In my 21 years of existence I’ve been closer to women more than men. Maybe because I am a semi-mama’s boy and I grew up fatherless. And in that unbalanced environment I’ve been exposed more to the feminine world. In the family I am closer with my two sisters more than my three brothers and even with my girl cousins and aunties.
I feel more comfortable in talking and dealing with women. For me they are more open-minded, better listeners and wiser advisers, more caring, more sensible, more sensitive and less cruel than men (forgive me for being so sexist but I guess I am speaking based on my personal experiences).
I do have plenty of male friends however there’s really a big difference in having female friends. With women as friends, they have views and ideas contradictory to men, they look at things in contrasting perspectives, they have different approaches and solutions to problems, they have different interpretations and judgment on certain phenomena of life and somehow in those differences spring personal growth and widened possibilities. Unlike with men, when seeking advice or in weighing options and solving crises, we would hear the things we are expecting to hear because we share the same nature, instincts, impulses and outlooks in like.
Aside from my mother and sisters, six women shared a space in my heart. I have lots of female friends but these six are the closest to me and that I know when my burial comes they can speak a lot about me for they truly know the real Noliver inside and out.
C.G. (The Rowdy)
She’s my opposite. Her noise smashes up my eardrums, her badmouth rattles my senses. She’s a walking bully, and fits the definition of maligalig. You wouldn’t believe it, but she’s a P.E. teacher in a Christian school (kawawang mga estudyante). But despite her extremely thunderous laughter, gargantuan eyes, undecipherable penmanship and raucous behavior she’s a nice person inside. She’s someone you can really count on in times of need and trouble. She has tons of positivity (nasunugan na nga tawa pa ng tawa) and male hormones (she can kick a man’s ass with her fists).
Way back in high school (and even in College), she would always ask me to design her projects and made some letterings and other artistic stuffs. In turn, she would be there to look after and carry my bag, would wait for me until my last subject ends (she didn’t take up journalism) and then she would treat me kwek kwek and palamig on the way home. She loves dancing, spaghetti and McDonulds. During her birthdays, I would always buy her a cake; it became a customary obligation on my part. During our fights she’s the first one to lower her pride and make a move for reconciliation. And during my own fights she’s my greatest ally.
S.J.B. (The Chatty)
The front of their house is our tambayan. I would go there (usually with C.G. and sometimes with other Amitybulok friends) and have some long (as in very long) chitchat with her until we run out of topics and our jaws would drop dead. She has a very light personality – simple, friendly, cheerful, free-spirited, carefree. Just like C.G., she’s a tomadora but then she knows her limitation.
We share books (esp. those sensational romances) as well as advices on love and relationships, career, family, and life as a whole. She always brags my achievements on her classmates and it really makes me feel awkward. With that, I consider her as my greatest admirer (ang kapal ko eh no hehe). I would always tell her to have confidence on herself and that don’t be so martyr in her relationships. She’s the one who taught me a lot of things about techie stuffs. She’s my bank whenever I’m broke. Her company is my sanctuary whenever I feel lonely, miserable, anxious or upset. Whenever there’s good or bad news about myself I want her to be the first person to know it for I know no matter how big or small it is, if it’s about me, it matters to her.
J.A.C. (The Balahura)
I’ve known her since high school during those gatherings (contests, seminars, trainings etc.) of the society of walking neurons. Then we became classmates during my freshmen in the University. Having the same size of brain and bastarda attitude, we jived well. We share the same circle of friends. She’s buraot and makapal ang mukha with all those favors she asked from me. When we separated ways and have our own courses, every time she sees me at the corridor or canteen she would harassingly ask me to buy her this and that. At one point, she became my tutor in Math.
She’s goal-driven, practical (a.k.a kuripot), resourceful, creative and witty. Just like me – she’s a certified b-i-t-c-h. I always visit their house when I was still in college and we would talk about our lives. Her mother is very hospitable and maasikaso. She now teaches math (the subject I hated most) at ICAM. Because of her, I became a master in being pilosopo and pasaway. Despite her being balahura in talking, behaving, and with her things, she’s a totoong tao.
I.J.D.C. (The Guru)
We’re very much the same in being hard-headed and inconsistent. She’s daredevil, philosophical, boyish, very emotional, overly sensitive and apologetic for all her shortcomings. She’s the greatest martyr in the name of love. I would really love bashing her head in the wall so that she may wake up in reality and give up all the burdens love had caused her. But then, I am her friend and all I could do is guide and support her the best I can. Her silence means a disturbed spirit is residing inside her brain.
She would always seek my advice but she rarely follows it. I have slept in their house many times and I would love going with her in feeding their pigs. I’m her secret keeper and vice-versa. With all the things that happened to her life, I can say, that she’s the toughest woman in the whole wide universe. I admire her undaunted courage and exceptional strength. Aside from being mataray and worst critic, she can be very vulnerable at times. I do hope that day comes that she would let go the things that causes her unbearable pain. And when that moment comes, magpapaparty ako.
V.M.D. (The Pa-tweetums)
She’s very fun to be with. Together with I.J.D.C., our threesome group is a chaos. Among Superfriends (our College peer group), the three of us are the closest. She and I.J.D.C. are soccer players and ant hunters, literally. She’s having difficulty tumawid sa kalye and has an R & L speech syndrome. I learned so many abnormal lingo and expressions from her. She’s an epitome of makulit. And God, she giggles a lot.
Before, we see her as someone who is so childish and devoid of refinement especially in behaviors. And now that she teaches in a primary school somehow she became quite mature. If she wants something she’s really determined in having it using all her ganda lang attitude. Her jokes are really half meant and sometimes she looks and sounds abnormal with her earsplitting laughter and noise. If not for her and I.J.D.C., I would have a very difficult college life. The two helped me survive college (in assignments, projects, thesis, exams, reports etc.) for my other extra-curricular activities burdened me so much. And so they never left me.
C.M. (The Sweety)
She’s the sweetest and loveliest person I’ve ever met. Among the six, she’s the only one who hugs and kisses me. Her perennial tardiness in our hang-outs irritates me so much. But then she would always make up for all our canceled coffee chitchat and church visits. Honestly, I can no longer remember how did this bibo kid and I ended up in this kind of friendship or even when was our first meeting and how did it progressed.
She’s very motherly - maasikaso, thoughtful, caring and considerate. She doesn’t want me to be so bitchy with guys. But then, she’s the one doing so perhaps because she really has the face and the body that could launch a thousand ships. She would use her charm in dealing with people so that she would get what she wants. It’s quite annoying every time boys would look at her (boobs). We both love coffees and endless discussions on social issues. Our inclination on leadership, politics and activism made us closer. We always pretend in public that we have a relationship but the truth is we just simply love each other.
There are lots of commonalities that these women share – the brain, the talent, the charm, the attitude, and the substance. They are all unsinkable. But more than these, I am who I am without any reservations when I’m with them. Despite all my shortcomings and lapses they never judge me instead they’ve been very supportive in my search for my real self.
