Computer Society of the Ateneo (CompSAt) meant that I had a hand in handling the organization’s documents. Similar to my motivation for redesigning the CTSK, I took it upon myself to redesign CompSAt’s other templates, such as those used for minutes of the meeting and project summaries, among others. An initiative my department also came up with involved providing services to fellow Executive Board and Associates Council members, that ranged from minutes-taking to workspace and files management consultation, as shown in the photo above. Hoping to share my department’s strengths to ease internal work processes among fellow officers, I suggested this initiative in the hopes of doing exactly that. I prepared the pubs above myself and disseminated them to my fellow officers. Unfortunately, our services weren’t formally availed much, but we were informally asked many times to assist with proofreading and the like.

Our fellow officers expressed gratitude at our willingness to help, however, so all’s well that ends well!

🎨 Designed using Figma.

[ac-collection]

🏃🏻 Core Team Survival Kit (CTSK)

👩🏻‍💻 Design

Part of my responsibilities as Associate Secretary-General for the Computer Society of the Ateneo (CompSAt) is to create and maintain project guides for core teams. Seeing as the old CTSK wasn’t very friendly on the eyes in terms of style and typography decisions (plus the fact that it was just made on Google Slides), I decided to redesign the CTSK using design techniques I newly learned from UX University 2020. I made both a quarantine and a non-quarantine version, so my successor can simply pick up where I left off with both versions ready. Feedback on my redesign was positive, and I hope it served the core teams well!

🎨 Designed using Figma. Link to workspace here.

[dokeblr]

I Have A Stomach Bug

A personal essay I wrote for school on what living with anxiety is like even during the most average day-to-day tasks because I can never find any good written explanations that show how debilitating it can be in relation to normality. To help explain the name change at the end, my name is Ainsley. I picked the name Rebecca as a representation based on the meaning.

I need to go to this appointment. I have a stomach bug. My lower abdomen has had searing pains for the past two weeks. My mum called the doctor and got me an appointment. It is a 20 minute walk from home, through the town and to the bus stop for the clinic.

My name is Rebecca and I’m choking on the air. I’m prepared to leave but not to go. My jeans stretch into a second skin, my shirt swells around my stomach, my shoes plastered in dirt from their own secret walks, my hair reaches out to a saving grace and refuses to lay down. I check my purse. Bank card, gym card, Boots card. I close it and put my bag over my shoulder.

I’m standing behind the door and society waits for me on the other side. I check my purse again, nothing’s abandoned me.

I open the door and air rushes in, flooding my lungs and not giving me time to breathe. Out pours my spine, my nerves, my bones and in pours the world, the cars, the energy.

I walk outside and turn to face the abyss on its axis, teeming with potential and everything that could go wrong. The walk isn’t too far, but I can feel my body tense and shrivel in anticipation with each step.  A feeling of betrayal snakes its way around my limbs and underneath my skin to squeeze my heart as I shake through every siren my brain sets off, ignoring the urges to fly but being terrified of the fight.

My fear is seeping out of my pours, I know it, its flooding the ground around my feet with each step, splashing and causing tidal waves that everyone can see.

I stop at the lights, blaring red but the cars won’t move, so does that mean I do? The green man has abandoned me and the drivers are looking, judging, laughing, noticing and my lungs don’t work, I can’t breathe, the airs too thick and my legs are made of lead, numb but fragile and hollowed and-

And then the green man comes back to his post. And I walk across the tarmac tight rope.

I survive and make it across, although my knuckles are now made of porcelain. My eyes flick to and fro between buildings and buses as I make my way into my local Thunderdome.

People clog the streets and swarm like smoke, clinging to every building and wall and every thought that somehow manages to force its way through the angry hive in my head.

I can see my next stop just ahead, the bus stop. I manage to wheeze in a single breath and uncurl my toes briefly. I look at the bus table and examine it like holy text. I know I need the 26 to Kirlian but is that the right one? I check my phone for the appointment time and address I typed and bolded in my notes a week before and studied over each day after.

Kirlian

12 Alvah Lane

Bus 26

Bus return costs £2.40 - Bring £5 just incase.

Appointment is 3:00

I check my purse, I have a ten pound note. I check my phone, its 2:20.

I pray to anything possibly listening that I’m at the right stop with the right amount of money and the right time.

It doesn’t matter if I’m wrong anyway. I can’t leave now, everyone will know I made a mistake they’ll know and laugh about it over dinner or to the other people at the stop. They’ll know and I can’t let them know.

