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.

Viewpoints

A/N: Written for a history class on April 22, 2013


On the 17th of October 1994 at exactly 6:50 am, a little babe wiggled her arms and did a little hurrah dance for successfully surviving the past eight months and seventeen days inside a warm, cocoon-like haven. Ever since she realized she has a brain (and thus, is capable of thinking), she has been imagining the world outside her mother’s womb. Meanwhile, at the same universe and time, a takatak  boy gave the red Honda accord (with plate number TMA 741)’s driver the headlines of the day. He said, “Ser, sa Inquirer ho tungkol sa mga kidnaper sa Mindanao. Sa Bulletin naman, tungkol sa mga Arabo. Ano hong gusto niyo?”  The balding, middle-aged driver wrinkled his nose, thought for a moment, and replied, “Pareho na lang. Mas gusto kasi ni Misis ang good news.” The boy gave him a toothy grin and held out the two newspapers in exchange for the nine pesos the older man was fishing in his pocket. After their small trade, the sound of takatak chirped again alongside shouts of “Sigarilyo, Dyaryo, Candy kayo diyan!”, the car engines revving up for the green light hummed, and the first cries of a little girl by the name of Chelsea Ericka were heard by the ears of the earth.

At least this make-believe narrative is more believable than my mother‘s story.

My Mama used to tell me that she gave birth to me on an early Sunday morning, with the birds and the flowers dancing merrily in celebration of my coming to the world. When I asked her recently on how the Philippines was on the day of her labour, she said that all she could remember was that the boy band sensation was spreading and the movie of Robin Padilla and Ruffa Gutierrez were highly-anticipated by their fans. She then dismissed me by asking me to just google if I want more information (to which I promptly responded that newspapers of my day are on microfilms, and not on webpages.).

         Thanks to the ever-amazing Rizal Library, I found out that I wasn’t born on a bright, Sunday morning but on a Monday morning with a heavy atmosphere looming over the country. People were scared of the rebels in Mindanao because they abducted a total of a hundred and twenty-six (126) men and women within nine months. Fifteen of the victims were killed in Basilan by the infamous group, Abu Sayyaf, while thirty-seven were still missing and presumed dead. (Feliciano, 1994) Next day’s news were not any better. Interpol reported that a Chinese military camp was being used as a shabu factory for the “products” regularly smuggled into the Philippines. This was discovered for NBI had been observing a naval ship’s activity of transferring goods. The Chinese navy officials who were arrested denied the accusations; however, the evidences gathered were too strong. (Burgos,1994)

Saddened by the headlines wrote by the Philippine Daily Inquirer (PDI), I sought out a newspaper that would bring me good news. During my search of positive information, I suddenly remembered Manila Bulletin (MB)’s tagline of “There is good news here.” True enough, the headline on that fateful day of October was generally more cheerful than PDI’s. United Nations ordered the Iraqi military to step off the Kuwait boundaries and never return again. The world’s largest organization gathered the heads of states to find a way to resolve the situation between the two countries. They came up with a resolution that declared that countries, including Iraq, must recognize the Kuwait’s sovereignty. (Reuter, 1994) The 18th of October’s headline was even more promising as it expressed that our country was cited by the International Monetary Fund (IMF) for bringing the inflation down by 8.7%. Former President Ramos and the Bangko Sentral ng Pilipinas (BSP) also got commended by the organization. The Congress and Michel Camdessus, the visiting IMF official, both agreed that the simplification of tax base and the implementation of measures would continue the positive economic progress the country was experiencing. (Villa, 1994)

I don’t want to overanalyse and go all philosophical on the relevance of the headlines to my life yet; I cannot help but think of what my experience on hunting the news brought me. Reading the articles and processing all those names and events made me realize three things. First, I can look at life using two major points of view. I can live using lenses that would only make me see black and white, or I can paint the world with my palette of colours. I have the choice to create a fairy tale out of reality, or to let cynicism blur my dreams.

         Second, the cycle of life is fleeting. Questions that I could not find the answers started popping into my mind. Who knows who died the exact minute I was born and who will be alive the exact moment I will sleep for eternity? Why did those innocent people have to die while their murderers live? Shouldn’t it be the other way around? Why are those Chinese men wasting their precious time by destroying other peoples’ lives through shabu? Why can’t we live for the good things?

         Lastly, it’s easy to dismiss other events when one cannot see how they connect to his life. But, as what our everyday interactions tell us, one’s actions can affect others. One’s story can be the happy ending of another. One’s words can bring meaning to another’s life. It never ceases to amaze me how all the people in this world are connected, but they continually snob each other and only care when death and other horrible things happen.

