High School All Over Again

I’ve been running away from my high school days for as long as… well… for as long as I’ve been out of high school.

If you had known me back then, you wouldn’t really be surprised.

* * * * *

I’d always been on the pudgy side. My mom gave birth to me when I had been in her tummy for only seven months, so I was sickly and gangly until I was three. As a result, my parents embarked on a mission to get me, uh, healthy, and by the time I was 10, I already weighed close to my current weight. I reached the peak of my “chubbiness” (oh, please don’t use the “F-word) at 13, when I weighed 135 lbs, and my waistline ballooned to 33 inches.

I refer to those years as “my fat episode”. I hated every minute of it.

The times I detested most were high school dances and fairs, because dressing up for them would always be a problem. I never fit into the nice dresses that I’d see in stores, and I’d always have to be fitted for something or another, leaving me to the inevitable date with the seamstress—and my current waistline. Worse, all my friends had absolutely trim figures, so I pretty much stuck out like a big, fat, sore thumb. It didn’t matter that I still managed to get boyfriends and dates; what was foremost on my mind was, “How could anyone like little, fat me?”

It was the ultimate esteem dropper and confidence plunger. And now that I’ve managed to get rid of a third of that weight (hopefully permanently), I still get nightmares over being f-f-f… chubby. And, this, my friends, explains my paranoia and obsession over weight and health food.

* * * * *

The funny thing is, a lot of recent experiences seem to be leading me back to high school. I’m not sure if it’s God’s way of getting me to come to terms with my past, but—whatever it is—it’s freaking me out.

One early, early morning several weeks ago, Paul and I went to visit a really good friend of his, at his home at Alabang 400—near my high school. Throughout the entire conversation with his friend, Chico [now the late Chico Molina, may his soul rest in peace], I’d been getting the strange feeling that I knew the guy from somewhere. He looked, sounded, and acted too familiar; but I just shrugged it off as another of those psychic feelings.

Before we left, I casually asked Paul for Chico’s whole name. It turns out that I did know him because we were classmates in high school. I pulled down the car window, screamed out Chico’s whole name, and explained that we were classmates in high school. When I told him who I was, his eyes practically jumped from their sockets, and all he could mutter was, “No way…! You look so… different!” At least he was being polite. Other high school friends would literally curse their heads off when they’d see me without all that weight.

* * * * *

Then there’s Friendster.

I had been avoiding getting in touch with high school friends for the longest time, because I didn’t want to be reminded of who I was back then. I didn’t want to have to explain what happened to me, what I’ve been doing since then… yada, yada, yada. But, one by one, little by little, these blasts from my past came knocking on my Friendster door, and I had no choice but to let them in.

And it actually felt good. For one, people actually remembered insignificant little me (of course, I’m exaggerating!)… and, for another, aside from the weight issue, they actually had nice things to say about me. Since then, I’ve enjoyed searching for long-lost friends with whom I have a lot of catching up to do.

My newest “Friendster” is a classmate from 10 years ago, with whom I barely exchanged words back then, but who remembers me for being “one of the pretty girls in class”. (Hehehe… don’t worry, I won’t divulge names here!) That surely was an ego booster! Hmmm… so maybe a little fat can be beautiful. (But, on the record: I’ll never wanna go back to being that again.)

* * * * *

Probably the only thing I loved about high school was the warm, fuzzy, kilig feeling that I used to get when I’d see my crush—who became my first boyfriend. Back then, everything was new, unpredictable, and exciting; and the butterflies had made a permanent residence of my stomach.

We tend to lose that feeling as we get older and settle into more “mature” relationships, but a part of us still craves for it. We’d joke about the mushy stuff with our friends and say, “Oh, that’s SO high school!”… But, deep down, we know we want some of it back—yes, including the roses, chocolates, teddy bears, and little love notes that would get us in trouble with our teachers. (These days, of course, the kids would exchange cold and boring text messages.) Everything was uncluttered and uncomplicated, and there weren’t any exceedingly high expectations or premature talk of “The Future”.

I feel extremely lucky to now be with someone who makes me feel like I’m still in high school, in spite of his being out of high school for 10 years already. I love how I still get butterflies in my stomach every time I see or talk to him, and I love how being with him has made me appreciate the little things that mean so much—like a piece of Ferrero Rocher that he managed to swipe from his dad’s stash, the beads and scarves that he’d pick out from the neighborhood tiangge, or a really funky movie that I hadn’t seen in ages. Although our conversations are far from being trivial and immature, everything else feels new, unpredictable, and uncomplicated. (Ah… smells like teen spirit? Definitely!)