Part of my strength came from them. I was able to enjoy life, and make the most of it because of they gave me the opportunity to experience so many things that ordinary high school or college life, books, teachers, and education cannot provide. I was able to go out of my box and be exposed in different walks and areas of life.
These women have witnessed my struggles in life; they’ve been there as I conquered victories and succumbed to failures, they’re with me as I searched for truth and sought answers about my complicated self, they became my allies in every battle I have endured and they’ve created wonderful memories with me that in one way or another created an impact on how I view myself and life as a whole.
I wanted to thank these women for all their time, efforts, supports, advises, understanding, comforts, and most importantly, the happiness and lessons they have shared with me.
May our friendships last forever. . .
___________________________________________________________________________
As of now, there are women years younger than me who follow the footsteps of the six women I have mentioned above. I do hope that, they too, could also impart something on me just like what the six had.
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Sunday, November 28, 2010
Thursday, November 25, 2010
The Wrong Pill
They’ve invaded the streets of Divisoria, Recto, Quiapo, Espaňa, Taft, P. Faura, Paco, and other busy, traffic-jammed areas in Metro Manila.
Tousled hairs, bulging eyes, filthy faces and runny noses accentuate their dreadful look. Their bodies are greasy, sometimes with burns, cloth with outsized tattered outfits and stink like dumpsite. Some are half naked and barefooted, exposing prominent ribs, protruding bellies and callous feet. The more awful they guise the more coins they get.
They would enter PUJs carrying tons of nerves and dead egos and would ask for mercy in order to relieve themselves from hunger. Most are solos (who have already outgrown coyness), some in tandems (who would morally support each other) and others in flocks (oftentimes hanging by the stribu and are always cursed by drivers). Superb acting is needed to look more convincing in their posed misery.
These beggars, embellished with tambourines and drums during Christmas season, hand out ordinary small white envelopes or at times the airmail. These papers, after being touched time and again by hundreds of hands, would get messier and shabbier as days pass.
Each time I’d be given an envelope I avoid touching it for I don’t know how many times it fell off the PUJ’s floor or in ground, how many dirty hands touched it and how many types of microorganism populated the almost dilapidated paper.
These envelopes show poor hand writings which reads as:
Ate, Kuya
Pahingi po ng barya o buo.
Pang kain lang po.
Maraming salamat po.
Sometimes the notes would ask for pamasko or pambaon. But more than this, it’s quite ironic for a beggar to be able to buy envelopes albeit having nothing to eat. At the back of my mind, Wala na ngang makain pero nakakabili pa ng sobre; dati lata lang ngayon sobre na.
Some time ago, as the PUJ passes Recto while I’m taking a nap, out of surprise I jolted back because a boy is polishing my shoes and he’s scratching my pants for payment. I didn’t give any amount not because I’m too selfish or indifferent but because the rags used were greasy and that instead of shining my shoes it even made it rubbish. Giving them money is tantamount to giving them the wrong pill for their illness, I thought.
On one occasion, the PUJ I ride stops at Paco corner Quirino Ave. where children ambushed us with their envelopes. As they leave, the driver told us that these children are being forced by their jobless parents to do begging. They are one big homeless family. The driver was amazed for despite residing in the streets the couple has produced such plethora of kids and that the couple is just “pasarap sa buhay” while their broods are working to feed their mouths.
In one of those rides, out of curiosity I asked a child where are his parents, why is he not in school and why is he doing that. He didn’t bother responding to my questions. Hurriedly, he collected his envelopes and leaves the PUJ together with his offended ego.
Another story is those men claiming they volunteer for a certain Christian foundation for the poor and out of school youth. They would give solicitation letters having a letterhead devoid of concrete address and an out of service contact number. No e-mail address. No website of the foundation. Not even a single proof of credibility. Take note, in the letter is a list of their preferred amounts. Who they think they are fooling?
One time, in a PUJ heading to P. Faura, a Badjao boy is singing while thumping his improvised drums. Maybe he’s really a Badjao for I can’t understand his lyrics. Just like others, he gave us envelopes but to my biggest surprise the supposed hand writings are now printed. I can’t imagine where did he get the stamp to imprint those words?
Likewise, on my way to Intramuros, a Badjao woman asks for money over the windows of PUJs that stopped before the traffic lights. She’s breastfeeding her child, thus, exposing part of her breast. What a heartbreaking sight of a mother and child struggling to survive from their horrifying fate. What kind of future awaits the child?
What happened to these indigenous people and their ancestral domains? Why did they leave their natural world in exchange of coins in the noisy and polluted streets of metropolis? Where’s the fang of IPRA that’s supposed to be protecting their rights as minorities?
Alarmingly, some beggars turn to violence. Once, my friends and I were on a PUJ heading Espaňa when a 5-7 year-old boy asked for coins. Our girl friend already gave but the boy insisted for more but when she politely refused he began scratching her arms until she almost cry out of pain and fear. The boy left while cursing us when scolded for his action. I’ve heard several stories where children would badmouth, prod, poke, and spit on commuters and drivers who would get angry on them.
With that, what else could we expect as these children with anti-social behaviors, turn 18? Sooner or later, if not rehabilitated, they’ll be behind bars for as they mature they carry with them tendencies to become criminals. Chances are, something more terrible may happen to them as they play patintero with death when they jump off from one PUJ to another.
Giving of food instead of money must be practiced for most of these beggars are part of mafias. Some would just buy drugs, solvents, alcohols and cigars out of what we give. As we continue to give coins the longer they would stay in beggary. Remember that we must not give men fish; instead we must equip them the knowledge of fishing.
Why beg inside PUJs (crowded with also poor commuters) when one can sell candies, mineral water, sampaguita, rugs, cigars, nuts and the like? Why beg when one can be a newspaper or gasoline boy, car washer, parking attendant, barker, and other decent jobs? Poverty shouldn’t be used as an excuse to resort into begging.
I am not writing this piece to mock the beggar’s looks, to belittle their lives or to demoralize their situations, but to condemn the government for not taking enough action on this perennial yet always ignored issue.
May our politicians to do something about mendicancy for this issue isn’t just about poverty and vagrancy. It’s more about child labor, exploitation, human trafficking, unemployment, crimes, accidents, illiteracy, health problems and overpopulation. It’s all about neglected and unattained basic human rights.
We can never travel in P-Noy’s purported matuwid na daan so long as the actual roads are being obstructed by the rising culture of mendicancy.
Tousled hairs, bulging eyes, filthy faces and runny noses accentuate their dreadful look. Their bodies are greasy, sometimes with burns, cloth with outsized tattered outfits and stink like dumpsite. Some are half naked and barefooted, exposing prominent ribs, protruding bellies and callous feet. The more awful they guise the more coins they get.
They would enter PUJs carrying tons of nerves and dead egos and would ask for mercy in order to relieve themselves from hunger. Most are solos (who have already outgrown coyness), some in tandems (who would morally support each other) and others in flocks (oftentimes hanging by the stribu and are always cursed by drivers). Superb acting is needed to look more convincing in their posed misery.
These beggars, embellished with tambourines and drums during Christmas season, hand out ordinary small white envelopes or at times the airmail. These papers, after being touched time and again by hundreds of hands, would get messier and shabbier as days pass.
