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."

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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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.

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written when I was twenty.

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Save me I’m hanging...

Most people would say “Catch me I’m falling” but I’m not most people so I said, “Save me I’m hanging...”

I was eight. Being the hyperactive child that I was, some of my time was spent scaling trees and picking fruits or just sitting in my favorite branch, reading a book as I relished the feel of the breeze on my face. One day, I slipped and found myself hanging on a branch, clinging on to it for dear life. The minutes I spent there seemed like years. The pain was excruciating. The longer I held on, the heavier I seemed to be and the more difficult and painful it became. I did try to pull myself up but I could not. And that’s when I thought of letting go...

Off I fell. And oh, what freedom I felt as I hit the ground. It was painful, yes, but it was a wonderful feeling - to fall, to allow myself to let go of the branch and be spared from the pain of holding on unto something that was obviously futile.

Twelve years later, I fell in love. The song “Fallin” kept playing inside my head.

Help me I’m fallin’

Fallin’ fast again

Why do I always take a fall

When I fall in love

But catch me he did not. I did try to hold on to the love I had. I thought it would be enough. That I’d be content. I was wrong of course for love is a two-way traffic thing...

And unrequited love is rapture and agony in one overwhelming package.

It was when the pain became unbearable that I remembered the time I was hanging by that tree.

It’s just that I recall

Back when I was small

Someone promised that they’d catch me

And then they let me fall

The pain was incomparable for then, it was only physical pain. Love’s sting was more vicious. It gnawed at the very void in me – wanting to be filled but remained empty.

I had to escape. No savior would deliver me from the predicament that I was in. I only had myself. Just myself.

And so I saved my hurting self...

By letting go.

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.

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From my journal entry, written in 2003

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.

Bittersweet

The flavor of my youth is bittersweet. Its joys, pains, adventures, trials, conquests and awakenings will never be forgotten.

Youth was that time when I first felt my heart flutter like a butterfly in flight. It was a feeling which I mistook for love and so it was at this stage in my life when I learned that love isn't about getting all gooey inside and giddy on the outside but is more a commitment than a feeling.

True love knocked on my door all right but I was too young then to take things seriously. In my youth, I learned to lose someone I should have kept and cherished.

Youth was a time of friendship. Of opening myself to someone and sharing laughter and tears. It was also a time of secrets betrayed and trusts broken. Most girls were just too chatty, I learned, and some could be mean without even trying.

Youth was that time too when I wanted to be independent but my parents thought I was rushing things up. The time when I desperately wanted to be free but got bound by my parents' rules. It was that time when reasoning with them could be (mis)construed as talking and fighting back and was deemed being disrespectful when all I really wanted was to be heard.

Youth was that time when I wanted to define myself only to find things that I did not like about me. Of looking for my identity but ending up trying to be like everybody else to fit in.

Youth was basking in the truth that I was misunderstood even when I really wasn't. It gave me the "license" to be angst-ridden no doubt fueled by my passion for the songs of Alanis, Gin Blossoms, The Cranberries, Nirvana and Oasis. I even thought their songs are about and for me. Ha!

Youth was knowing who I was and what I was capable of. And wasn't. It was standing at the crossroads of my life and knowing full well that whatever choice I would make would define the person that I would become.

In my youth, I was confronted with harsh realities and bitter truths. Rude awakenings were bitter pills to swallow but these eventually made me feel better about myself and the world.

Conversations with Myself: On Beauty

The Questions

Just look at you. So feminine and pretty. Is that how you define beauty now? With the neatly coiffed hair, the subtle makeup, all these dresses and skirts and "power suits" and whatnot? Whatever happened to that simple girl who used to balk at the mere idea of putting on makeup? To that impish child-woman who adorns herself with only her smile? 

Do you still remember your "hoyden" days? You were "one of the boys." You hated wearing skirts and feminine sandals and would rather starve than wear high heels. Your hair was cropped short or in instances when they were long, was almost always up in an artless ponytail or braids and seldom would you consult a mirror.

In you teen years, unlike snotty, always giggling giddy girls, you remained simple and unaffected and sneered at all those "snotty, feeling all-grown-up-but-with-brains-the-size-of-peas tweens whose stuck-up behavior made you swore to never be like any of them in whatever way or form. Some of those girls teased you mercilessly but you held your ground quite admirably. Unlike these "pa-girl" girls, you loved lugging your backpack around and were usually dressed in sneakers, tees and jeans. You even used to dress like Alex Mack, right?

Then you became sophisticated and I got scared. Where's the girl who I have been carrying a torch for all these years? I like the changes that I'm seeing but beneath those, what have you become?

The Answers

I have changed but I am still me. Why do some equate being sophisticated with being "maarte," even shallow? I've seen people treat women they consider as "eye candy" as "bimbos" only to be surprised when some of these "bimbos" converse to them with wit and style. My current case and the case of those "snotty, feeling all-grown-up-but-with-brains-the-size-of-peas tweens" in my teens are different. Don't generalize.

My job in the travel and tourism industry requires that I am always at my best, yes, even (well maybe, most of all), physically, too. I wear makeup only to enhance my natural assets. Femininity is not all about wearing skirts and dresses and putting on makeup. I can wear jeans sans the makeup and still look utterly feminine.

And you got it wrong. I did not become sophisticated. Sophistication became me. It is not those dresses and makeup and whatnot that make me look good. I make them look good on me.

Beneath the sophisticated exterior, the simple girl still lives. Look beyond the glitters and you'll find an even greater gem. My reality is defined not just by appearance but more by what my heart holds.

All Grown Up

It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.

- E.E Cummings

I used to thrive on acceptance. As a teen hell bent on being recognized and accepted by my peers, I tried to like the same music, same movies, same everything that they liked. Several times had I bent myself out of shape trying to please them, to make them like me. I sacrificed bits and pieces of my identity for fear that they would shun me for being different.

It was in college when I found my acceptance for the person that I was. I realized that acceptance of one's self was all that mattered. The process was not easy but I had my faith in myself to hold on to.

It took a lot of courage for me to grow up but yes, finally, I did. After countless reflections, I began to show to the world the spirited me. I broke away from what was and embraced and basked in my individuality.

What made us different is what made us special. People will always have their standards for us to live up to but I now I really don't care about that. That chapter of my life is over.

Why live up to those standards when we can be the standards ourselves?