Written Art - My Introductory Post

‘She’s currently living in a story she can’t tell.’ For many instances, I’ve always used that sentence to conceal my own identity from other people.

I guess now’s the right time to tell you this hidden story.

(with my parents.)

16 years ago, my parents are having a hard time raising me up, doing all the responsibilities of being a parent of early age. My grandparents were devastated, finding out my Mama’s pregnancy while studying as a second-year college in a private school, putting almost their whole finances to provide her financial needs.

(2 month-old me.)

I was the first granddaughter, ‘the unexpected one’. Yet I thought my existence was a big mistake, they still managed to make me feel I belong, I’m special and they’re glad to have me. Despite of all the problems they encountered with me growing up, I’ve always been thankful of how I’ve become today.

(me, with my friends, after receiving our awards.)

My mother handled miscarriages for three times. Growing up being the only child made me feel suffocated and pampered at the same time. I can clearly remember how I used to think before as a child, wishing that me, having no sibling, was only a nightmare and they truly exists when I wake up in the morning.

(free picture from Pixabay.)

I was an introvert before. I lack social skills and for some reason, other children would avoid me. Maybe I’m a boring company, or they just simply don’t like me. I’m an indoor kid, playing outside with them wasn’t my thing before. As I grew up, I’ve learned to appreciate the circle of loved ones that I truly have.

(with my bestfriends.)

I experienced bullying, which somehow succeeded in dropping my self-esteem. They would call me names, make fun of me and my clumsy mistakes, avoided and made me feel alone in a room full of peers. I’m not perfect, okay? I have lots of growing insecurities, and my classmates made me feel like I’m an odd number in their even pairs. But I kept silent, knowing they will soon get tired of it as I am.

There came my graduation in Grade 6, which I consider as the worst one, my greatest fear which led me to my downfall. Like imagine going home, bringing your medals and diplomas, showing it to a dear loved one inside a coffin? It felt hell, enough to wreck us into pieces. My Tatay (grandfather) was one of those few people who truly understood and accepted me for who I am, despite of all the negative things that I do. But he was long gone, I’ve been wishing for him to come back up until now even though that wouldn’t happen anymore. I made lots of things I regretted sooner, though I knew it was exactly what I wanted and I couldn’t do anything to bring him back.

That headed me to thinking of taking medicine-related courses. If only I knew enough to help him, he could’ve lived longer. I will be a doctor, if God permits, I will.

Still, I aim to establish myself in writing. I want to publish books, similar to the ones I’ve read for countless times. I’ve always wondered, how does it feel like to be a writer? Like having other people to witness and read your thoughts. I guess I found the right place to share and outlet to voice out my thinking, and I’m here!

During my high school years, I found the real people. We found comfort within the company of each other. We found that with every problem we get to encounter, we can always find a way out, whether we won or lost. What’s important is we learned something from it, we learned something that made us better versions and still continue on striving for our anticipated dreams. They’re both going to be lawyers! I’m so proud of them.

Despite of all those defeats, I still found a way of facing life and its challenges. I fulfilled some of my dreams, in time of accomplishing the rest.

Through music, I got to express how I feel with every strum of a guitar string, every chord, every note, every song, it brought me satisfaction.

(this was the guitar I got on my 16th birthday.)

Through arts, I found peace with the blending of paint pallets, fulfilling the visual scenery living inside my imagination.

(a painting I made last year, resembles the name I use here.)

Through writing, I grasped the meaning of every phrase that I strike, putting into words the hidden definition of myself, my hidden self, bringing me the nice sensation inside after expressing how I felt.

And so, I wrote…