Each time I’d be given an envelope I avoid touching it for I don’t know how many times it fell off the PUJ’s floor or in ground, how many dirty hands touched it and how many types of microorganism populated the almost dilapidated paper.
These envelopes show poor hand writings which reads as:
Ate, Kuya
Pahingi po ng barya o buo.
Pang kain lang po.
Maraming salamat po.
Sometimes the notes would ask for pamasko or pambaon. But more than this, it’s quite ironic for a beggar to be able to buy envelopes albeit having nothing to eat. At the back of my mind, Wala na ngang makain pero nakakabili pa ng sobre; dati lata lang ngayon sobre na.
Some time ago, as the PUJ passes Recto while I’m taking a nap, out of surprise I jolted back because a boy is polishing my shoes and he’s scratching my pants for payment. I didn’t give any amount not because I’m too selfish or indifferent but because the rags used were greasy and that instead of shining my shoes it even made it rubbish. Giving them money is tantamount to giving them the wrong pill for their illness, I thought.
On one occasion, the PUJ I ride stops at Paco corner Quirino Ave. where children ambushed us with their envelopes. As they leave, the driver told us that these children are being forced by their jobless parents to do begging. They are one big homeless family. The driver was amazed for despite residing in the streets the couple has produced such plethora of kids and that the couple is just “pasarap sa buhay” while their broods are working to feed their mouths.
In one of those rides, out of curiosity I asked a child where are his parents, why is he not in school and why is he doing that. He didn’t bother responding to my questions. Hurriedly, he collected his envelopes and leaves the PUJ together with his offended ego.
Another story is those men claiming they volunteer for a certain Christian foundation for the poor and out of school youth. They would give solicitation letters having a letterhead devoid of concrete address and an out of service contact number. No e-mail address. No website of the foundation. Not even a single proof of credibility. Take note, in the letter is a list of their preferred amounts. Who they think they are fooling?
One time, in a PUJ heading to P. Faura, a Badjao boy is singing while thumping his improvised drums. Maybe he’s really a Badjao for I can’t understand his lyrics. Just like others, he gave us envelopes but to my biggest surprise the supposed hand writings are now printed. I can’t imagine where did he get the stamp to imprint those words?
Likewise, on my way to Intramuros, a Badjao woman asks for money over the windows of PUJs that stopped before the traffic lights. She’s breastfeeding her child, thus, exposing part of her breast. What a heartbreaking sight of a mother and child struggling to survive from their horrifying fate. What kind of future awaits the child?
What happened to these indigenous people and their ancestral domains? Why did they leave their natural world in exchange of coins in the noisy and polluted streets of metropolis? Where’s the fang of IPRA that’s supposed to be protecting their rights as minorities?
Alarmingly, some beggars turn to violence. Once, my friends and I were on a PUJ heading Espaňa when a 5-7 year-old boy asked for coins. Our girl friend already gave but the boy insisted for more but when she politely refused he began scratching her arms until she almost cry out of pain and fear. The boy left while cursing us when scolded for his action. I’ve heard several stories where children would badmouth, prod, poke, and spit on commuters and drivers who would get angry on them.
With that, what else could we expect as these children with anti-social behaviors, turn 18? Sooner or later, if not rehabilitated, they’ll be behind bars for as they mature they carry with them tendencies to become criminals. Chances are, something more terrible may happen to them as they play patintero with death when they jump off from one PUJ to another.
Giving of food instead of money must be practiced for most of these beggars are part of mafias. Some would just buy drugs, solvents, alcohols and cigars out of what we give. As we continue to give coins the longer they would stay in beggary. Remember that we must not give men fish; instead we must equip them the knowledge of fishing.
Why beg inside PUJs (crowded with also poor commuters) when one can sell candies, mineral water, sampaguita, rugs, cigars, nuts and the like? Why beg when one can be a newspaper or gasoline boy, car washer, parking attendant, barker, and other decent jobs? Poverty shouldn’t be used as an excuse to resort into begging.
I am not writing this piece to mock the beggar’s looks, to belittle their lives or to demoralize their situations, but to condemn the government for not taking enough action on this perennial yet always ignored issue.
May our politicians to do something about mendicancy for this issue isn’t just about poverty and vagrancy. It’s more about child labor, exploitation, human trafficking, unemployment, crimes, accidents, illiteracy, health problems and overpopulation. It’s all about neglected and unattained basic human rights.
We can never travel in P-Noy’s purported matuwid na daan so long as the actual roads are being obstructed by the rising culture of mendicancy.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
The Lip Gloss
The first time I saw her was during a simple recognition day for those who were qualified and chosen to be correspondents of Ang Pamantasan, the official student publication of our University. She was a freshy that time while I was a sophomore.
When we were asked to introduce ourselves and why we applied for the post it was then that I noticed her presence. The big-eyed, pale skinned girl in braces with a short black curly hair. She spoke good English and exuded an aura of a very serious person (there is something in her face that made her look nerd or maybe I am just being overly imaginative and too judgmental). She must be really good, I thought. After the event I’ve discovered that her sister also works for the publication. Maybe journalistic skills really run in their blood.
After that activity I no longer saw her for I quit from continuing when my doctor misdiagnosed me of having PTB and advised me to rest and have medications. Poor doctor from PGH, I believe she should go back to med school and review her lessons for she just deposited toxins on my body with all those unnecessary medicines. Had I known earlier about that wrong diagnosis I shouldn’t have quit being a correspondent. I was then really excited after being assigned to gather news at the office of the university president and Manila City Hall. I really hate that doctor.
Life went on and after a year or so, I had known that the former GenEd girl (freshmen during those days don’t have courses yet) and I belong to the same college and share the same course (maybe she is also fond of dissecting frogs and cats). What a coincidence.
Since our college is one of the smallest in terms of population, seeing that girl in the corridor, laboratories, college activities, catwalks, rooms, CS office and anywhere I go, became an ordinary scene. I just wondered if she continued working for AP. Guess what? She didn’t (Again, what a coincidence).
When my term as the president of the student council was about to end (thank you Lord), it was time for me to look for people who would dedicate part of their lives (and part of their money) in serving the student body. Surprisingly, Jorrel, my personal choice to be the next prexy is always with that girl with a backpack.
The election season was the time when I was formally introduced to that big-eyed, pale skinned girl in braces with a short black curly hair who spoke good English and exuded an aura of a very serious person. Amazingly I was wrong with my first impression on her, she wasn’t really that serious and aside from being smart, she is (just like any other girl) cool, cheerful, open-minded and easy to bond and deal with.
When I was able to get to know her better, I saw in her the eagerness to be part of the student council and I admire her for that. I have a high regard for female leaders. I believe that in politics women have much balls than men. The girl has the skills and leadership potentials, no doubt on that. As a matter of fact, she is an excellent writer, a good public speaker and a musically and artistically inclined person. She can really relate to people and can influence them to believe and follow in what she wants to instill in them. Later, she became the public relations officer of the College of Science Student Council.
But beyond those superficial characters, I saw in her a good person.
