My Pain

As my left arm painfully type the letters unto my keyboard and my right hand stroking the other from time to time, I sit here on a rocking chair in my favorite café thinking of nothingness and desperately wishing to grow numb.

My father and I have a very rocky relationship. We are very different from one another despite our physical likeness and our common stubborn attitude. But everything else seems to be a clear division of black and white. I love to read and he does not. I have a passion for language and the arts and he can barely speak proper English. He is an Education Math Supervisor whilst I find Math to be tedious and boring. He loves being surrounded with people and attaining powerful positions whilst I like the company of only a few and have no interest in power. He lacks empathy while I can easily put myself in the shoes of others; and it is because of this that he is capable of doing the cruelest and relentless acts to other people.

And being his only child have not spared me from the suffering much physical and mental agony from him. Do I deserve it? Perhaps, depending on where you stand on how a parent should react on their children as disappointments.

Yes, to my father I am not nothing more than a humiliation—a great big disappointment who has caused him much to be ashamed of because as he keeps repeating to other people, "Rhoda went crazy when her mom died that's why she threw away her scholarship and quit college for a while." Am I proud of what I have done? No. But do I regret it? Certainly not! I may not have the brightest future ahead of me now but I am sure that it is a future where I will find my happiness—the happiness that he does not comprehend or wish to comprehend.

I should be used to it now— the sprained arm, the bashed head, the taste of my own blood and the broken heart… It's nothing new. But as I caress my injured hand, I can't help but let tears swell up and fall from my eyes—my heart is injured too. I close my eyes and hope that these excruciating pangs would stop. How can a father continue to hurt his only daughter—the only family that he has left?

But truth be told, what pains me the most is the feeling that I am all alone because the person that should be supporting me, caring for me and loving me continually and without remorse bruised my body and soul.

The New Filipino: An Agent of Change

The Filipino is a proud race— with our long lasting traditions, our captivating culture and our rich history deeply embedded in the fearsome blood flowing through our veins. Our dark eyes, hair and complexion--- beauty without comparison; our brilliant literary and mathematical minds— intelligence beyond compare; and our artistry—talent of great potential, this is the Filipino.

The Filipino have constantly faced adversity from the establishment of civilizations on the seashores and the riversides— battling against nature for survival, to the coming of the Spanish conquistadors and our enslavement for three hundred thirty three years, to the irrevocable rape of freedom by the Japanese armies, to the defilement of our lands by American nuclear waste and to the deprivation of basic human rights and liberty during former president Ferdinand Marcos’ regime. The Filipino had stood up against these adversities, constantly fighting for what is just and moral. The Katipunan and the EDSA Revolution, to name a few, are testimonies to the Filipino greatness.

However, this fire within us had been slowly dying out. The Filipino was getting tired, perhaps, of the corruption and poverty that have stricken and promulgated Philippine society, thinking that nothing is going to change and that our doom is imminent. Depravity in the government, bribery and brutality of police officers, envelope journalism… The Filipino stealing from the Filipino! It is truly disheartening.

Apathy, indifference and cynicism were starting to reign over the Filipino hearts, until the yellow flag was hoisted and Benigno Aquino III became president of the Philippine Republic. With the rise of a new president, of a new government rises the new Filipino. Still armed with the same beauty, intelligence and talent that were never diminished through the intricate and arduous course of our history; but this time, the new Filipino brimming with hope is prepared to face the evils that have dominated our society and demands for the future that we deserve. We can vividly see the active participation of citizens to eliminate debauchery and decadence. Ordinary citizens through the use of telecommunications and broadcast journalism give light to the problems of exploitation, venality, perversion, violence, fraud and degeneracy. The new Filipino is speaking and crying louder than ever for justice and righteousness. And it is this voice, which can no longer be ignored, that is moving our country forward – shaping the Filipino future.

The Right Words for You

I have never found it difficult to find the words to express how I feel.

They might not always be the right words—the perfect words all the time

But the words truly come from my heart.

But I am certain, without any doubt and hesitation that this is true…

When you look at me, your gaze make me fidget

Fixing my hair, my dress, my posture

Wondering what you see…

To you, am I pretty?

When I stare at your photograph, my hand stretches to reach for you

I long to caress your face, touch your lips

Wanting to feel your warmth

Do you want to feel me too?

When I hear your deep voice, I close my eyes and smile

“My Vivi…”you would utter so sweetly

Yes, I am yours today, tomorrow and forever my boo

I hope you belong to me too.

Miles of excruciating emptiness

Without your touch…

Without feeling your breath under my skin…

Without you beside me…

I can take all that and more

Because…

Only you

Make my knees weak just by thinking of your smile

Only you

Can break down my walls and make me weep in sweet sorrow

Only you

Can make my heart melt like butter on a hot pan

Because…

These are the right words—the perfects words

You are you, my boo

And I love you.