The bus arrives a few moments later, “Kirlian”, and the number 26 front lines it in bright orange letters of salvation.

I fumble for my purse and check again, then twice, thrice. The £10 is still there but what if it isn’t enough? What if a 30 minute bus ride costs £11? £12? £20? The realisation that I needed a return ticket winded me like a hammer to the stomach. That would surely double the price, that’s if they did return tickets. I wrote it in my notes but what if I was wrong? What if I misread the website I spent two nights checking over?

The bus is here already and the orange lights that signalled salvation now look more reminiscent of hell fire. I’m at the back of the line. Slowly pacing forward, tip toeing. A march to the edge, a cliff. The old woman in front of me turns to go to her seat and I’m left alone at the doors. He’s facing me. Expecting. Waiting. Judging.

“Return to Kirlian, please.” I spoke like a broken puzzle. My pieces didn’t quite fit.

He takes the note and sighs. It’s because he despises me, I should have had change, he hates me now and I’ve ruined his day, his life. The ticket comes out and I take it, waiting on gelatin joints for the change. The driver hands it to me and stares back towards the road, dismissing me, not baring to look at me.

I force myself to face the seats. Someone had mercy, half the bus was empty. I stepped towards a free row at the back, with no one else’s eyes to bore into my neck and a clear view from the window to know when I had reached my destination.

I can breathe again, although I had to relearn how to. My body melted slightly, pooling into the chair. The danger had passed for now. I could exist, for now.

But then the building came into view.

Someone else was getting off at the same stop and didn’t give me time to gather myself, prepare myself, build and steel myself back up to face the modern Colosseum. It had only been half an hour but that bus became safety, a haven, an Eden. Now I was being ripped from the womb.

The cold air nipped and snapped at me now as I stared up at the doctor’s office. I forgot how to be. How to exist, how to move, how to breathe, how to think. My body moved for me regardless, it stole the choice I didn’t have. I entered the doors and a transparent smile sliced into me from the reception area, ripping into my gut like a fish hook and reeling me in.

“Hello, how can I help you today?” The voice was like honey, sticky and weighing me down like it had been poured over my scalp in the gallons.

“I’m here for an appointment with Doctor Akuji.” My voice shattered, glass splintering my hands and feet and eyes and face and maybe that’s why there were tears forming, maybe that’s why the pain I couldn’t pin point was maybe-

“Are you Rebecca?”

“Yes.”

“Just have a wee seat in the waiting area and the doctor will call your name, ok?”

“Ok.”

So I sat. And there were people. And they were looking. Staring. Sneering. Smirking. Gagging. Whispering. There were people there and I didn’t feel like a person among them.

Doors opened in the background, people walked and shuffled paper in places unseen and I wish that was me. I wish I was the background. I wish I wasn’t hollow. I wish I wasn’t filled to the brim with glass shards. I wish my lungs worked. I wish the world was empty. I wish I wasn’t.

I’m scared.

“Ainsley?”

I stand.

My name is Rebecca, and I’m a disease. I’m a mental illness. I tie people in knots, I snare them, I trap them, I ruin them, I engulf them and drown them like a sea with no end, pull their nerves like puppet strings. I pour into their lungs and eyes and pores. I consume them and won’t let anything else exist but me.

My name is Rebecca and she needs help.

[g0z3]

Been so busy with school and org work lately. Haven't had much free time for myself.

[thecomplexfellow-blog]

 I am just so happy that all the work I've done for the External Market Research for one of my organizations paid off well. Looking back, I remember doubting myself if I can do a Marketing-related job. I mean, yeah, it's just research but the process isn't easy, plus you need to incorporate everything you learned about Marketing.

 But, you know what, when I was actually doing it, I enjoyed the work. Doing graphs, interpreting the data, showing off the strengths & opportunities of the org, expressing the demand of the audience, and suggesting possible projects for the org - I found some sort of peace and ease with it. Never thought I'd still hold on to and learn so much from my Marketing Communications subject. Maybe that's really it then. Because I never saw myself being the business-y or marketer type. Or it's the fact that kuya Stephen liked the report. Haha.

 Well, I just think that I've proven to myself that I really am a jack-of-all-trades, or so it seems. Just don't let me call for sponsors at the moment. I still don't think I can handle that easily. However, I am happy. For this fulfilled endeavor, and for not quitting Marketing Department. I never thought being a Director for Externam Market Research can be this fulfilling.

 P.S. The survey for this took months, but the actual process of interpreting the data and doing the report only took us four days. Haha!