She is devoid of pretensions, especially on how she looks (I’m a bit confused, is she really a punky dresser or what?) and the way she talks (bubbly, naughty, good conversationalist, her eyes would always enlarge when surprised). Indeed she is very outspoken yet sincere, sensible, honest, caring and responsible.
And for me, after all those moments we’ve been together, she really has a dignified soul who is not afraid to fight for what she believes is good and true. She has the so called “girl power” - a strong woman who is determined to reach her goals no matter how many obstacles may block her way. Despite her background, she’s still down to earth.
Most admiringly, she has a golden heart. And during my visits to their house, I can say that she really loves her family and vice-versa, especially her sister and pamangkins. A very sweet lola’s girl. Undeniably she was brought up with a good foundation on Christian and family-oriented values.
I know that the time we had spent together was not enough for me to fully know her and dig the details of her life but it was more than enough for me to acknowledge her importance in my life. And I am grateful for having her as one of my friends.
I will miss everything about her. . .
To Rox: Wherever you are right now I want to thank for being such a nice person to me. I know that the friendship we have, even though we already separated ways, was built to last. I may not be the person who cried a river during your interment, but my mind and heart that day suffered a lot from the reality that I can no longer be with you. How I wished I am with you that time so that I could have protected you or at least I could have altered the events.
I will miss you so much. . .
I will long for the days when you would visit me at the shed or SSC office and you would hug me tightly and kissed me with your lips overfilled with lip gloss (honestly Rox, the moment your lips touches my face the feeling is so slimy, when you kiss it’s as if there’s no more tomorrow - peace!). I will yearn for the times when we would talk about your boy-toys, your crushes, and your ex-boyfriends. I missed those overnights (during LTS, at Alvin’s house, or in Zeta’s Brgy. Hall where we answered the cases filed against us by moronic frogs).
I can still remember those times when you would confess to me personal things. I really appreciate it for you’re one of those girls who trusted me and felt comfortable in disclosing things that are supposed to be for female only. I am sure many people would also miss you.
As of now, even though it’s been almost five months since you left us, it is still hard for me to accept such a great loss. There were moments when I would ask myself why life is so unfair and I can’t help but question God why He let that happened to a good person, to you. There are millions of bad and useless people in this world, but why you?
Death is really painful, not just for the person who died, but for those who were left behind. And it is really more painful if your loved one died not due to sickness but because of some cold-blooded criminals. I know the same feelings Rox’ family felt, I have experienced that before, for my father and Rox shared the same fate.
How I wish all criminals in the world would die the same way their victims suffered. I hope that these people would experience losing a loved one so that they would know how does it feels to have such great loss and that they would carry the pain all throughout their lives.
I don’t know how to end this piece, maybe because there is so much to say about you Rox, but I am at lost with words. Maybe there there are no really perfect words, only sincere thoughts. But one thing is for sure, you will forever stay in my heart. And I know time will come that we would meet again, perhaps on another point in time, in another place, and as different persons. But surely, when that time comes, we would still be friends just like the old days.
Thank you Rox for touching my life and adding color to it. May you rest in eternal peace. I love you more than life itself. And, see you somewhere. . .
____________________________________________________________________________
“In memory of the big-eyed, pale skinned girl in braces with a short black curly hair, with lips overfilled with lip gloss, my friend Mary Roxanne Musngi.”
When we were asked to introduce ourselves and why we applied for the post it was then that I noticed her presence. The big-eyed, pale skinned girl in braces with a short black curly hair. She spoke good English and exuded an aura of a very serious person (there is something in her face that made her look nerd or maybe I am just being overly imaginative and too judgmental). She must be really good, I thought. After the event I’ve discovered that her sister also works for the publication. Maybe journalistic skills really run in their blood.
After that activity I no longer saw her for I quit from continuing when my doctor misdiagnosed me of having PTB and advised me to rest and have medications. Poor doctor from PGH, I believe she should go back to med school and review her lessons for she just deposited toxins on my body with all those unnecessary medicines. Had I known earlier about that wrong diagnosis I shouldn’t have quit being a correspondent. I was then really excited after being assigned to gather news at the office of the university president and Manila City Hall. I really hate that doctor.
Life went on and after a year or so, I had known that the former GenEd girl (freshmen during those days don’t have courses yet) and I belong to the same college and share the same course (maybe she is also fond of dissecting frogs and cats). What a coincidence.
Since our college is one of the smallest in terms of population, seeing that girl in the corridor, laboratories, college activities, catwalks, rooms, CS office and anywhere I go, became an ordinary scene. I just wondered if she continued working for AP. Guess what? She didn’t (Again, what a coincidence).
When my term as the president of the student council was about to end (thank you Lord), it was time for me to look for people who would dedicate part of their lives (and part of their money) in serving the student body. Surprisingly, Jorrel, my personal choice to be the next prexy is always with that girl with a backpack.
The election season was the time when I was formally introduced to that big-eyed, pale skinned girl in braces with a short black curly hair who spoke good English and exuded an aura of a very serious person. Amazingly I was wrong with my first impression on her, she wasn’t really that serious and aside from being smart, she is (just like any other girl) cool, cheerful, open-minded and easy to bond and deal with.
When I was able to get to know her better, I saw in her the eagerness to be part of the student council and I admire her for that. I have a high regard for female leaders. I believe that in politics women have much balls than men. The girl has the skills and leadership potentials, no doubt on that. As a matter of fact, she is an excellent writer, a good public speaker and a musically and artistically inclined person. She can really relate to people and can influence them to believe and follow in what she wants to instill in them. Later, she became the public relations officer of the College of Science Student Council.
But beyond those superficial characters, I saw in her a good person.
She is devoid of pretensions, especially on how she looks (I’m a bit confused, is she really a punky dresser or what?) and the way she talks (bubbly, naughty, good conversationalist, her eyes would always enlarge when surprised). Indeed she is very outspoken yet sincere, sensible, honest, caring and responsible.
And for me, after all those moments we’ve been together, she really has a dignified soul who is not afraid to fight for what she believes is good and true. She has the so called “girl power” - a strong woman who is determined to reach her goals no matter how many obstacles may block her way. Despite her background, she’s still down to earth.
Most admiringly, she has a golden heart. And during my visits to their house, I can say that she really loves her family and vice-versa, especially her sister and pamangkins. A very sweet lola’s girl. Undeniably she was brought up with a good foundation on Christian and family-oriented values.
I know that the time we had spent together was not enough for me to fully know her and dig the details of her life but it was more than enough for me to acknowledge her importance in my life. And I am grateful for having her as one of my friends.
I will miss everything about her. . .
To Rox: Wherever you are right now I want to thank for being such a nice person to me. I know that the friendship we have, even though we already separated ways, was built to last. I may not be the person who cried a river during your interment, but my mind and heart that day suffered a lot from the reality that I can no longer be with you. How I wished I am with you that time so that I could have protected you or at least I could have altered the events.
I will miss you so much. . .