Choices

“Destiny”

How often do we sing this word in songs, read in prose and poetry, and talk about with our friends? In wedding proposals and wedding vows you would hear: “We are soul mates.” “We are meant to be together” and at the wedding reception the song “Baby You’re My Destiny” by Jim Brickman would be playing. In epic novels, at the birth of the hero someone would say: “This boy is destined for greatness.” And let us not forget how we all have thought about: “What is my destiny?”

Every day we live our lives – playing, studying, working, eating, sleeping or just doing whatever – seemingly aimless. But this one word—this one very powerful word offers an explanation to what we do, to who we are and to what we are meant to be. D-E-S-T-I-N-Y… Destiny. But is it real?

It is quite a romantic idea, isn’t it? It always seems to give a sense of purpose especially to those who feel little or who have suffered so much that the belief of bigger important things to come gives meaning to all that they have went through. Unfortunately I do not share the same sentiments. Despite the excruciating pangs of my own life, I believe that a breathing human being is only destined for two things: to be born and to eventually die. What we do in between is life—a series of choices.

Relationships between two different people work because they choose to make it work. There are those people who move from rags to riches because they choose to earn and save money. Students fail their exams because they choose not to study for it or the teacher chooses to make it extremely difficult for a student to answer. A man dies in a motor accident because someone chose to drive drunk. A woman gets AIDS because she chose a very sexually promiscuous boyfriend who chose not to get himself checked and consider his partner’s safety. You do not get hired for a job because the employer chooses not to choose you. Much of what happens in one’s life can be explained by choices made.

But there are lots of things that an individual cannot perceive or control but were made through a series of choices by himself and other people and all the rest that cannot be explained by choice is just a matter of getting the better hand in life and working with it, such as in the case of the disabled. The disabled are ordinary people given extraordinary challenges, who did not choose or were chosen to be disabled. However, that does not change the fact that they are. They are still given a choice though- either to work with that disability or let that disability pull them down and the rest of their lives depend on the choice that they make. Choices: that is what it is all about.

Destiny, I also believe, has become a popular excuse by those who cannot accept their mistakes and their shortcomings. It is so easy to say that a singer did not win a contest because he was not meant to but the truth is that that singer was not good enough. It is so easy to blame destiny for a loved one’s untimely death instead of pointing out that he died because he smoked and drank a lot. We use this word – destiny to euphemize the otherwise mean but truthful occurrences or characteristics about ourselves or other people.

But the bottom line is: what we do, who we are and who we are meant to be are not determined by destiny. It is determined by knowing oneself – knowing our abilities and limitations and choosing our life’s path based on that knowledge and based on our will to be the best that we can be. So if destiny truly exists, it exists in the choices that we make.

Living by Me

Many have asked me why…

“Why did you leave the University of Asia and the Pacific?”

“Why did you come back to Daet?”

“Why did you stop studying?” and,

“Why do you look so grossly fat?” So many whys…

It would be very easy for me to lie even if my moral compass points at the other direction. But everybody lies anyway and quite frankly, I have had enough with explaining myself especially to the number of people who only ask for the sake of gossip - the same people who created the rumor that I pushed my dad down the stairs, that I have a child and the worst, that I have lost my sanity.

People are amazing. They are very creative and imaginative. It is incredible how people can construct something out of nothing. It is pure genius or rather, it is god-like especially after the “creation” when they judge you like they can see and know who you are.

I think it is obvious at this juncture of this paper that I hold enormous grudges against quite a few people. And it is not because they ask questions but because they make questionable statements. Although it is not my main point, it cannot be helped that I make mention of the strong feelings I have for these people; for as I ponder and reflect upon the emotional aspect of my personality, I am reminded of the past five years of my life that has ultimately defined me.

I left my former university and the wealthy future that they would have offered me, I went back home and stopped studying for two years all because I wanted to. Some people think that it is a shallow reason. “Why should anyone give up the chance for success?” Heck, the reason why they think that I have lost my sanity is because I have given up the chance of a lifetime in one of the most prestigious and the most expensive college in the country. But is it really that shallow?

Yes, I wanted all those things to happen. It was my choice but the very root of that want, that choice is nothing less than my emotions – my humanity.

If you really think about it, aren’t all the actions of every single person motivated by emotions? Hate and anger drive us to hurt people; while happiness and joy inspire us to do good and to do right by others. And if you think about it even deeper, isn’t what makes us human our emotions? These emotions stir us to do unbelievable, extraordinary acts – acts that go beyond our selves, acts that make us proud and some that we regret… Perhaps, I have made a mistake but I do not regret it.

