Episode 2: Minor in Rock Bottom

Today, I lost a baby.

(Not a literal one, but it was something I had been trying to /conceive/ the whole 2014. It was my minor in history.)

Getting that certificate was my only refuge, my ultimate sign, that I had been dreaming and walking along the right path - the path to teaching kids that they can overcome and actually use their histories to strengthen their present situations and talents. But I guess it was not meant to be. I guess I am really not meant to start my career journey as a public school teacher. Or maybe I am not ready yet.

Thinking about this in a different perspective, I guess I have so much to learn more about life before I even have the right to teach. I did read somewhere that a teacher also teaches how she deals with life to her students, besides the subject/course matter. I guess He is tempering me - with all these news and conditions that I am receiving. Admittedly, I am not at my best yet. I am not facing my problems and my struggles in the most proper way. I do feel that I am lost and confused. (Even MORE so, with the arrival of this news.)

Haha, honestly, it feels like I've been beaten black and blue, and the universe is not giving me the chance to fight back. Despite everything, I still believe that there is a reason why all of this is happening. I just have not uncovered it yet. (But I will! I promise you. *evil laugh*)

And now, I find myself simultaneously eating almond chocolates (Sorry doctors. I promise to be on the right track again after this night.), watching 'Starting Over Again', and writing this down.

Perhaps I have not lost my sanity even when I am at my rock bottom after all.

Episode 1: Dazed and confused (again)

D, a close friend of mine, told me to write my musings and thoughts about how I cope with the clashes of my current health condition, my dreams, and my insecurities. She said I have interesting insights, and there might be people who can relate to what I am experiencing. As such, this post serves as my first entry to a series of random bursts of /angst/, realizations, and stories. 

Long story short, feel free to read about a hormonal, lost, and self-deprecating twenty-year old. Don't say I did not warn you. 

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IT SUCKS.

Going to the hospital for tests and consultations again and again drained the butterflies out of my stomach. It sucks being in pain and itchy all the time, but what sucks more are the verdicts and the prescriptions given by the doctors. It annoys me to hear how my sickness limits me from eating chicken and preservatives, having frequent/prolonged exposure to water, and wearing shoes that are not made from cotton. It annoys me how I can't drink coffee nor consume chocolate whenever I want to without my chest and my stomach groaning in pain. It annoys me how my lungs and immune system seem to embrace all the flu and the viruses out there. It annoys me how my intestines seemed to want to poop all the blood it can poop. Most of all, it annoys the hell out of me that the implications of all the restrictions have such a big impact on how I should live my life, i.e.

I can't swim.

I can't do activities that will require me to get dirty. 

I can't eat in just any restaurant/house/eating place. 

If I overstepped on my restrictions, minor to major repercussions will happen. (And I don't want them to happen anymore.I hate seeing my family all bothered.) 

And I know that despite all of these, I don't have the right to get angry or even whiny. (Though I sounded really whiny just now- I want to punch myself). This is nothing compared to the experiences of the braver and kinder souls of the kids I meet in the halls, fighting fiercer monsters. This is little compared to the grandpaps and grandmoms who cannot even breathe on their own without the help of  the machines. This is just a tiny fraction of how those adults feel who had to leave their /normal/ life behind to be confined in those rows of hospital beds. 

I have no right to be a baby about this. I know. I understand. 

But sometimes, it's tiring. It's tiring to wake up everyday thinking, "Yes, I will live to the fullest today!", but then being reminded just a second later how /limited/ I am. It makes me angry. And hurt. And sad. Because this state did not just affected my lifestyle...it inadvertently affected my dreams, my hopes, my passion.

Do you know that I can't be a public school teacher anymore (Read this: Why I am fighting) - that I have to bury this dream and dug a grave in the deepest corners of my mind alongside the others? 

Honestly, I don't know what to feel and how to process all of these. (That's why this post is a bit bipolar. I'm really sorry.)  I feel lost and confused because I cannot express my resentment properly without sounding like a whiny bitch. I feel frustrated because I am so pissed at my illnesses and at myself. I'm irritated at the fact that I can't bring myself to talk about this whole thing to others. 

