Happiness is not an Ending

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The pursuit of happiness.  I have come across this phrase quite a number of times.  And I wonder why.

Is it because most people think of happiness as something so elusive?  Many times, I have heard and read about people wanting to be happy.  Some even list it as their ultimate goal.

But I disagree.  As I have always said, happiness is a choice, albeit a more difficult one.  Happiness is also not a goal or an ending.  It is something we can achieve even while we embark on this adventure we call life.  We don't live because we want to be happy in the end.  We are happy simply because we live. 

As I celebrated my twenty-eight birthday recently, I give thanks to God for this wonderful blessing of my life.  And I give thanks too to and for my loved ones and friends - these people who add vibrancy to my already great life with the personal touch they put to it. 

Happiness is not an ending.  Surrounded by my loved ones, it is something I have always had.  It is something my parents showered me with from the time I was conceived.  It is something I see in their proud eyes and is also reflected in mine .  It is something I feel every time the family gets together.  Something my friends and I also share.

Happiness is the celebration of the person that I am.  It is reveling in my individuality and the appreciation I have for what I have been blessed with. 

Happiness is also the security I have in my rewarding career.  It is also in being able to travel and shop and indulge in my favorite food.  In being lost in a good book.  Or music.  Or being entertained by a movie.

But happiness is not just about the good things in life.  Happiness is also knowing that my tears of sorrow or pain have sprouted lessons that now guide my present and future.  It is growing up.

As I look back on what was and look forward to what will be, I remember the many happy birthdays I have been greeted with these past twenty-eight years.  

And I smile because indeed, it is a happy life I live.

Of Life and the Sea

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I was eight.  We were on a family outing and mommy was teaching me how to swim.  Both her hands supported my weight as she coaxed me to paddle.  I paddled as hard as I could.  We did this many times till my body ached.  And we did it again in our succeeding beach outings.

When she thought I could do it, mommy did not place her hands under my body lying facedown on the water and just said words of encouragement as I tried to support my weight on my own.  I sank.  But mommy was quick to haul me back into her arms.  She hugged me and tousled my hair to soothe me, all the while whispering words of encouragement.  But I shook my head, scared of again sinking while I struggled, helplessly flailing my hands as salty water made its way into my nose and mouth.

My fear of being in an open water heightened when during one of our beach outings, two teens from a nearby cottage drifted far away into the sea and had to be rescued by a boat.  Their family members were so sick with worry that some even wept as the boat was dispatched to look for them.  Once reunited, the teens said they slept while on a life buoy and woke up to find themselves in the middle of the sea. 

Despite their happy ending of being reunited with their family, their ordeal left an imprint of a great fear of the sea on me.  From then on, I made sure to wade but only waist-deep in the waters.  During outings, my companions who were in the deeper part of the sea would wave their hands invitingly but I would only go as far as to where the waters reached my neck.  And once there was an onslaught of waves, I would hurriedly go back to where the shore was, fearful of being tided over by those waves.

As these memories come to me now when I am faced with a great personal dilemma, I realize how I have been playing safe all along. 

From 2001 to 2005, I waded but only waist-deep in the waters, testing if it suited me.  Then one really big tide of a trial happened in 2005.  Confused, hurt and even angry, I retreated back into the shore and comfortably settled there for years.  I thought I was okay.  I thought I would always be okay there.  That to the shore was where I belong.  But in 2010, the water again beckoned to me.  Scared, I retreated farther back into where the land was but the water time and again called out to me.  I resisted but the more I did, the more I suffered.

And so I summoned all the logic in me to battle with what my heart wanted.  I wanted nothing of the water.  It was dark and deep and endless.  I did not know what awaited me there.  Waves crashed against it.  Anything on it either drifted somewhere else or got drowned.  The shore, meanwhile, remained a bastion of safety.  A haven where the water could only touch but not claim it. 

2011 came.  The water now more loudly called out to me.  I again summoned my logic to rationalize my response but it compromised with my heart by telling me to just wade waist-deep into the water and see how it would go...

I've been waist-deep in the water since and I must say it's something I am getting used to.  It's something I actually prefer but am scared of fully embracing.  I have even told myself that this is the perfect spot because here, I get the best of both worlds.  I am at sea but the shore is just a "swim" away.  If push comes to shove, if a big tide is coming, I can always head back to the shore.

Swim.  Using this word makes me realize that I never did learn how to swim.  And all because I have feared the water.  The water that has been calling out to me for the longest time now.  The water that I am so scared of fully committing myself to for fear of it again hurting me.

But as today's memories make me re-realize my fear of the water, as earlier said, it also makes me realize that if I continue standing on its shallow part, just like I missed learning how to swim, I will also miss what really is in store for me in it.  What I am really called to life to.

Yes, I either have to go back to the shore and stay there for good or risk it all and fully be enveloped in water.

I admit I have reservations.  I still have my fears.  But as André Gide wrote, "Man cannot discover new oceans unless he has the courage to lose sight of the shore."

Ironic

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My friend: I'm listening to Ironic by Alanis. Isn't it ironic to find the man of your dreams then later meet his beautiful wife?