         I’m glad I redid this birthday exercise because admittedly, my first paper wasn’t as fruitful as this. Maybe this is because I had more time to reflect and ponder on this assignment. Or maybe it was the timing. One little question though remains in my head as I am about to end this essay.

        When will my life reach the headlines? (In my dreams.)


-----

Sources:
Burgos, R. (1994, October 18). Chinese military men smuggle shabu into rp. Philippine Daily Inquirer, pp. pp 1, 6.

Felicano , J. (1994, October 17). Kidnappers have grabbed 126 in mindanao since january. Philippine Daily Inquirer, pp. 1, 6.

Reuter. (1994, October 17). Un orders iraq troop pullback. Manila Bulletin, pp. 1, 8.

Villa, R. (1994, October 18). Imf official cites rp growth. Manila Bulletin, pp. 1,8.

Why I Am Fighting

Dear Mom and Dad,

Recently, I discovered that the things I am proudest are the ones I fought for. These are the ones that I ceaselessly needled you to give me, or creatively coerced you into giving me the permission to have them. For one, I am very grateful for Ateneo. I know you weren't keen on sending me to this university because you were insisting I go to the one located in Diliman. I am thankful for bending your will to mine because I am ecstatic to find myself standing on this hill - this place I now call home. I am so glad I fought for my dream school because I feel that I am inching towards self-discovery, my self-actualization. I found my vocation here, Mama and Papa.

This is actually why I am writing this down. I want to pursue further studies and teach. This is my passion; this is the one thing I will choose over and over again. I know I went through the stage of wanting different careers but I realized I was wrongly searching and aiming for temporary things. It took me a long way, unlike Ate, but this is what I want to do in life. After the whole doctor fiasco two years ago, I asked God to let His will be done. True enough, I did not get what I wanted that year: JTA. Instead, I found myself applying for a position in Musmos.

Let's get side-tracked a little bit. I will *finally* tell you why I fought for Musmos. Remember when Botchok and Liit spend their summer here three years ago? During their stay, I felt so disconnected and disaffected from them. It's as if they were not my blood relatives. I treated them less than they deserved. And so, when I encountered the so-called "org tradition" in Ateneo, I promised myself and God that I will join a kid-oriented organization. I really wanted to understand my cousins more and relate to them rightly the next time I have a chance. My love-affair with Musmos then began.

Anyway, back to the program. After accepting that I won't be spending my junior year in Singapore or Macau, I asked Him to show me the reasons why I stayed here. As such, a series of events happened:

1. My western history teacher told me that I should get a minor in history. I laughed.
2. My creative writing minor application was halted, first day of junior year. I cried.
3. Danielle told me I have a knack for teaching, and that kids are strangely drawn to me. ACIL then nicknamed me, "child whisperer"
4. Musmos people seconded number 3.
5. ASLA came and strengthened my burgeoning passion for fighting poverty through values formation and network-enabling.
6. Musmos Week, the week-long event I headed, got featured on Ateneo website.
7. I was elected as the Kids' Formation Head (a.k.a. Lesson Plan Maker) this year.
8. ACIL awarded me "Best Catechist" for my area.

I can enumerate other events and memories here but this letter will be too long. I still have a lot to say, haha. With everything that had transpired, how could I ignore the grace, passion and calling He has given me? It's as if everything I went through, down to the bullying I experienced, led me here. Mama and Papa, I can't express how lucky I feel to have discovered this road less-travelled because I know a lot of people who are lost, trying to find their way through the broken bridges and cracked pavements.

I know I sound idealistic and naive. Maybe I am, but I will never let this go. You wanted me to read the late Sec. Robredo's letter to Ate Aika just to let me think this through. And let me tell you, every night I am discerning if I am making sound decisions. I sleep with my logic and emotions saying a resounding yes. Don't worry, I am still figuring things out. I may know what I want my life to turn out but hehe, there are still so many things to learn and realize.

This is why, I am begging you with all my heart, support me. Let me go. Let me love and let me get hurt. Let me make mistakes, and let me learn from them. I can picture the repercussions of my actions, and I am more than willing to face them. My life is not for just me anymore. My life is for and with others. In teaching and helping the youth learn, I find myself complete (well, wala pa kong love life but that is another story). Nararamdaman ko sa pagtuturo na ako ay hindi lamang tao - ako ay mas nagiging tao dahil ako ay nagpapakatao.

This is a lot to think about. I'll stop here. If you have any more questions, nasa kwarto lang ako most likely nag-aaral. Haha. I'll understand if you want time and space to adjust.

I love you, Mama and Papa. Thank you for everything. Please take a risk in me.

All my love,
Chelsea