I was depressed. I did not adjust well to the kind of people in that university – rich prejudicial spoiled young men and women who were immature and self-absorbed. And although, there were a couple of people who did not fit that profile, they too felt like an outcast in that very small world. It was hard to fit in. I was not allowed to be myself and I not only say this because I felt it but also because the moments that I tried to show the real me to my so-called friends in that university I was demeaned.

By my second semester in college, my period suddenly stopped coming. At first it was convenient. Having a scholarship to keep, 27 units, hard-pressed projects, papers and presentations, and keeping up with my classmates socially and academically, not having a period was one hardship less in my life. But of course, consequences were inevitable. After several months, I had myself checked by a gynecologist and I was diagnosed with polycystic ovarian syndrome a.k.a PCOS. I am incapable of ovulating… Incapable of having a baby… What’s worse is that because of it I have become so unattractively grossly overweight making it even harder to socialize. I cannot explain the feeling when one says to your face, “Ay! Si Rhoda… naiwan sa kusina.” or “Buti naman hindi kumukupos ang gulong ng bike mo.” and let me not forget the whispers and the giggles as I pass by.

But even though I did not feel like myself in that school and even though I was not well, I stayed because the truth is a part of me loved being there. I loved my professors. I learned a lot from them. I saw the world in a different light because of them and most of them liked me too like Sir Antonio, my Rizal teacher who is a Palanca Awardee; Dr. Fajardo, my Theater teacher who is a nominee to be a National Artist; all three of my literature teachers; my mentors and Fr. Perez, the Spanish priest who teaches Theology and my spiritual guidance counselor. I think they liked me because I was eager to learn and I was. Being in that school, I had a good excuse to ask my father for money to go to museums, theatrical plays and ballets that I enjoyed and miss. That part of the UAP culture is the only part that I miss and it sure was not enough to keep me there long especially after the great tragedy in my life.

My mother died.

She died three years ago exactly a week after my 18^th birthday. A month before that my parents came to Manila. They told me that my mother was ill so she was just on leave to have herself checked and to recuperate. My mom said that I should not worry, she’ll be fine. I told her that she should have just retired from being a teacher because it is wearing her out but she did not want to. She loved teaching so much. After a couple of weeks, they told me that my mom has cancer but they still said she was going to be okay.

She was going to be okay…” I still linger upon those words.

Truth was I was not aware of the gravity of the situation. No one told me she was dying. They did not want me to know. They thought it was going to affect my studies badly. But I found it out myself by accident.

On my birthday, Friday, September 22^nd of 2006 I went to the Kidney Center where my mother was staying. I wanted to spend my debut with my family. So there we were – just my father, my mother and I. No parties. No cakes. All we had was sinabawan from the cafeteria. But it was okay. All I really wanted was to be with my mom and I told her that she should not give up because I do not know what I am going to do without her. She was my sanctuary. She was my greatest teacher, my best friend… my everything. She was my reason.

So I slept that night beside her and on the morning as I pretended to sleep, the nurse checked up on my mom, asked my father what stage of cancer was she at and was told that she was at stage four. I was shocked. I did not know what to do. I was scared and angry at the same time. I kept asking myself, “why did I not notice?” But even then I did not realize that she was dying or maybe it is better say that I did not want to accept that she was dying. I kept thinking there is still hope. I was hoping for a miracle. But eventually you realize that miracles are miracles themselves. They hardly ever happen. So she died a week after and after that I was slowly dying with her.

It is an understatement to say that I did not take my mother’s death well. I did not take it at all. I blamed myself. I hated myself. But I tried my best to move on. On the other hand, the world was not helping me do that. My dad can be such a jerk who cares more about my studies so I can make money for him than what I felt about my mother’s death and just what I felt in general. He even told me once, “Wala na tayong magagawa. Patay na si mama mo at minolestiya ka ng taxi driver. Ano ba ang gusto mong gawin ko?” Maybe it is his way of defending his heart. I know that he hurts too.

And yes, I was sexually harassed by a taxi driver almost a month after my mother’s death. By some luck, I was able to get out of there before the worst happens. That time is a time that I buried in the very depths of my memory. I do not want to ever remember. And buried with that memory is a part of my heart that has grown tired of people. So tired that for some time I had thought of putting that heart at ease permanently. It is funny how I used to laugh at the ignorant people who take their own life only to realize that I am also one of those ignorant people.

I took two years off in search of myself, to find my reason to live in a distasteful world and you know what I found? I found nothing.

The world is what it is and I am no one else but me. There is no one to find. There is no better or worse person. There is only me and what I make of myself in this world. Why should I care about the people who judge me without knowing the truth? Why should I listen to everybody else but not me? Why should I feel miserable for a choice that has made me happy?

I have only one life and I choose to live by my heart… by my feelings… by my emotions… by me.