Milai: Nah, the irony there is meeting the man of your dreams. (laughs)

The above exchange made me do a double take. Have I gotten too cynical beyond redemption?

There is no denying that I am romantic to the core.  You see, I began reading romance novels at an early age.  While most children read fairytales and picture books, I, much to my mom's dismay, took delight in reading Mills and Boon and Harlequin novels starting at age eight.  I also loved reading the works of Barbara Cartland.  At age ten, I was into Danielle Steel and at twelve, was into novels by Judith McNaught, Johanna Lindsey and Jude Deveraux.  Reading about their heroines ending up with the man of their dreams sure made me think about my own happy ending.

Ten years after, my view on love, or rather, on men, soured due to the fact that some of my friends and acquaintances became victims of their infidelity or were in an abusive relationship.  There were some too who fell in love with men who were difficult to love in the first place.  And some who were with men who could not find it in themselves to commit to a relationship or marriage.

With the above, and also because I experienced heartbreaks and heartaches firsthand, I became very wary of love.  Or rather, of men.

A friend in college said not just once that those like us who grew up reading romance novels would have a difficult time finding the "man of our dreams" basically because we already have our ideals on who or what we want in and from them.  "Admit it, unconsciously, you have the tendency to compare a suitor to that dashing, romantic duke from the Victorian era in historical romance novels or to that confident, urbane, a little difficult but loving man you read about in your contemporary novels."  And we laughed because it was partly true.  Matthew Allen Parker from McNaught's Paradise, where are you?  Ha ha!

Then there's this Linda Howard novel I read where they joked about Mr. Perfect being "science fiction."  Ha!  I just had to laugh on that one.

When I was home in Aklan last January, a relative, knowing I am already twenty-seven and most of my batchmates were already married, joked, "So when is the grand walk down the aisle?"  I laughed and replied that I am even yet to find THAT  man I will walk down the aisle with.  Polite queries followed, with most of them asking all the hows and whys that they could think of regarding my being uncommitted and all later coming to a concession that I am just being choosy.  Ooooooo-kay.  Whatever.

Is there anything wrong with being single, especially when it is someone's personal choice and she's happy being such, as I said so in a previous post?  Is there anything wrong with having standards for THE man a woman wants to marry?  I'm not looking for Mr. Perfect because we all know that perfection in anyone or anything does not exist.  But I do have standards for the man of my dreams.  And on this I refuse to compromise.  Why?  Because we are all entitled to choose who we want to spend the rest of our lives with.  And mine is to be with a man who is like Daddy.  Oh, he isn't perfect.  He sometimes drinks and used to smoke and he is scary when he gets mad but he's faithful to my mom and wonderful to us.

You may have noticed I wrote "on love or rather, on men" twice in this post.  I want to emphasize this because men (and of course, women), may become unfaithful or jealous or insincere but love is not and never will be.  It is and will always be the same kind of wondrous, saving love that it is made to be.  Anything less than that is not true and lasting love - the reason why most relationships don't last these days and why some marriages crumble.

I want to end this post by addressing my cynicism.  Yes, I admit to having gotten jaded over the years but there's still that part of me who sees the world through rose-tinted glasses.  Who still believes in the wonders of love and in God's perfect timing for everything.

True love waits.

Mirror of Truth

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Life used to be one big theater for me

I had to play, I had to act

Masks and facades and barriers

Had all been a part of me

That sometimes they became my "truth."

And do I have to tell you

That before I resented you?

I disliked the way

You were seeing right through me

For that meant I wasn't convincing enough.

Others saw the smiles and claimed

They felt my joy

But you saw how empty those smiles were.

You saw the pain beneath,

The uncertain, vulnerable child that I was

Hidden behind those masks.

I tried my best to avoid those probing eyes

I was wary of the wisdom those knowing eyes held.

If I could then shut myself from you, I would

For you "scared" me and it's not because

You were mean or ill-tempered

But because you knew me so well

That I felt vulnerable with and around you

And no one wants to be vulnerable, right?

Pride dictated me to shun you

So no one would then read me accurately

No one would know my heart and being but me

But you were so understanding of and patient in

Just letting me be, waiting for me to mellow and mature

While doing your best to help me probe deepest into myself

That I may bring to light the real me.

Little by little, my defenses came crumbling down

Until finally, nothing was left but my true self 

The very self that I used to hide and deny surfaced...

I no longer resent you, in fact I never did.

I just thought I did but now I know 

That those were just resistances...

I'm glad that all those masks are now gone

I no longer act, I never will again

For life is no grand theater, 

Everything and everyone is real

And so I must be too.

I am what I am and it feels good to be me

And it feels even better to know

That you accept me as I am.

Thank you... for being my mirror of truth

For that's all I needed for my awakening.

Expecting the Worst

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Gil Grissom: It is interesting to me how you always expect the worst.

Catherine Willows: You see that way, I’m never disappointed, and sometimes, I’m nicely surprised.

I was six. I wanted a puppy for Christmas. I did not get it and I was hurt. The fact that I expected my Christmas present to be a puppy and get dresses, toys and money instead made the disillusionment even more painful.