I know I can't remain in this limbo. I have to move forward. I refuse to remain angry when I can do something productive and even positive. I have to find ways to make my 2050 goal happen!! Those art-lovin' kids deserve high-class training, exposure, and guidance from the best mentors at a low (FREE) price!!! :) 

I guess, right now, I just have to know that somebody is willing to listen to me - crazy whines and all. 

Last Piece

We tried. We talked. We used every bit of happy memory to lead our bare feet to meet in the middle of the wooden bridge. We walked our January afternoon away to retrieve the time lost when we erased our pencil marked faces from each other. We sang in the same tune when our post-college dreams collided. We laughed until our stomachs hurt when we discovered how similar we are.

I don't really understand why it's not working - why I dreaded every promise that escaped your lips, why I felt claustrophobic when you put your arms around me, and why I found myself disillusioned with your words. We did things together, after all. We were past the stage where I go to the nearest comfort zone at the mere glimpse of your shirt sleeves. I was finally facing you.

So why am I hurting again? Is it because I am tired of pumping myself to hope that I will fit the tiny space you allotted for my big curves and deepest crevices? Is it because of the countless times you left me hanging, even when you swore that you are a man of your word? Or is it because we were forcing each other to replicate the way things were, back when you can still afford to send me an original song composition to placate my hormone-driven heartbreak?

We were friends.

Alms

Don't tell me I look fine
or pretty
or beautiful
I will only think that you are lying, patronizing, and worse
pitying me.
I. do. not. need. your. pity.

It is true.
I feel ugly and it's hard.
It is hard.
It is hard to fit into the spaces society tells me to shape myself into.
It is even harder to let you witness my struggle to become thinner, to make my skin smoother, to put make-up on my face
Because I have to harden my mask; I have to pretend I like the process.

I don't want you to see me like this -
plastic, insecure, and oversensitive girl with a low self-esteem to match
who bases beauty on the number of likes she gets from her facebook friends
who mentally takes note of the praises she receives
who ingests "fat", "chubby" and "dark" as far more offending than
"fuck", "shit", "asshole", and "bitch"
who is green with envy whenever she sees skinny models
who is basically brainwashed by the people around her to think that she is not enough.

But most of all,
I don't want you to stretch out your hands
when I start to beg for attention
for recognition
for love
Do not give me anything but truths and a reproach.
Tell me - this girl who needs to grow a backbone -
to learn how to swim and save herself
and start believing the numerous books she read
that she can be more than beautiful -
she can be extraordinary.
She is more than enough, always in all ways.

Spaces.

When I dance, I reveal a story, something intimate and primal within that words can never conquer. It maybe about a fleeting emotion - despair, rage, hope, serenity - or a lifetime's worth of history. All in a span of seconds or minutes, if I am lucky.

But the world is my stage. There is enough room for a girl who wants to fly to do her dance.

And so, as soon as the music starts, I feel. I move. I push, pull, bend, stretch, spin, jump - I fill the empty corners with tales, secrets, lies, and truths. The thin line between fiction and reality blurs. I portray a character, but I still remain. I give parts of myself with every flick and step.

So watch me, carefully, with your sparkling eyes and understand the narratives I express. Decipher that I am weaving a tale right now: Hi, I am Chel and I am letting you in.

-----

Sometimes, words are enough. This is when time produces an ocean between two people- that no matter how near they are, they still need a giant ship to connect their shores.

And when my lighthouse flickers, I write letters.

I've never been good at farewells; I never handle them well. I write letters to express my regret of not being able to stay. I write to remember the memories and imagine the ones that I will miss out.

I write letters for closure.



But dearest, I will not exorcise you - your scent, your form, your touch- from me. I am showing you how I am - how I function, how I live.

I am letting you in. I am staying.



Losing Grip

Pagod na ko. At patuloy akong napapagod.

Dumating na ko sa puntong iniiwasan ko na mag-area hangga't maari. Baka umiyak lang ako. Baka umiyak ako dahil sa sobrang pagod...dahil nawawala na ko. Hindi ako nawawala dahil hindi ko na alam kung bakit ko ito ginagawa. Hindi ako nawawala dahil literal na nawawala ako papuntang area.

