Children

She wanted me to sit by the stairs as she played with the other kids all by herself. I could hear her talk to the other kids and most of them ignored her. They were mostly 7 and 8 and 9, and they spoke Tagalog fluently. ("Ba't may baby dito?" "Ayoko dyan, English!")

I stayed away, dear reader. I stayed away.

There were three who knew Lucia, though, and I could hear them talking to her (in English). She would peek from around the corner, to make sure I was still there. Still far away. But still there. She waved and smiled. "I'm okay, Mama!"

One of the meaner kids said, "May mumu dyan!" (I STAYED AWAY!) One of the boys (Arvi—the one who knows Darth Vader, remember him?) pulled Lucia aside and said, "There's no such thing. Don't believe him."

Another boy, Axl (also a regular playmate) said, "Come on, Lucia, Arvi and will play with you in your house."

Lucia said, "Okay. How about the other children? Do they want to play, too?" (She called them "children"—the same way an adult would.)

And I—the adult—said, "I don't like them. They can all go away." (And they did.)

God bless my darling's kind heart, but this mother will only take so much. Besides, I was good, I stayed away (for as long as I could).

The boys have left, leaving behind a mess. "Sorry for the mess," she said. And kissed me on the nose.

Compassion and Empathy

Just a few hours ago, I had lunch with the yaya who took care of me and my siblings for about 6 years or so. This was during most of the 90s, so she had front row seats to the show that was my teenage angst. Wew. While we were talking about this and that, she said, "Parang bumait ka, a."

For some reason, I've been getting that a lot lately. And no, it isn't because I'm fantastically nice now. It's because I was THAT messed up before. Recently, I explained to some fairly new friends that I wasn't always like this. Things were very, very different before.

Another friend asked why and how I've mellowed so much. I told her that I had been through hell and back and that I literally almost died. Basically, I've been living my second life since 2012, and I am much more appreciative of what I have now. There are times when I feel like reverting to states of mind and being that nearly destroyed me, but the tug passes. Not without much effort, but it passes.

I am in that weird space right now, remembering that year (as well as the year that just passed), and I'm in a muddy mix of emotions. Mostly because I saw this video shared on my newsfeed:



My emotions are weird because, I can intellectually remember being sad and alone and ashamed. But I don't emotionally remember them anymore. At least not as much as I can feel how much happier I am right now. Don't get me wrong, I still remember the shame all too vividly. But I don't really feel the shame as intensely now.

Interestingly, when I think about that year, I don't remember the sadness or the fear or any of that. I remember the things that got me through.

So much of what Monica Lewinsky said resonated with me, but of all the things she said, this was my favorite: "Shame cannot survive empathy".

And, like she said, this empathy can come from anywhere.

Aside from love from my family and friends (my goodness, my family and friends, THANK YOU), what buoyed me were the many private messages that near-strangers sent to me. I mean, I received messages of hope and encouragement and prayer and outright love from people I wasn't even close to. From people who didn't even know the whole story. I had people telling me about how other people were praying for me. It was amazing.

Meanwhile, some people whom I thought were really good friends—and I mean, REALLY good friends—kept away. Remained silent. Waited for me to reach out. They wanted to remain neutral, they said. Nailang daw sila. (Sorry that my misfortune made you ilang. Hay.)

They are no longer my friends. I cut all ties with them. And that's okay, I wish them well. I have already been blessed by so many with so much.

I've been pretty okay, actually. In fact, I dare say: I'm pretty happy. (Eek!) Ugh, someone actually had the audacity to ask if I was dating again because I looked so happy. (Like it isn't possible to be happy on my own. Like it isn't possible to actually want to be alone. Oy.) It's scary sometimes, this happiness. Since I'm more in the manic portion of the spectrum, I have to keep checking if I'm being overly hyper again, if this happiness is mania.

(Like, I've been overly productive at work lately and because of what happened in the past, there was a moment where I was scared I was being manic again. I wasn't. I just really love what I do, haha!)

But everything's been steady. I take my meds like clockwork. I get lots of sleep. I laugh—genuinely—a lot. So I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm okay. (I'm okay!)

I just want to say thank to everyone who has been kind to me. Thank you for your compassion. Your kindness and compassion make me want to be kind and compassionate, too. Maybe that's why I'm kinda more mabait now.

For The Woman You Will Become

First, a statement:

I just had to let that off my chest.

Still I Rise

Maya Angelou, 1928 - 2014

 You may write me down in history

With your bitter, twisted lies,

You may trod me in the very dirt

But still, like dust, I’ll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?

Why are you beset with gloom?

‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells

Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,

With the certainty of tides,

Just like hopes springing high,

Still I’ll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?

Bowed head and lowered eyes?

Shoulders falling down like teardrops,

Weakened by my soulful cries?

Does my haughtiness offend you?

Don’t you take it awful hard

‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines

Diggin’ in my own backyard.

You may shoot me with your words,

You may cut me with your eyes,

You may kill me with your hatefulness,

But still, like air, I’ll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?

Does it come as a surprise

That I dance like I’ve got diamonds

At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history’s shame

I rise

Up from a past that’s rooted in pain

I rise

I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,

Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear

I rise

Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear

I rise

Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,

I am the dream and the hope of the slave.

I rise

I rise

I rise.

//

All because of her.

For the woman she will become.

Happy International Women's Day.