I was ten. I was reading Victor Hugo’s The Hunchback of Notre Dame and expecting a good ending for Esmeralda and Quasimodo. Their death thus unnerved me. I was disappointed.

I was sixteen. I thought the friendship I was sharing with a really nice guy would blossom into something more. It did not and thinking about it later only brought me sadness.

I was eighteen and a junior in college. I studied so hard for an exam. I pored over every book we used as reference, even did further readings and research in the school library and on the Internet. I fervently hoped I would pass. Days after, the results were posted in the college’s bulletin. I did not pass.

The list of my hopes and expectations getting reduced to painful losses is innumerable. Hearing the above verbal exchange from two of CSI’s main characters thus made me think. Will it be better if I align my way of thinking with Catherine’s? Will it spare me from needless disappointments and hurt?

In college, one of my closest friends once told me that I am a hopeless optimist. I laughed. She then added half-jokingly that hopefuls are often fools.

Is it foolishness to believe that things will turn out good? Do pessimists fare better in this world?

I remember the time when I expected the worst of something. It was when I took the UPCAT (University of the Philippines College Admission Test). A couple of weeks before the results were out, I was already conditioning my mind that I failed and bracing myself for it. UP, after all, is the country’s premier and most sought after university that getting in is considered a rare privilege. It was thus a very pleasant surprise to find out that I passed. It was so unexpected it was exhilarating, especially when it dawned on me that I did not just pass. I made it to Diliman, UP’s flagship campus.

I keep on thinking of the reasons why I should shed my optimism. And I have just decided that I will never let go of it. Why? Because it is my optimism that has saved me countless of times from being devoured by life’s negativities. It is my shield, the one thing that keeps me from turning into a completely bitter cynic and saves me even from my own self.

Yes, I get hurt. And disappointed. I am sometimes frustrated because things do not come out as I hope. Because I expect better results but have gotten something less. But you know what, I think it’s better this way as it makes me a believer. In myself. In other people. In the nobility of the human spirit and man’s capacity for faring better when confronted with the harsh realities of life.

I expect to succeed and I sometimes fail. But the reason why I expect to succeed is the thought that I am up to the challenge. I do not expect to lose as I know I can and will do better.

When people have done something bad, I do not automatically assume the worst of them because I give them better credit. I trust their capacity to do well and be good. Certain circumstances may drive some people to do something bad or be bad but I refuse to let this handful of people taint my faith in the entire humanity of my race.

Things sometimes do not go as planned or hoped for but in these instances, I learn patience, flexibility and resilience. I learn to appreciate blessings in disguise and value them for what they are.

And in times when things are at their worst and I am on the verge of giving up, it is my optimism that makes me see beyond life’s current difficulties. That I may strive to do better, be better. It is this optimism that cloaks me in courage so I will come out triumphant in life’s challenges.

Optimists are not fools. Fools are those who opt to give up without a fight. They are the ones who wallow in feelings of despair instead of finding the courage within their selves to bounce back higher despite stumbling down many times. Fools are those who chose to end their lives just because they thought there was nothing else that could be done. That they had seen the end of days and there was no hope left for them.

I am no fool. And so come what may, I will always choose to see the brighter side of life.

Little Girl Lost

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For eight years, I was the apple of the eye of each family member. My relatives doted on me and they catered to my every whim. I was a brat and loved every minute of it. Then my youngest brother came and little pampered me was relegated to the sidelines. Or so the child in me thought.

I resented my brother at first. I hated the way the family would gather around him and exclaim how cute he was and how adorable. Didn’t I use to be all those and more?

When my brother was nearly a year old and I was about nine, something happened that changed my life forever. Mommy promised that she would take me shopping. I was ecstatic! Finally, bonding time for us! And her time just for me!

On that promised day though, my brother got sick so mommy said we had to first make a stop at the doctor’s clinic. Mommy, my baby brother, the nanny and I then went to Kalibo but since we did not have an appointment, we had to wait. The waiting took more than an hour and when it was nearly twelve noon, I became impatient and annoyed. In my most bratty manner, I came up to my mom and demanded that we go shopping.

“Mom, you promised,” I implored. My mom was trying to pacify me. “Later, honey,” she said. “This won’t take long. Your brother has to be checked by the doctor.”

“There’s the nanny,” I pointed out but my mom shook her head.

I did not know what made me flared up then. Maybe I was hungry. Or I got tired of waiting. Or I was just sick of having a brother who usurped what I thought was my rightful place.

“You shouldn’t make promises you couldn’t keep,” I accused, my eyes shooting sparks. And I said this in the loudest of voices too. “I wish I were home,” I added petulantly. “If I knew we’d come to this, I shouldn’t have come with you.”

Mommy, who was usually patient, then flared up too. “You’re being selfish. Your brother’s sick and all you think about is yourself? If you wish you weren’t here, then I wish too that you weren’t!”

Stung, my pride torn to shreds, I haughtily squared my shoulders then walked out on my mom. “Fine. I’ll go. Don’t bother looking for me. I don’t need you and I hate you.”

And off I went, complete with some stomping of my feet and clenching of fists.

