short autobiography.

This is my autobiography. Another thing that is solely mine, like my name, my birthday (January 18, I always secretly thought that it should be a holiday), my birthstone, my sign, my dog. I collect them, the self-centered and selfish creature that I am. I admit that it’s a bit obsessive, but nothing to render me as a danger to myself and/or society, not yet anyway. 1

Sad to say, I didn’t just spontaneously come to be. I was born in the Philippines, the Pearl of the East (so we claim). My family was not rich, I only saw my mom at night and on weekends, and my dad went abroad to earn more money. My childhood was not as deprived as it sounds. I went to a private catholic school, some cynics might say it’s as deprived as it gets but it was a learning experience. The echoes in the hollow church moved me, and its morals inspired me. And a long time ago, a little girl thought that she could dress in a habit and actually save people from suffering. Sometimes, you just got to smile and shake your head softly (helps to talk about yourself in third person). 2

I spent a lot of time with my grandmother, the matriarch of our family, a veteran of women’s suffrage. My stubbornness can be traced to her line. So, too is the drive for knowledge. She was a natural teacher. She encouraged creativity and intellectual pursuits. She stressed, more than factual knowledge, an interest in culture and in life. Perhaps too much. Ideals can drown you, you know. If she had imparted that simple caveat, maybe it would have behooved me to have not been so eager. She overestimated me, she thought I was stronger than I really am. How can anyone expect someone to face losing friends, observing political/religious corruption, seeing familial squabbles over pride and money, and every day standard disappointment and disillusionment -  how can anyone expect someone to face all these things and be left unmoved? At some point, indignance becomes a burden to heavy to bear. 3

When everything seems to be contaminated, what’s there left sacred? Me. The “I” is the only thing that’s accessible and I can, for certain, say that’s real. The weak, flawed, and fragile person that is me. Self awareness is the gift I hold above others, but would probably end up killing me. However, at the very least, I know that I’m living, that I’m the one making the decisions even if I’m the only one I can hold accountable. 4