Before fatherhood found me, I edited videos for television stations and various companies. It's about digitizing clips, unearthing the perfect sequence, picking the right music, and finding the one line in a two-hour interview that the producer wants to include.
On a Thursday morning during my stint at TV 5, I paid a heavy toll. It was 4 AM, and to keep up, I’d become a connoisseur of the free kapeng barako from the pantry. Piles of half-eaten fast food take out boxes, empty cans of Coke and energy drink, and abandoned coffee cups covered our desks.
A single cup turned into three, then six, then eight. I had a deadline and that liberica was the only thing keeping me awake. In the corner, hunched over a pair of white headphones, was Neil, the master editor. On the other side of the room, gfx artist Ronald was silently polishing his After Effects animation.
The room started to spin. I gripped the edge of my seat. Neil walked over, his eyes wide with concern, and put his hand on my shoulder. "You okay, man?" he asked. I bobbed my head and tried to stand up, but my knees wobbled. I sat down on the couch and Ronald gave me a glass of water.
I lit a cigarette and made a promise: never again. Or, at least, not before lunch.
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