Ten meters from the clinic, I stopped. In my stubborn, proud but hopeful heart, I waited for my mom to go after me.

I stood there but she did not come. The two minutes I spent waiting was like eternity, with each second more painful than the one before it. I remember crying then angrily wiping my tears with clenched fists.

Then I forced myself to move. And started walking aimlessly.

I later found myself in Kalibo’s town plaza. And that’s when it happened. In the park were a lot of people but my attention was drawn to two children. The girl was almost my age and the boy was maybe about two. They were begging for alms and when they came to a couple on a bench a couple of meters from where I was, the couple gave them a sandwich. As the children walked off, I watched in fascination as the elder sister halved the bread and gave the bigger portion to her brother.

Stunned, that’s when I realized just how selfish and bratty I had been.

Buoyed by what I just witnessed, I stood up and made my way back to the clinic.

A block away from the plaza, I bumped into my mom and that’s when another realization hit me – I’m loved! Of course I am! As we stood there, both of us were crying. Mommy was saying sorry for losing her temper on me. She said she and the nanny weren’t able to follow me because just after I walked out the door, their turn came. I just smiled and said sorry too for being selfish. When I asked where my brother was, she said she already sent him home with the nanny while she stayed to look for me. She added she was mindless with worry. The fiercest of hugs was then exchanged.

And so I was a runaway for a couple of hours. But that experience changed my life - my life as a sibling and a daughter. It was my turning point for that’s when I resolved to myself to be the best big sister that I can be.

Just how much of a big sister have I become? Oh, enough to give up my brat throne to my baby brother and lavish him with so much love and protection that sometimes, I end up saving his hide from mom’s scolding. Te he!

Scar(R)ed No More

I have this perennial fear of failing. For as long as I can remember, I have always been afraid to fail not just myself but other people as well, especially my loved ones.

I know there are times when failing is inevitable. It is simply a part of life. Reality would not have been clearly delineated if we do not experience failure at some points of our lives. But what I really fear is the disappointment my failure would cause to anyone. It pains me to be disappointed by the people I believe in and so I try so hard, do my best, to live up to their expectations, no matter how high these expectations are. Or sometimes, how silly.

When I was in high school, one of my life’s utmost humiliations transpired. You see, I was a consistent honor student since my nursery years. I always did well in school, even excelled in almost all my subjects, except Math. I always belonged to the top section but this was only until my 3rd year in high school as in my senior year, I was put in section 2. I was aghast. Mad, even. Mad is actually an understatement as in a phase of raging hormones and blatant rebellion, hate prevailed. I hated the school’s system. And some teachers, especially the principal. I hated some classmates. Hated almost everyone, even my family. But most of all, I hated myself. I hated and blamed myself for letting a lot of people down. For letting myself down.

The event left me scarred. And scared. Of failing. Of it happening again. Of disappointing people. And then hating and blaming myself for it. From then on, I did my damnedest to always excel in everything. If prior to the incident I was already an achiever, after it, I was more so it was scary as I seemed to be obsessed with always coming out a winner in each and every event I allowed myself to participate in. Allowed being the operative word as from then on, I took only calculated risks. I was so hellbent on achieving success that if there were what they call the cream of the crop, I wanted to be the cream of the cream of the crop.

Looking deep down into myself, I realized that aside from not wanting to disappoint my loved ones, I fear failure because I equated success with people’s capacity for love. I thought that if I fail, my loved ones will love me less. Or that my peers will not like me just as much. Such utterly stupid rationale. Because for these past years, no matter how many times I have been let down by my loved ones, I love them just the same. I even love them more in their times of failure as in those times, they are in utmost need of love. Of the reassurance that their worth does not diminish when life deals them with one of its blows. That they are loved and accepted as they are, no matter what, come what may.

Disappointments and failure do hurt. But in the past years, I learned that like failure, disappointment is as much a part of our lives as breathing. That for each endeavor we take, there is the possibility of failing and feelings of disappointment are just but natural reaction to it. Life is a gamble and if we do not make the first move of taking the risk, we cannot win.

I am no longer bound by failure’s ties. I expunge any fear I have of it. It may have left its scars on me but the scars are gradually healing.

I am also no longer scared. I am now free. From this point on, I will allow myself the total freedom to stumble once in a while. Each experience has its lessons for us and in some cases, failure is often the best teacher.

I embrace any possibility of failure. For I am scarred with and scared of it no more.

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Patience

I hate waiting. I especially hate it when I know there is a time set and the person whom I am supposed to meet still cannot make it on time and the always punctual me is left with no choice but to wait.

I'm now 25 years old. By now, one might think I have learned to be patient but what transpired the other day proves that I am still light years from achieving this rare virtue.

A friend and I were supposed to meet at 6:00 PM. I was on time, even early but as always, she's late. Very late in fact as the last time I checked my watch, it read 7:00 PM. I was irritated. So irritated that I wasn't able to resist the urge to text her, "It's a new year already and everyone's changing but it seems you still are your usual always-late self!"

Then it hit me! Whoa, I myself am not changing (contrary to what I wanted of a change for the better me in my first blog post for this year). I still am my usual impatient and temperamental self.