I will long for the days when you would visit me at the shed or SSC office and you would hug me tightly and kissed me with your lips overfilled with lip gloss (honestly Rox, the moment your lips touches my face the feeling is so slimy, when you kiss it’s as if there’s no more tomorrow - peace!). I will yearn for the times when we would talk about your boy-toys, your crushes, and your ex-boyfriends. I missed those overnights (during LTS, at Alvin’s house, or in Zeta’s Brgy. Hall where we answered the cases filed against us by moronic frogs).
I can still remember those times when you would confess to me personal things. I really appreciate it for you’re one of those girls who trusted me and felt comfortable in disclosing things that are supposed to be for female only. I am sure many people would also miss you.
As of now, even though it’s been almost five months since you left us, it is still hard for me to accept such a great loss. There were moments when I would ask myself why life is so unfair and I can’t help but question God why He let that happened to a good person, to you. There are millions of bad and useless people in this world, but why you?
Death is really painful, not just for the person who died, but for those who were left behind. And it is really more painful if your loved one died not due to sickness but because of some cold-blooded criminals. I know the same feelings Rox’ family felt, I have experienced that before, for my father and Rox shared the same fate.
How I wish all criminals in the world would die the same way their victims suffered. I hope that these people would experience losing a loved one so that they would know how does it feels to have such great loss and that they would carry the pain all throughout their lives.
I don’t know how to end this piece, maybe because there is so much to say about you Rox, but I am at lost with words. Maybe there there are no really perfect words, only sincere thoughts. But one thing is for sure, you will forever stay in my heart. And I know time will come that we would meet again, perhaps on another point in time, in another place, and as different persons. But surely, when that time comes, we would still be friends just like the old days.
Thank you Rox for touching my life and adding color to it. May you rest in eternal peace. I love you more than life itself. And, see you somewhere. . .
____________________________________________________________________________
“In memory of the big-eyed, pale skinned girl in braces with a short black curly hair, with lips overfilled with lip gloss, my friend Mary Roxanne Musngi.”
The Shed
It’s been quite a while since the last time I sat on that shed. And as I look back on the old days when I was still one of its regular residents, I badly long for the feelings that sitting there gives me. A different kind of sentiment that no amount of words can fully describe.
Every time I sat there my mind and heart feel the soul of the memories I have made with different people, mostly and oftentimes my org-mates. Those embedded memories emanate in the five corners of the structure that had serve as our tambayan and even of our alumni.
And now, I just missed everything about that little place – the fresh and drowsy ambiance, the annoying sounds of insects on hot afternoons, the Adelfa tree whose poisonous flowers are always cut by ignorant students to place into their ears, the ever present mosquitoes that join us during our meetings at night, the bees that at the smell of sweets would bother us, the rumbling gymnasium whenever there is a basketball game, the freedom wall with no more space to write on, the cats that would always beg for mercy and if not given attention they would jump over our food, the flying balls from students having their soccer games at the field, the bothersome stench of the warm cement after being wet by rain and would I ever forget the inviting smell of pancit canton on the nearby store (whose seller put so much make up on her face).
And of course, the more worthy of remembering are the sharing of food by my penniless org-mates, the laughter every time a corny punch lines airs, the tears of those who received 5.0 during giving of class cards, the irksome shouting when there is debate on different issues, the walk outs of angry and short tempered people who would always comeback the next day, the “making parinig” to our frog rivals on the other shed, the endless and countless meetings whose attendees are always late which at times would be canceled since quorum wasn’t met, the sermon most of which I always render whenever there are unsolved issues and irreconcilable differences and most of all - our “chismisan” about peoples’ lives, boasting of courses, showbiz news, hidden sexualities, break ups, lover’s quarrels, abnormal professors, irritating subjects, family sentiments, and anything that is appealing to the hearts of young people like us.
For other students, just like any other shed in the University, it is just an ordinary area for those who are waiting for their next classes, for those who are seeking momentary shelter from heavy rain, for those who are reviewing for the exams and cramming for home works and reports, for baggage area of those having P.E. subjects at the field, for those having their meal because the canteen cannot accommodate them, for meetings of organizations who don’t have offices and oftentimes, a tambayan for those who have no place to stay.
But for me the shed is more than that. It is more than a waiting area. It is more than a cement, wood, bricks and metal joined together. It has a life. It has a spirit. It is home, our home.
It has stood there and roofed us while we are trained to be good leaders, while we passed what we learned to our protégés, while we discuss the issues of the University affecting the students, while we plan our projects and programs for the welfare of the student body, while we talk about social and political issues affecting our lives, while we reconcile and reunite slowly failing relationships, while we plan for the student election, and while we educate and convince our co-students to share the same mission and vision with us in making a difference.
It has stood there while we struggle to achieve our dreams and while we enjoy and make the most of our youth. It has witness our defeats, victories, cries, struggles, hunger, relationships, anger, failures, misunderstandings, happiness and everything about our metamorphosis from careless and indifferent grade conscious students into pro-active, service-oriented and transformational campus leaders who are not afraid to rally or become labeled as anti-admin just to champion the cause of the student body.
Way back, when I was still a freshman in the University, I do not give so much attention to that shed. When I entered my sociopolitical org in February of 2008, I detest going there because I avoid being seen and ambushed by our alumni. It is just that I am not comfortable talking with them because their presence alone is quite scary for a new member like me. For me there is so much to accomplish at the 6th floor of Gusaling Lacson than staying in that area with unfamiliar and intimidating faces.
But when I started getting more attached with my mother organization, I no longer feel uneasy going there. From time to time I would drop by to have some short chit-chats with my org-mates and even alumni. And when I was elected to head the organization in 2009, that place and I had made some sort of connection. It became part of my system.
Maybe it is true that you will only appreciate the importance of a thing when it is no longer yours or when it is no longer part of your life. How I wish I am still a student or perhaps a student again of that University so that I could regularly visit the shed and I could again eat siomai and pancit canton there and have a short nap whenever I feel sleepy.
But things have changed. I can still go there. I can still have the opportunity to study again. But the people I am with during those old days can no longer be with me in that shed. Gone are the people, only the memories are left there waiting to be reminisced.
I will no longer see Nat crying after being slapped and scolded by Hyra. No more Doms singing, bullying and planning the LTS. No more Nat (maliit, negro at walang pera) dancing his nakakaumay moves and always asking for food and drinks. No more tactless and giggling Mariazeta and her Michael Jackson nursing outfit. No more Alvin asking the timid freshmen to orient him. No more George answering election petitions and making fun of Jj’s built. No more Ren and his “R and L” syndrome. No more cuty cute cute Maan and bubbly Cham who would always drop by there.
Despite the longing I feel, I am still hopeful that when the time comes when I would visit the shed, there would still be Hubert who would massage my back, Emae who would buy me 3-in-1 coffee and would always flaunt her hair showing her continental-sized forehead, Tin shouting from afar and chuckling while tightly hugging me, Khimmy and her broad smile (and hips) while saying “Kuya Noliiii …I missss youuu.”, the forever lutang Padgi and his annoying nguso (in English – new so) , Jeng’s huge eyes and unsophisticated laughter while running after Tin (they’re always like that), Joel’s deadly silence who would just observe what is happening around him, Loe’s earsplitting noise and vice ganda punchlines, the protozoan Fermin and his hairy body and wide chest that readily hugs me, Macky’s unbeatable appetite (I think Nat can beat it), Kam who is always complaining about her subjects, the ever emo Vhic (are you still confused?) and always bullied Kennedy, the good looking Wilhelm (I hope you’re not one of them), Peter (when are you going to stop hoping for her love?) and Berto (the truth will set you free), and other residents who drop by from time to time.