Nawawala ako dahil unti-unti kong nabibitawan at binibitawan ang dahilan ko kung bakit ako tumaya at patuloy na nagtataya.

At lubusang nakahahabag dahil sa simula ng taon, ang dami kong plano. Ang saya ko. Takot ako pero handang-handa akong lumundag. Ngunit ngayon, gusto ko na lamang magtago sa kwarto ko at huwag ng lumabas pa. Gusto kong magpahinga pero ang daming boses - ang daming pangangailangan. Ang daming hinihiling sa kin. Isa lang ako - isa lang ang katawan, ang kaluluwa at ang puso ko. Pero sa tambak na kumento, suhestyon, kritiko, kalendaryo, plano, gawin natin ito Chel - hindi Chel ito - Chel, mag meeting tayo please.

TAMA NA.

Naririndi na ko. Nakakapagod makinig kung sabay-sabay na nagsasalita. Pakinggan niyo ang huni ng katahimikan ko. Kahit saglit. Kahit isang segundo lang. Kahit...kahit...

Gusto kong bumagon. Gusto kong lumaban. Pero ngayon, gusto ko munang magpahinga. Bigyan niyo ko ng panahon at ng espasyong...

Makapag-isa.
Makapag-isip.
Umiyak.

Why I Am Waiting

To distract myself from being a full-fledged workaholic, I've been recently using my ask.fm account and letting anonymous persons know my views and opinions about life.  I never really saw myself as the kind of lady who gets the admiration of men because I admit that I am prone to snubbing people and being such a sarcastic sass. As such, to my amusement, I got questions asking me about my “love life” – mostly inquiring if I am in a relationship and if not, why. I deflected by responding either with my bad jokes or poor attempts to redirect them to another topic because I do not know how to explain that I am waiting without resorting to being a cheeseball. But here I am, typing hotly and thoughts running wild, finally ready to let others digest a piece of my mozzarella brain (and heart).

I am waiting patiently.  I believe in not rushing things, of letting others hold the end of the rope, and see if we fit. I believe in the principle of things falling into place because I acknowledge that my life is not solely shaped by my decisions, but also by the choices of the people around me. I am waiting because I believe that the process makes the end what it is – that the journey is the crowning glory of every beginning and end. Life is not a book that I can just flip its pages so I can know what comes out of it. It is a collection of anthologies, separate stories weaving and interconnecting themselves. I believe in savoring the creation and endurance of these ties.

Do not be mistaken. I am not passive. I believe in living life to the fullest and pushing myself outside my comfort zone. I believe in taking risks, and growing from experiences. I do not let chances and opportunities go unless they prove to be unwise. I am waiting actively.

But really, why do I wait?

I am waiting patiently and actively because I believe that I should not settle for anything less nor should my future partner settle for a lesser me. This is not to say that my past experiences are mistakes. They are, rather, the catalyst of my decision. When the time comes, I want to confidently embrace the fear and knowledge that yes, I will get hurt because of love but I will choose to love anyway. I want to love wholeheartedly with all the passion that I can give. I want to love maturely, knowing when to hold on and when to let things go. I want to love enthusiastically, bringing happiness and comfort when gloom decides to step in. I want to love steadfastly and grow with my person, constantly striving to be our better selves. I want to love and let him be proud that I am the one he is sharing his life with.

Waiting gets lonely and there are times I just want to post a wanted ad out of frustration. I get a little envious when I see my friends with their partners, facing life together. There are also moments wherein I wanted to erase my mini-collection of romantic comedy films because they idealize things too much. (Plus, instead of easing my despair, they intensify it because of their out-of-my-reach handsome leading men. Huhu hi Gene Kelly, Marlon Brando and Dmitri of Anastasia)

 However, I know I will meet him in some way or another. I will meet him maybe in a coffee shop, at a bookstore or at my favorite pancake place. I will meet him perhaps when I least expect it or maybe, I already met him. Maybe I am at the preface.

All I know right now is that I am here waiting, secretly excited to love him always in all ways.