When my friend replied that she forgot about our meet-up, I resisted replying a not-so-good message. Or a message that will poke fun at her memory. Instead, I simply texted back, "It's okay. Take your time. I'll wait."

While waiting, I mulled things over. And I remember some friends joking about my being impatient. Quite too often, they always tell me that "Patience is virtue" to which I always reply, "That was, is and will never be mine." Of course, it was said jokingly, but still with a degree of truth to it.

Obstinacy. This is another character flaw I have. But there's hope, see. I can change. I sometimes just don't want to.

And so from this day on, I open myself to change, even to changes that I have difficulty dealing with. I will hold myself responsible for my emotions and the response I give to every situation I face. For I know, it is this response that will make me "myself."

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of love. of me.

loving me
may entail
more pain

than a fragile heart 

can ever hold

it's not that i purposefully

or knowingly inflict pain

it's just that 

love sometimes hurts

even when we do our best

to make things work

it's not that i'm unlovable

it's just that i make the process

as challenging but ultimately

just as rewarding as i can make it

and not everyone 

is up to these challenges

it's not that i don't want

to commit myself to someone

it's just that it takes a lot

and a long time for me

to admit someone into my life

and this admission

is not even a guarantee

that i will love him back

it's not that i'm afraid

of getting hurt

it's that i don't want

to cause pain to anyone

it's not that i'm in a rush

it's just that i want

the right time, 

the right reason

and the right person

to fall in love with

it's not that i think

i'm unworthy 

of someone's love

it's just that 

i know my worth

that i won't settle 

for anyone 

less than what i deserve

it's not that love is ideal

my view of it is

it's not love, see

it's me.

Of letting people be...

How come we always put restrictions on other people simply because these restrictions have been somehow imposed on ourselves? We very well know that we have no right. And yet, we keep on expecting people to be like us, to do exactly the same things we do. We keep on hoping they would change for us, to live their lives like we do ours. Or at least try to.

When I was in college, I had a friend who was my sounding board. Almost every week, I would see her and tell her my frustrations - about how a groupmate could not be depended on because her research always came out sloppy... About how I got mad at another friend because she was late and the always punctual me waited for a long time... I would nag this sounding-board friend about how most people could not understand me. And I too could not understand them. I would wonder how they could allow themselves to be careless. Or to not choose to be reliable and dependable... how they could allow mediocrity to rule their lives thus leaving people like me no choice but to make up for their ineptness.

One day, after an especially frustrating day for me, my friend gave me the answer to all my questions. And more. She simply said, "Because they are not you, Lai."

Struck, I just stared at my friend. "I am not going to say anything anymore," she said. "Just ponder on those words."

Later, alone in the confines of my room, I got my pen and my journal. I wanted to write. I badly needed to write. I needed answers. But nothing came to mind. And my friend's words kept playing inside my head.

Because they are not you... Because they are not you... Because they are not you... because they are not you...

I knew I wasn't confused. I knew exactly what my friend meant. I was just in denial - for so long a time. Pondering on her words, something I read once also came back to mind. "Great athletes make lousy coaches."

Admittedly, I had it easy all my life. I remember acing quizzes and exams even when I did not study hard. I excelled in almost anything. I was what they say the perennial achiever. Having shown such abilities, I thus lived a life of expectations. I grew up with an acute sense of people always expecting me to succeed in any endeavor I take... And I imposed the same expectations on people I came across with.

I would think: If I can be on time, why can't she be? If I can make my research or papers detailed, how come hers are not? Why can't they be as meticulous? How come I am always the one who is expected to do this and that?

The answer? It's all on the I. The Me. And the mine... I am me. And s/he is the person that s/he is.

And in some endeavors, it is me who does the work because I can. And s/he cannot.

Can I sing well? I cannot. Can I solve complicated Math problems? I cannot. Can I dance or act or paint? I cannot. And the list goes on and on...

Each one has his or her level. Thus I should not make them perform on my level. Each one has his and her own personality. And I have mine. And this personality makes us who we are. It defines our differences. And it is these differences that make us unique from others.

Lastly, each person is his and her own self. Thus I have no right to change a person just as no one has the right to make me conform to the person that they want or expect me to be.

And so, just as I yearn for people to let me be, I give them the same freedom to be themselves.

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Ushering in the Year 2009

Time flies swiftly. Another year has passed and a new dawn has come. The New Year always brings me hope – for a better self, a better country, a better world… a better everything. Of course, I cannot just hope. I also have to act. Thus, since I was a child, I have not been making New Year resolutions. What I make are my goals for the year.

This year, it is my goal to be closer to God. Enough with my goals for myself. God first and everything else will follow. This is my utmost goal for I know that with God leading my life, I am bound to a life of profound meaning and wonders. Without Him, I am nothing. I will not become a better person. And without Him too, I cannot do anything.

The New Year also brings me gratitude. I thank God for a wonderful year (the Year 2008) and I thank Him too for the gift of another year.

The brightest of hopes. Unwavering faith. Sincere love. Inner serenity. These, with God’s grace, I desire for this year.