* * * * *

I may have been running away from high school for the longest time now, but I’m realizing that there are some things worth coming home to. And at least I’m going back a little bit wiser and definitely a lot thinner.

(Written:  A Spoonful of Sugar, 15 November 2003)

Why Good Girls Go for Bad Guys

Before anything else, three disclaimers:

Number one, I’m not trying to do a Carrie Bradshaw with this piece. Sure, I love Sex and the City, and I love Carrie Bradshaw’s character, but I’m not gonna go over the top and talk about sex and all that. It’s not my style. I’m writing this for my friends Joval and Edsel (who refused to be mentioned… hello guys!) who asked me to write about something “edgy”. I guess this is as edgy as I can get. For now, at least.

Number two, I’m not exactly a good girl, and I’m not pretending to be. But if you take everyone in the entire universe and arrange them on a spectrum, then I guess I’d very much still fall on the good girl side of the line. For now, at least.

And, number three, I’m straddling between being “general” about the topic… and not generalizing such that people get typecast and offended. If I somehow strike a few nerves here and there, then I’d like to apologize in advance. This is just my view (and not necessarily my experience) of things; please don’t take me so seriously.

So why do good girls go for bad guys?

That’s one question I’ve encountered countless times in my young life, and it’s usually asked by the good guys who never seem to get the girls they want—because these girls fall for the rough-and-tumble kind.

It’s also a question that I could not, for the life of me, understand back then. I loved good guys, so I didn’t understand why other good girls didn’t. I loved how they always looked so clean and fresh, as if they’d just stepped out of the shower. I loved how their clothes looked so neatly pressed all the time, as if they jumped out from a Marks & Spencer catalog or shop window. I loved how I could take them home to Mom and Dad… and not have to endure an hour of questions about why he dressed that way, or what he did for a living, or what his parents did, and so on.

I just wanted the Pinoy—or, rather, the tisoy—version of a Ken doll; someone who was sweet, charming, gentlemanly, romantic, stable, secure, and oh-so-safe. The kind you’d just want to cuddle up and spend a long, rainy day at home with…

And then I realized why good girls wanted bad guys.

Good girls are sick of staying at home. They’ve done it—and done it well—their whole lives. They’ve stuck to the image imposed on them by good ol’ Mom and Dad; they got the good grades, hung out with the right friends, chose the right career, did the right things. They’ve got “perfect-girlfriend-and-ideal-wife” stamped on their foreheads, and it kills them because it means 20-30-40 more years of staying at home and taking care of a husband and family. Just like they’re supposed to.

When a good girl looks at a bad guy, she sees beyond his rough, unshaven, rebellious exterior. She sees the kind of life that she’s always wanted to sample: a life where she’s free to experiment and test the limits of her potential (and capacity); a life where she makes the rules, and maybe breaks them once in a while; a life free of any expectations but her own, where she’s free to fall and get up, only to fall all over again.

When a good girl looks at a bad guy, she sees sides of herself that she was not allowed to experience and explore, sides that were repressed by the expectations of her family, her neighborhood, and this whole chauvinist society.

The bad guy frees her from all her neuroses and allows her to experience life just as it is—not as it should be. Sure, he breaks the rules and gets into a little trouble once in a while, but he still lives. And she realizes that you don’t have to live a perfect, scratch-free life. In fact, you need to get scratched, you need to get bruised and hit on the head once in a while for you to experience the fullness of life. Laughter and tears. Joy and pain. Victory and suffering. It’s all part of the package.

Good girls who go for bad guys have realized that the best-tasting meals are sometimes cooked with the weirdest and ickiest of ingredients—stuff that you wouldn’t dare touch on its own. But they want the experience of the meal… so they take all the shit that goes with it anyway.

My friend Trin put it excellently when she once told me, “It’s all shitty. It’s just a matter of knowing what kind of shit you can put up with.”

So… If you’re gonna get some shit anyway, then you might as well let it be shit that you can enjoy… right?

(Written: A Spoonful of Sugar, 2 September 2003)

The Power of One

After that somewhat depressing piece on causes and morality, I feel compelled to write about hope, and about how we can still do something despite all the madness that goes on around us.

I’m not going to write about it in abstract terms. Let’s just say that I was fortunate enough to have been “reunited” with a fellow artist and advocate whose only passion is to make his community a better place, and I’d like to share his story with everyone here. If this seems like the work of an enamored poet, then I apologize. It’s been a source of inspiration for me, and I hope that it will somehow make you think about your life’s possibilities.

———————————————————————————————————————
He had a crazy idea way back in college.