I miss them so much. I hope that they missed me too.
And now, I cannot help but be grateful to that place for it became the venue for many friendships that continuously flower and prosper, for the people who became more than friends, for the ordinary students who became extraordinary leaders and professionals and for the lessons that were never learned inside the classroom but were taught there - the real lessons of life.
The occupants of that place now have parted ways, others no longer visit the spot due to busy schedules, most have surely grew older and hopefully matured, some already have families and promising careers, but the shed will just stand there and will wait for new occupants that would share their emotions, experiences, dreams, and lives.
It will just stand there waiting to be occupied, to shelter, and to witness new families, new stories and new memories.
Every time I sat there my mind and heart feel the soul of the memories I have made with different people, mostly and oftentimes my org-mates. Those embedded memories emanate in the five corners of the structure that had serve as our tambayan and even of our alumni.
And now, I just missed everything about that little place – the fresh and drowsy ambiance, the annoying sounds of insects on hot afternoons, the Adelfa tree whose poisonous flowers are always cut by ignorant students to place into their ears, the ever present mosquitoes that join us during our meetings at night, the bees that at the smell of sweets would bother us, the rumbling gymnasium whenever there is a basketball game, the freedom wall with no more space to write on, the cats that would always beg for mercy and if not given attention they would jump over our food, the flying balls from students having their soccer games at the field, the bothersome stench of the warm cement after being wet by rain and would I ever forget the inviting smell of pancit canton on the nearby store (whose seller put so much make up on her face).
And of course, the more worthy of remembering are the sharing of food by my penniless org-mates, the laughter every time a corny punch lines airs, the tears of those who received 5.0 during giving of class cards, the irksome shouting when there is debate on different issues, the walk outs of angry and short tempered people who would always comeback the next day, the “making parinig” to our frog rivals on the other shed, the endless and countless meetings whose attendees are always late which at times would be canceled since quorum wasn’t met, the sermon most of which I always render whenever there are unsolved issues and irreconcilable differences and most of all - our “chismisan” about peoples’ lives, boasting of courses, showbiz news, hidden sexualities, break ups, lover’s quarrels, abnormal professors, irritating subjects, family sentiments, and anything that is appealing to the hearts of young people like us.
For other students, just like any other shed in the University, it is just an ordinary area for those who are waiting for their next classes, for those who are seeking momentary shelter from heavy rain, for those who are reviewing for the exams and cramming for home works and reports, for baggage area of those having P.E. subjects at the field, for those having their meal because the canteen cannot accommodate them, for meetings of organizations who don’t have offices and oftentimes, a tambayan for those who have no place to stay.
But for me the shed is more than that. It is more than a waiting area. It is more than a cement, wood, bricks and metal joined together. It has a life. It has a spirit. It is home, our home.
It has stood there and roofed us while we are trained to be good leaders, while we passed what we learned to our protégés, while we discuss the issues of the University affecting the students, while we plan our projects and programs for the welfare of the student body, while we talk about social and political issues affecting our lives, while we reconcile and reunite slowly failing relationships, while we plan for the student election, and while we educate and convince our co-students to share the same mission and vision with us in making a difference.
It has stood there while we struggle to achieve our dreams and while we enjoy and make the most of our youth. It has witness our defeats, victories, cries, struggles, hunger, relationships, anger, failures, misunderstandings, happiness and everything about our metamorphosis from careless and indifferent grade conscious students into pro-active, service-oriented and transformational campus leaders who are not afraid to rally or become labeled as anti-admin just to champion the cause of the student body.
Way back, when I was still a freshman in the University, I do not give so much attention to that shed. When I entered my sociopolitical org in February of 2008, I detest going there because I avoid being seen and ambushed by our alumni. It is just that I am not comfortable talking with them because their presence alone is quite scary for a new member like me. For me there is so much to accomplish at the 6th floor of Gusaling Lacson than staying in that area with unfamiliar and intimidating faces.
But when I started getting more attached with my mother organization, I no longer feel uneasy going there. From time to time I would drop by to have some short chit-chats with my org-mates and even alumni. And when I was elected to head the organization in 2009, that place and I had made some sort of connection. It became part of my system.
Maybe it is true that you will only appreciate the importance of a thing when it is no longer yours or when it is no longer part of your life. How I wish I am still a student or perhaps a student again of that University so that I could regularly visit the shed and I could again eat siomai and pancit canton there and have a short nap whenever I feel sleepy.
But things have changed. I can still go there. I can still have the opportunity to study again. But the people I am with during those old days can no longer be with me in that shed. Gone are the people, only the memories are left there waiting to be reminisced.
I will no longer see Nat crying after being slapped and scolded by Hyra. No more Doms singing, bullying and planning the LTS. No more Nat (maliit, negro at walang pera) dancing his nakakaumay moves and always asking for food and drinks. No more tactless and giggling Mariazeta and her Michael Jackson nursing outfit. No more Alvin asking the timid freshmen to orient him. No more George answering election petitions and making fun of Jj’s built. No more Ren and his “R and L” syndrome. No more cuty cute cute Maan and bubbly Cham who would always drop by there.
Despite the longing I feel, I am still hopeful that when the time comes when I would visit the shed, there would still be Hubert who would massage my back, Emae who would buy me 3-in-1 coffee and would always flaunt her hair showing her continental-sized forehead, Tin shouting from afar and chuckling while tightly hugging me, Khimmy and her broad smile (and hips) while saying “Kuya Noliiii …I missss youuu.”, the forever lutang Padgi and his annoying nguso (in English – new so) , Jeng’s huge eyes and unsophisticated laughter while running after Tin (they’re always like that), Joel’s deadly silence who would just observe what is happening around him, Loe’s earsplitting noise and vice ganda punchlines, the protozoan Fermin and his hairy body and wide chest that readily hugs me, Macky’s unbeatable appetite (I think Nat can beat it), Kam who is always complaining about her subjects, the ever emo Vhic (are you still confused?) and always bullied Kennedy, the good looking Wilhelm (I hope you’re not one of them), Peter (when are you going to stop hoping for her love?) and Berto (the truth will set you free), and other residents who drop by from time to time.
I miss them so much. I hope that they missed me too.
And now, I cannot help but be grateful to that place for it became the venue for many friendships that continuously flower and prosper, for the people who became more than friends, for the ordinary students who became extraordinary leaders and professionals and for the lessons that were never learned inside the classroom but were taught there - the real lessons of life.
The occupants of that place now have parted ways, others no longer visit the spot due to busy schedules, most have surely grew older and hopefully matured, some already have families and promising careers, but the shed will just stand there and will wait for new occupants that would share their emotions, experiences, dreams, and lives.