I am looking forward to another memorable and wonderful year. Let another chapter of my life unfold…

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Acceptance

I am living in a society where the standards of beauty have already been laid. To be beautiful means to have white complexion, a pointed nose and other mestiza-like features. Consumed with vanity, when I sometimes look at myself in the mirror, I would wish to have more attractive features.

When I was a kid, I was teased for being “negra” because of my complexion. With cousins who are all mestiza-looking, I was the odd one out. Next to these paternal cousins, I thought I looked like their house helper. People’s teasing and jokes, no matter how well-meaning they may be, hurt. My self esteem was crushed. Thus, I disliked my morena (light brown) coloring as I was growing up.

I also sometimes wish to be someone I am not. I would wish I were better at singing and dancing. I would wish I knew how to draw and paint or to play any sport magnificently. I also would wish I were good in Math and with anything that has to do with numbers.

I remember there were also times when I would wish for another family. Whenever daddy or mommy hurt me deeply with their words or if they won’t let me do or have what I want, I sometimes would mentally wish for a different set of parents. I have my ideals. And so I wish for people and things in my life to be in perfect accord with my ideal family or with the ideal self that I want them to have. I want them to be what I want them to be.

There are also events in my life I’d rather forget. Oh, how many times have I wished to turn back time to change the course of some events or to have an entirely different set of circumstances. But of course, I can not do that. I can not turn back time. It’s over and done with. And so what I did was to deny - to deny that those happened to me. I can not accept that my 4th year high school experience did happen to me. It is too painful, too humiliating. And so for years I buried it in the abyss of my mind.

So many wishes have I got that are contrary to what I have. So many ideals and perfect things in my mind. Comparisons have gotten me nowhere. It’s either I become proud because I, for example, got a better grade than what a classmate got or, sad because someone got a grade higher than mine. Too busy was I looking for what others have that I do not have that I failed to see my own blessings.

God is always with me. In times when I struggled with people’s hurtful words, He was there to soothe the pain. In times when even I could not like my self, He was there loving me at my most unlovable. His were the eyes seeing me through my worst times. His was the presence giving me strength and comfort when I was so weak and was badly needing comfort and assurance. His was the heart so pure, constant in His love for me even if I had wandered far away from Him many times in my life. Oh how many times have I doubted Him. There even was a point in my life when I was angry at Him for I thought He had forsaken me. Yet, He was full of love and understanding. He was patient. He waited for me to mellow and mature and, when it was the right time, to grant me the grace to enable me to understand and accept everything He has handed to me with great love and generosity.

Now is that right time, Lord. I gratefully and lovingly accept everything that I am and everything that I have. I accept my past as it is - all the smiles, the laughter, the tears, the pains and the struggles. I accept everything as parts of your great plan for me. I am who I am now because of my history. I also accept people and things in my life as they are, not as I want them to be. Each of us is unique, differently made and differently gifted. I can not have everything I want nor can anyone. You as our Great Creator knows us by heart. You know each one of us inside and out. You know and gives us only what is best for us. If we do not have it, we don’t need it.

I pray that you will grant me the graces I need to be always grateful and faithful to You. I may be teased and given names but I ask You to give me the courage I need to stand up to them. Their words won’t harm me. They can think of me as whatever they perceive me to be. They can name me with whatever names but I can not care less about them. What matters most is how You name me, how you see me. I am Your child. I am who and what You created me to be. You love me as I am and so I lovingly accept myself, all that I am and all that I have - fully and gratefully.

==========

written when I was twenty.

photo credit

inner turmoil

this isn't the way i want

our story to start -
with promising romance
and possible exquisite heartache
think positively?
am trying to...
but i can't help feeling
apprehensive
i just can't...
maybe this is the way i am -
cynical
tightly wrapped in an intense need
to protect myself from possible pains
that i end up holding back
trusting but still wary
caring so much
and loving sincerely
but doing my damnedest
to appear detached
which would eventually lead to
my pushing my loved ones away...
how ironic
that in my desire
to save myself from pains
i ultimately end up
being the inflictor
of my own hurts.






photo credit

Till You Came Along

I never thought I needed someone
Till you came along
I’ve always thought I’m better off alone
Till you showed me otherwise
I never thought that shielding myself from hurt
Is for myself to become an even greater loser
Till you taught me that living and loving
Is about taking risks
I want to always come out strong but you showed me
That it is sometimes okay to be vulnerable and that
It is even better to show this vulnerability to someone
Because then someone would be strong for me
Life has never been the same
Since you came into my life
You make me feel proud yet humbled
For the person that I am
With you, I don’t need to be always lovable
Or always at my best because you understand
And accept me as I am
With you, I also come to surpass own myself
And go beyond my self-sufficiency
Because you inspire me to do better
Be greater, love more and give more...
It never occurred to me that being loved
And having someone to love are the best things
That can ever happen to anyone
Till you came along.

Looking back

I recently turned twenty-five. Twenty-five years of living life. With a purpose. With joy. With as much zest as I can put in it.