He noticed that many of the kids in the Ateneo grew up in sheltered environments, and were oblivious to the social ills that pervaded Philippine urban society. Yes, they had their theology and philosophy classes, but the things that they discussed in class were so abstract that these didn’t compel students to take action.

He couldn’t bring the students out of their comfort zones, so he brought the symbols of these social ills right smack in front of the students’ faces, where they would no longer be ignored.

One Christmas, he worked to bring in hundreds of streetchildren from the Katipunan and Marikina areas to the Ateneo campus, where they would be treated to a day of fun and games, food and friendship. It was a simple gesture, but it forced students to acknowledge what was happening just outside the campus gates. People became more aware of the changes that needed to be made in society. The project clicked. Thus began an Ateneo Christmas tradition.

He knew that his pet project was only the beginning of a lifetime of servant-leadership.

This man was fond of comics, and he related most with Batman because of the latter’s “humanness”. The Dark Knight didn’t have any inate superpowers, and yet he had outwitted and overcome many a powerful adversary. It was just the sort of thing that he himself wanted to do.

He got his chance when his family was thrust into the political arena, and when public service became a large part of his life.

But he wasn’t just a social activist; he was a musician and an athlete as well. And he masterfully fused these gifts to introduce change in his community.

With his kulintang, his kahon (a box-drum), and 5-gallon water bottles that doubled as congas, he introduced indigenous music and culture to the urban folk. In a city that was (and still is) run by celebrity-politicians, his work gave people a sense of history and dignity. With his arnis sticks and fellow arnisadors, he empowered the barangay tanods and brought some semblance of security into the communities (with an indigenous martial art, no less). Now he is taking things a step further by fusing arnis and percussion in a performance art that is distinctly Filipino.

He is a struggling artist, but his struggles go beyond artistic expression, financial stability, and fame.

Seeing him work from up close has given me a reason to believe that things can get better for our country. He is just one man, and yet he has already created ripples of change in our community—ripples that will, in time, grow to be waves of real, sustained progress.

People may scoff at his efforts, for art, music, and culture are really “just” peripheral concerns. How about feeding the poor? Educating the ignorant? Healing the sick? Serving justice to the marginalized?

Oh, he gets into that, too. But it’s his art which he feels most passionate about. It’s his art which uplifts the spirits of his cityfolk and makes them feel that they have an ally from “the other side” of the societal spectrum. It’s his art which galvanizes both young and old people from his community to make real and significant changes. His art has breathed life into our rotting little city.

It’s amazing what art can do.

Having been born into a well-off family, and being the son of a political figure, he could have chosen to bum around and live off his parents’ fortunes. He could have been like other coke-sniffing, gun-toting political brats who live each day as if they were half-dead. Instead, he has chosen to take up his own cause and use his resources to uplift the lives of those in need.

He gets tired. He gets very, very tired, but he also finds that he can hardly sleep at night. Knowing that he lives each day with a purpose, however, gives him enough strength to forge on and devote yet another day to serving his community.

It’s amazing what one person can do.

And imagine what will happen if more people decided to stop yakking and start moving in the right direction.

———————————————————————————————————————
“To realize one’s destiny is a person’s only obligation.” ~ Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist

(Written: A Spoonful of Sugar, 11 August 2003)

Seeing Signs

“You’ll never be able to escape from your heart. So it’s better to listen to what it has to say. That way, you’ll never have to fear an unanticipated blow” ~ Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist

(To CC and Niño and their art; and to Jean Paul, his music, and the blue pill.)

Before anything else, I’d like to apologize to Mr. Pascasio (Nikko, is that you?) for not responding to his question on goals and ethics in this Spoonful.

Something amazing happened to me this weekend that I just had to share with everyone.

I came face-to-face with signs that I had never thought I would find. Signs that I had often prayed for but forgotten about. Until now.

When I saw them and recognized them for what they were, I felt as if I had seen ghosts from my past. I was stunned, overwhelmed, and scared. I could hardly believe what I was seeing and feeling, but I had to believe that they were real.

Coincidences happen once. But a string of coincidences that are somehow related to the subject of my discernment must mean something.

I cannot relate the details of my experience, but I’d like to talk about recognizing the signs that exist around us.

They are everywhere.

In The Alchemist, the bestselling work by Brazilian author Paulo Coelho, a shepherd boy named Santiago leaves his Spanish hometown in search of a treasure. He encounters many interesting individuals—a gypsy, an old king, a crystal merchant, an Englishman, and finally, the Alchemist—all of whom teach him about understanding the Language of the World.

It is a language that can be understood by everyone who lives, including plants and animals. It needs no words, no foreign vocabulary and grammar, no special characters. Only a true understanding of our own Personal Legends—our reasons for being—and an openness of heart, mind, and soul.