It will just stand there waiting to be occupied, to shelter, and to witness new families, new stories and new memories.
Friday, November 19, 2010
The Office
Almost one year of hardships and inner suffering. It was on the summer of 2010 when fate slowly took away my happiness, my dreamed life, and my planned future. I knew it will come but I never expected it will happen that hard and that painful. My life was a big mess.
The whole summer, I would always go home late after having myself burdened with lots of mental and physical workloads in that small and cramped office. Time is running out for my stay in that institution. I must finish all my obligations and responsibilities before I leave that office. I need to put things in their proper places and must see to it that my replacement could effectively and efficiently continue and manage the things I had already initiated.
My routine of coming home late and tired was intentional so that upon arriving I could easily fall in a deep sleep and that no worries, fears and doubts could hold me back from having a decent rest. Tomorrow, and the succeeding days, will be another days of wearing a mask and putting on a fake smile.
That small and cramped office. . .
I can still remember how I struggled and strived harder on my way to handling that office. How I planned in my head the promising changes I will bring to the institution the moment I become triumphant in my fight for political supremacy. But perhaps, life has other plans for me. It has its own way of manipulating expected outcomes. I was almost there. I almost got it. Then little by little, it slipped away from my bare hands, together with the last drop of my remaining hope.
It is so painful to see how the things I have achieved gradually vanish right before my eyes and there is no option left for me but to openly accept it and let it go. I never cried and how I wish I have been emotionally weak so that I could unload the unbearable weight inside me even just in crying. It is so difficult for a dispirited person to have no choice but to be strong.
Sometimes I would just think that maybe it is true, that if something is destined for you, it is really for you no matter how much you ignore or run away from it. Or that no matter what you do, how much effort you give and how fast and far you have run after something, if that is not intended for you, you will never get it or perhaps you may have it but life has a means of taking it away from you.
I envied superheroes and how I dreamed we share the same genes. How I wish, like them, I had supernatural powers to do different remarkable things at the same time at different places. So that I could avoid compromising the things I am obliged doing over the things I love doing. Unfortunately, I am only human. I get physically, emotionally and mentally tired. I get pressured and off tracked. At times, I become too emotional and irrational. I became incapacitated in balancing my priorities. With all those emotional anguish and mental tortures I have suffered, I lost concentration with what I am supposed to be doing first. Thus, I ended up losing both my desires and my responsibilities.
I blamed my stupid self, the people who pushed me too hard to be in that edgy spot, the supervening circumstances I have no total grasp of - but never my family and God. Deep in my heart, I believe there must be reasons why it happened and why me of all people. And perhaps one of those causes is my own careless self. The premature choices and biased decisions I made became my waterloo that led to wasted efforts. I already had the idea that if I would still go on walking in that jagged and dim road, I might lose the right tract and travel in the wrong direction, but I took the risk of continuing and in doing so, I need to sacrifice something.
Later in that journey, I have realized many things. Perhaps it was my choice to fail and that I could have done something to prevent it. Maybe it was a matter of correctly choosing the more important priority when you are in front of crossroads. In my case, I chose both. And in choosing both, I have apportioned inadequate efforts and insufficient time on the one that needed those most. The one prospered but the other one tumbled. I accepted the risks and later I reaped the life changing rewards of choosing the wrong path.
And the most difficult part of it is how to tell my family about it. I was really scared to death, not because of what other people would say about me and my unfortunate fate but because of the grief, disappointments and frustrations that I will definitely cause my family. I have no idea how to approach them. I do not know when the right timing is. And worst, I do not know how they will take it.
Then I remembered that the truth will set us free. But how will I say the truth without hurting anybody especially the people I dearly love? How will I disclose to my family that I failed and lost my hundreds of thousands scholarship, when all my life I am an achiever? Will they believe me If I say that my subjects are very difficult, when they really know and believe that given enough time, resources and focus, I can make it? Will they believe me if I reason out that I got burned out in studying when I always go home late for academic reasons? How will they react if I say that on the opening of classes they can longer see me in white uniform? These thoughts tormented me the whole summer. It was even more painful when you have lots of questions and you are clueless with the answers.
But God has his own way of easing my problem and indeed prayers can move mountains. It took tons of courage for me to tell them everything that happened to my academic life. What I cannot disclose verbally, I put into writing. And when they had known about it I have not received any resentment from them, in all good faith, they had accepted me and my failures. They never judged me for all my mistakes, shortcomings and weaknesses. I never heard any single word of blame nor condemnation. Instead, they supported me while I am recovering from all my loss. They stood behind me while I am picking up the pieces of my broken self. They became the source of my inner strength.
I can now sincerely smile and laugh after all those storms that derailed my trail. I have learned the true lessons of life - that choice is a gift given to everyone, a powerful gift that can change our lives. Things change for the better when we take responsibility for our own thoughts, decisions and actions. Failure is only a fact when we give up. Everyone gets knocked down, the question is: Will we get back up?
It is true that I have failed and that I have let myself and my ship sink in the middle of its journey. But I believe I am not a loser. I am not a quitter. For I never let myself drowned and settled at the bottom of the dark sea. I swam harder to reach the surface and be able to breathe again and see and feel the promising light of the sun. I swam and swam, and gave my powerful strokes amidst the undulating waves, the freezing waters and the dangers of the sea, until I reached the shore.
Now, I became even stronger than before and I am now ready to face the cruel world and start a new life full of hope. In that darkest night of my life I saw the stars which eventually guided my way towards self restoration. My failure became an opportunity for me to look at life in a different perspective. I was able to know how much my family loves and understands me. It strengthened my faith. It made me see who my real friends are. And most importantly, it became a test and proof of my character.
No more regrets. No more what if’s. No more self-blaming and pointing fingers. I no longer ask myself why bad things happen to good people or why good things happen to bad ones. Likewise, I stopped looking back at the closed doors instead I focused on the newly opened ones. For it may sound a cliché, still, it is true that life is what we make it. We are the ones who create our own destiny. And in the arena of life, sometimes we win, sometimes we lose. In all those battles, win or lose, stronger warriors emerge ready to face the battleground’s unending challenges. Life maybe unfair and unkind but it is up to us how we are going to use those adversities to grow up as wise, renewed and restored individuals.
Special thanks to Ivy, Vera, Carol and Alvin. They are the people who were with me before, during, and after my wounded battles. To my family and friends, my resilience is dedicated to all of you. To Ma’am Glo, my favorite high school teacher, who said that I was never a failure and never will be – thank you Ma’am. To the people who did something to bring me down, thank you too but I am so sorry, you can never permanently bring me down. I am the only person in this world aside from God, who can permanently bring my own self down. To God, I owe you the greatest lessons of life, the gift of wisdom, the exceptional strength and the wonderful experience of failing and rising again.
Now, as I open a new chapter of my life to a different endeavor, I can still remember the feeling when I got kicked out from the College of Medicine and when I was not able to finish my term as the president of the supreme student council of my alma mater. As I look back, I can still vividly remember how I let go of that office.