I have this habit of doing a once-in-a-year cleanup of my treasure box. In it are my journals, letters and cards and other stuff. It’s a treasure trove that holds my important keepsakes and whose contents never fail to bring back smiles, sometimes tears and always, fondness.

And as I rummaged through my treasure box, I found this entry from one of my journals.

As I go through the events of my life, I realized that God was in each event I have had. With every smile, with every laughter, even with every tear and every pain, God was there. God was shaping me and my life, molding all that I was to become what I am now... to gradually become what He wanted me to be...

I am grateful to God for His gifts. I thank Him for each precious memory. Just remembering the happy moments of my life is a wonderful experience. Until now, just the memory of each moment still brings me smiles and warmth. God was in each happy moment but He was not just a spectator. He was the Great Planner and the Guiding Light of the events of my life. I may not be aware then of the wonders He was making in my life but now the joys I felt then are doubled for I know God was taking care of me.

Of course, there were times when I thought He was not with me. There were times I questioned if He was listening to me... if He was there for if He was, why was I in pain. There were times when I doubted Him. I thought He didn’t care. I thought He was neglecting me and my cries. But now, as I look back, I realized He never left me. I was able to surpass each trial because of Him and the graces He gave me. In the first place, He never did give me a trial too big for me to face and conquer. With every pain, I grew. With every doubt, my faith intensified. With every temptation, my resolve strengthened. With every acknowledgment of my weakness, He lifted me up.

And so I thank Him now for each trial and difficulties that ever came my way. Now I know why there were sacrifices and suffering in my life – with my struggles came a better me.

God was, is and will be in every phase of my life. He was with me from the moment He planned of creating me. He has already written my biography with His own mighty hand.

I may not know what lies ahead of me but I need not be afraid – God is there. He is here. God is in me. He is taking care of me. I am His child. He loves me. He knows and will give me what is best for me.

Life has its uncertainties but I have my assurance in my God.

==========
From my journal entry, written in 2003

walking wounded

buildings and skyscrapers
as high as my dreams
crisscrossing streets
as chaotic as my wayward thoughts
blinding lights from cars
admonishing me to slow down...

where am i going?

i walk aimlessly
as my mother's parting words
keep playing inside my head
"what does a man gain
if he loses his soul?"

it's a dog-eat-dog world i'm in
but i made it.

i'm successful.
self-made.
an enviable career woman.

but what do all these entail?

spending christmas alone.
missing family reunions
not being able to attend birthdays, weddings
and other memorable events
in the lives of my loved ones.

suddenly i feel so lonely.

and i walk not
but trudge home.

home?

where is home?

is it the four corners of my apartment
with its balcony with a view of the city
and its modern comforts?

it's not.

and so i find myself missing my room
in the house i grew up in...

i miss my mom
and my dad
and my siblings
fiercely.

i miss home.


===============
written in December 2006 while I was still working in my former company. This was when I felt all burned-out. And stressed. Two weeks after I wrote this, I tendered my resignation, packed my bags and went home in our province. Home sweet home.

Goodbye?

We never really say goodbye to the best things in our lives. What can I say? Memories have a way of haunting us, of making us remember even those that we so want to forget.

Undeniably, you were one of the best things that had ever happened to me. And one of the worst. Life’s just like that sometimes – a paradox. Contradicting.

We started out just fine. Yin & Yang. Soulmates, we teased. We complemented each other, much to our delight for it’s rare that each one of us clicked with another person. We’re kindred souls, was why.

Meant to be? We sure thought so up until that point when we realized that too many similarities could sour a relationship. And our response to the niggling problem was the same too – we were too stubborn and proud to allow ourselves to compromise. “This is what I am even before you met me…” peppered our arguments, this thought and others along the same line echoed by both of us.

I got tired of arguing so I said goodbye and never looked back. A cowardly and totally selfish act, I realized in hindsight for we could have settled things if only we were open to a confrontation, a resolution.

I did not know how I survived. Maybe I am an innate survivor. Or the grandest pretender in the planet.

Have I really moved on? Maybe. Maybe not. It depends on what I want to believe, really.

Sometimes, maybe I do have moved on… those times when you don’t occupy my mind. Or command my thoughts. And dreams. Or a certain part of my heart.

Damn.

We never really say goodbye to the best things in our lives.

Middle Child

Growing up, I had difficulty analyzing my place in our home. I was a middle child, you see, and mom wasn’t really clear on how I should behave.

Whenever my older brother and I would quarrel, mommy would step in and tell me to give way for my older brother because he was older.

When my younger brother and I had misunderstandings, it was a different matter altogether. Mommy would pull me aside then tell me to be patient with and more understanding of my little brother because I was older.

Like what? Why couldn’t she tell my older brother to be more understanding of and giving to his little sister? Or tell my younger brother to let his older sister be? It was really contradicting and mind-boggling for a child my age.

Thankfully, that set up did not instill feelings of bitterness in me. I did not rebel but instead became more understanding. I learned to strike a balance among three hyperactive siblings. I was the peacemaker, the mediator in countless childish tantrums and petty quarrels.

I read in a book once that middle children are insecure attention seekers. I googled "Middle Child" as I am doing this blog and came up with a "Middle Child Syndrome." What I found out made me chuckle.