Do you believe in signs? Some of you probably do, but many probably don’t.

We live in a very pragmatic and technical world that it seems foolish to talk about signs, much less look for them.

But think back to some of the decisions that you’ve had to make in your life. Did you decide entirely based on your clear-headed judgment, or did you get some help from a friend’s advice, a passage in a book, or a nagging feeling in your chest?

And how about some decisions that you didn’t make? Have you ever been at that point where you had to either move or stay, and you chose to stay not because you really wanted to, but because you were scared to move? Do you still get that nagging feeling in your chest that you should have done something?

I’ve felt that countless times in my young life. And with each time that I chose to ignore the signs, I felt that I was straying farther from my dream. The signs were leading me to a certain direction, but I stubbornly chose to go my own way. And I got hurt. Over and over again.

We do that fairly often, don’t we? We stay paralyzed and stuck to our little corner of the world because we’re scared of taking risks—especially personal ones. We’re scared of moving. We’re scared of changing. We’re scared of failing.

The weird thing is, we’re not scared of not succeeding.

And that’s probably the greatest tragedy of all. Paulo Coelho says, “To realize one’s destiny is a person’s only obligation.”

I’m not fatalistic, and I still believe that we make our choices. Nothing is pre-destined to the point where we’re no longer required to act on anything. But I believe that signs guide us to the right path, so that we can achieve our dreams sooner.

These signs are found within us, in the stillness of our hearts, in the deepest recesses of our being.

To actually see them, and recognize them for what they are, we have to clear ourselves of all doubts, fears, and worries. We’ve got to remove the trappings that stay stuck inside us. We’ve got to know who we really are and what we’re really meant to do. It’s a painful task, but it will be even more painful to go through life not knowing our life’s purpose, our life’s worth.

Listen to your heart. Just try.

(I’ve always been a mind-over-heart person, but the moment I listened to my heart everything just fell into place. “When you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it.”)

Here’s another passage from The Alchemist:

“Well, then, why should I listen to my heart?”

“Because you will never again be able to keep it quiet. Even if you pretend not to have heard what it tells you, it will always be there inside you, repeating to you what you’re thinking about life and about the world.”

“You mean I should listen, even when it’s treasonous?”

“Treason is a blow that comes unexpectedly. If you know your heart well, it will never be able to do that to you. Because you’ll know its dreams and wishes, and will know how to deal with them.”

“You’ll never be able to escape from your heart. So it’s better to listen to what it has to say. That way, you’ll never have to fear an unanticipated blow.”

Good luck with your life's pilgrimage. May the signs be with you.

(Written: A Spoonful of Sugar, 23 July 2003)

The Other Side of the Coin

Each life is like a coin, with two sides. There’s a side that is introspective, inward-looking, concerned about who and where we are, and who and where we want to be. It’s the side that throws us these existential questions once in a while, and forces us to step back from the world. It asks, “Who am I really? What is my life’s purpose? Why am I here?”

Then there’s another side that is outward-looking, the social side of each human being. It’s the side that seeks acceptance, attention, love…the side that seeks growth in the context of others. This is where altruism, compassion, and empathy lie; it’s the side which forces us to go out and make our mark in the world and asks, “How can I make a difference in other people’s lives?”

I’m talking about this now not because I want to launch into a philosophical discussion about the Self and the Other, but because, right after sending out the latest Spoonful, a friend threw me this question: What about a cause? Are you willing to die for a cause?

I realized then that I had spent some time talking about personal dreams and visions, but had forgotten the other side, the social side, of each human life. We exist not only to fulfill our personal goals, but to do so in the context of a larger community. We are here to accomplish a life mission, but this inevitably involves other people, be it your family, your community, or the rest of the world.

We need dreams to fuel our existence, to live a successful life; but we need a cause to live a meaningful, a significant, life.

These causes don’t need to be as great as saving the rainforests, or as noble as fighting for indigenous peoples’ rights to ancestral lands. It can be as basic as ensuring that our communities are safe and secure, or encouraging our neighbors to segregate our waste. What’s important is for us to look beyond ourselves, and ask what we can do for the world. How can we align our personal dreams with a cause that will benefit more people outside ourselves?

Tricky question, huh? (We don’t even know what we really want, how can we know what we can do for the world?!)

But it’s a question worth asking. So… think about it. You may be surprised with how easy it can be to live a successful and significant life.

Oh, and do I have a cause? Am I willing to die for it? Stay tuned and find out.

(Written: A Spoonful of Sugar, 10 July 2003)