That small and cramped office that witnessed the story of how I reached the shore and how I became a stronger warrior. . .
That small and cramped office that changed my whole life and made me a better person. . .
That small and cramped office that became my classroom when life taught me one of its greatest lessons. . .
The whole summer, I would always go home late after having myself burdened with lots of mental and physical workloads in that small and cramped office. Time is running out for my stay in that institution. I must finish all my obligations and responsibilities before I leave that office. I need to put things in their proper places and must see to it that my replacement could effectively and efficiently continue and manage the things I had already initiated.
My routine of coming home late and tired was intentional so that upon arriving I could easily fall in a deep sleep and that no worries, fears and doubts could hold me back from having a decent rest. Tomorrow, and the succeeding days, will be another days of wearing a mask and putting on a fake smile.
That small and cramped office. . .
I can still remember how I struggled and strived harder on my way to handling that office. How I planned in my head the promising changes I will bring to the institution the moment I become triumphant in my fight for political supremacy. But perhaps, life has other plans for me. It has its own way of manipulating expected outcomes. I was almost there. I almost got it. Then little by little, it slipped away from my bare hands, together with the last drop of my remaining hope.
It is so painful to see how the things I have achieved gradually vanish right before my eyes and there is no option left for me but to openly accept it and let it go. I never cried and how I wish I have been emotionally weak so that I could unload the unbearable weight inside me even just in crying. It is so difficult for a dispirited person to have no choice but to be strong.
Sometimes I would just think that maybe it is true, that if something is destined for you, it is really for you no matter how much you ignore or run away from it. Or that no matter what you do, how much effort you give and how fast and far you have run after something, if that is not intended for you, you will never get it or perhaps you may have it but life has a means of taking it away from you.
I envied superheroes and how I dreamed we share the same genes. How I wish, like them, I had supernatural powers to do different remarkable things at the same time at different places. So that I could avoid compromising the things I am obliged doing over the things I love doing. Unfortunately, I am only human. I get physically, emotionally and mentally tired. I get pressured and off tracked. At times, I become too emotional and irrational. I became incapacitated in balancing my priorities. With all those emotional anguish and mental tortures I have suffered, I lost concentration with what I am supposed to be doing first. Thus, I ended up losing both my desires and my responsibilities.
I blamed my stupid self, the people who pushed me too hard to be in that edgy spot, the supervening circumstances I have no total grasp of - but never my family and God. Deep in my heart, I believe there must be reasons why it happened and why me of all people. And perhaps one of those causes is my own careless self. The premature choices and biased decisions I made became my waterloo that led to wasted efforts. I already had the idea that if I would still go on walking in that jagged and dim road, I might lose the right tract and travel in the wrong direction, but I took the risk of continuing and in doing so, I need to sacrifice something.
Later in that journey, I have realized many things. Perhaps it was my choice to fail and that I could have done something to prevent it. Maybe it was a matter of correctly choosing the more important priority when you are in front of crossroads. In my case, I chose both. And in choosing both, I have apportioned inadequate efforts and insufficient time on the one that needed those most. The one prospered but the other one tumbled. I accepted the risks and later I reaped the life changing rewards of choosing the wrong path.
And the most difficult part of it is how to tell my family about it. I was really scared to death, not because of what other people would say about me and my unfortunate fate but because of the grief, disappointments and frustrations that I will definitely cause my family. I have no idea how to approach them. I do not know when the right timing is. And worst, I do not know how they will take it.
Then I remembered that the truth will set us free. But how will I say the truth without hurting anybody especially the people I dearly love? How will I disclose to my family that I failed and lost my hundreds of thousands scholarship, when all my life I am an achiever? Will they believe me If I say that my subjects are very difficult, when they really know and believe that given enough time, resources and focus, I can make it? Will they believe me if I reason out that I got burned out in studying when I always go home late for academic reasons? How will they react if I say that on the opening of classes they can longer see me in white uniform? These thoughts tormented me the whole summer. It was even more painful when you have lots of questions and you are clueless with the answers.
But God has his own way of easing my problem and indeed prayers can move mountains. It took tons of courage for me to tell them everything that happened to my academic life. What I cannot disclose verbally, I put into writing. And when they had known about it I have not received any resentment from them, in all good faith, they had accepted me and my failures. They never judged me for all my mistakes, shortcomings and weaknesses. I never heard any single word of blame nor condemnation. Instead, they supported me while I am recovering from all my loss. They stood behind me while I am picking up the pieces of my broken self. They became the source of my inner strength.
I can now sincerely smile and laugh after all those storms that derailed my trail. I have learned the true lessons of life - that choice is a gift given to everyone, a powerful gift that can change our lives. Things change for the better when we take responsibility for our own thoughts, decisions and actions. Failure is only a fact when we give up. Everyone gets knocked down, the question is: Will we get back up?
It is true that I have failed and that I have let myself and my ship sink in the middle of its journey. But I believe I am not a loser. I am not a quitter. For I never let myself drowned and settled at the bottom of the dark sea. I swam harder to reach the surface and be able to breathe again and see and feel the promising light of the sun. I swam and swam, and gave my powerful strokes amidst the undulating waves, the freezing waters and the dangers of the sea, until I reached the shore.
Now, I became even stronger than before and I am now ready to face the cruel world and start a new life full of hope. In that darkest night of my life I saw the stars which eventually guided my way towards self restoration. My failure became an opportunity for me to look at life in a different perspective. I was able to know how much my family loves and understands me. It strengthened my faith. It made me see who my real friends are. And most importantly, it became a test and proof of my character.
No more regrets. No more what if’s. No more self-blaming and pointing fingers. I no longer ask myself why bad things happen to good people or why good things happen to bad ones. Likewise, I stopped looking back at the closed doors instead I focused on the newly opened ones. For it may sound a cliché, still, it is true that life is what we make it. We are the ones who create our own destiny. And in the arena of life, sometimes we win, sometimes we lose. In all those battles, win or lose, stronger warriors emerge ready to face the battleground’s unending challenges. Life maybe unfair and unkind but it is up to us how we are going to use those adversities to grow up as wise, renewed and restored individuals.
Special thanks to Ivy, Vera, Carol and Alvin. They are the people who were with me before, during, and after my wounded battles. To my family and friends, my resilience is dedicated to all of you. To Ma’am Glo, my favorite high school teacher, who said that I was never a failure and never will be – thank you Ma’am. To the people who did something to bring me down, thank you too but I am so sorry, you can never permanently bring me down. I am the only person in this world aside from God, who can permanently bring my own self down. To God, I owe you the greatest lessons of life, the gift of wisdom, the exceptional strength and the wonderful experience of failing and rising again.
Now, as I open a new chapter of my life to a different endeavor, I can still remember the feeling when I got kicked out from the College of Medicine and when I was not able to finish my term as the president of the supreme student council of my alma mater. As I look back, I can still vividly remember how I let go of that office.
That small and cramped office that witnessed the story of how I reached the shore and how I became a stronger warrior. . .
That small and cramped office that changed my whole life and made me a better person. . .
That small and cramped office that became my classroom when life taught me one of its greatest lessons. . .
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