The middle or second born child or children often have the sense of not belonging. They fight to receive attention from parents and others because they feel many times they are being ignored or dubbed off as being the same as another sibling. Being in the middle a child can feel insecure.

I admit that in my childhood years, I had these issues. It stopped though the moment I turned ten. By then, I had mastered the art of compromise when it came to my brothers. More importantly, I learned to bask on my individuality. And my brothers' too.

I love what Dr. Robert Needlman wrote in this article. Aptly titled Middle Children: Finding Their Own Pride of Place, it delved into the psyche of middle children and detailed their importance not only in the family but in society as well.

Middle children, who are usually smaller than their older siblings while they're growing up, often learn non-aggressive strategies to get what they want, such as negotiation, cooperation, or seeking parental intervention. As the underdogs themselves in many sibling conflicts, middle children often develop a fine sense of empathy with the downtrodden, as do many youngest children. Where first and last children may tend to be self-centered, middle children often take a genuine interest in getting to know other people. Being in the middle, they may find it easier to look at interpersonal situations from various points of view.

But this uncomfortable feeling of not having a defined place in the family may actually turn out to be an advantage. Unlike first children, who often define success by their ability to meet their parents' expectations, middle children are more prone to rebel against the status quo. This observation is the main point of a fascinating book, Born to Rebel: Birth Order, Family Dynamics, and Creative Lives, by Frank J. Sulloway. The book also argues that birth order--the middle position in particular--is one of the prime forces behind the scientific and social revolutions that drive history forward. I'd wager that most middle children had no idea that they were so important.

I seek not attention but understanding. Not misunderstandings but peace. I may have resented being a middle child when I was too young to fully grasp my significance in our home but now I can only sing praises for being the middle child in the family because if not for it, I wouldn’t be the responsible, understanding and mature adult that I am now.

"Lost"

I always have this haunting feeling that I am somehow lost amidst a sea of people who are too immersed in their own worlds and feelings of uppity self-worth to notice that the world does not revolve around them and that other people aside from themselves do exist.

Some (or most) people can be so cold of heart or just plain apathetic. I notice this every day – giggling teens texting or eating while an impoverished child trails behind them begging for alms, a yuppie-looking guy in the MRT not caring to offer his seat to a woman or an elderly or people jostling and even cursing to board the train heedless that they might trample the pregnant, the child or the physically challenged among them. Then, there’s this “new breed” of people who have their earphones permanently glued to their ears, seemingly oblivious to what’s around them as long as they have their music to listen to. There are also those who would rather doze off or pretend to be sleeping to be spared offering their seat to somebody else.

It saddens me that while we claim to have reached the pinnacle of being civilized and modern, our concern to our neighbors is actually dwindling. So are some of our values. Why, one’s lucky to hear an appropriate apology these days or a sincere thank you. Just the other day, a guy collided into me but I didn’t hear a peep of “excuse me” or even a hasty apology from him. More and more people too are forgetting to smile and be generally nice and polite to everyone. There’s this misplaced “mind your own business” business that I find it difficult at times to reach out to others.

Today’s life is too fast-paced that most people are rushing headlong into it without fully enjoying the trip or bothering to accommodate others into their lives. There’s misunderstood “equality.” Chivalry’s dead. I heard one guy in the MRT telling his companion that if men can stand during an MRT trip, women can too. Like whaaat?! Of course we can but the point is that offering his seat to a woman shows a man’s character. Apathy is widespread and so is negative individualism (I call this the “me, myself, mine and I” syndrome).

I know that I am not the only one harboring these thoughts. But maybe, just maybe, I’m the one feeling more lost than others because others have already become accustomed to such. But not I, not now, not ever…for always, in those instances, I’d feel disoriented – being with the crowd but “lost” among them.

Gratuitous Love

"Message memory full," so my cellphone warned me. I immediately went to my Saved Messages folder, looking for messages to discard. What I found were messages dating back to 2004. I also found a message that struck a chord in me, sent by a friend a couple of years back. It read,

"We need to thank God if we learn to love gratuitously. It's purely a grace and a gift. It's the highest form of love that we can offer to persons. You have this gift... Be grateful to God... That's why you're special. I thank you for being you... really :)"

Whoa. Why can't I find the same capacity to love in me now? Have I grown too cynical and jaded? Why can't I just love without expecting to be loved back in the same manner, same intensity, same degree, same everything? That used to work just fine for me that is why my friend sent me that personalized message.

Have I turned cold and calculating? Loving only when there is a guarantee of being loved back? Taking only calculated risks? And bolting out the door the moment I get scared that love is asking too much from me?

My friend said it is purely a grace and a gift. Maybe I am now loving humanely. Human love gets tired. Fed up. It has the tendency to give up when the heart becomes too bruised and hurt to love. Human love can get selfish. It has the capacity for jealousy. And revenge. It can shut people out, make itself go numb...

I may have the gift of loving people gratuitously but I am human too. And therein lies my difficulty because gratuitous love hurts. So much.

And I don't want to be hurt that much ever again.