que sera, sera

I have come to terms with the fact that I am uncertain of my direction. I am okay with not knowing, because really... there is nothing I can do about it right now. Right now I can do A, B and C... all the way down the alphabet until I get to Z. Which may take a couple of years anyway. When I think about all of that future stuff it makes me realize how silly it is. Like a friend of mine once said, "you can plan all you want to, but sometimes Life changes your plans for you." I think she said something like that. Regardless, it is true. Such is life. What can we do about it except appreciate everything we have right now. I have everything I could ever want. What makes me think otherwise, is my beautiful and cruel twisted ego, which I am working very hard at trying to shut up. And one more thing, in order for one to move into the future, one must first let go of their past. I will be doing this tomorrow and I will cry my precious little brains out until all of my horrible memories, traumas, failures and cruelties to other beings is no longer locked away. And once they are all out in the open with my bleeding heart soaked in tears, I will take them and burn them. I will thank them for being a part of me once, for making me and shaping me into who I am now, and I will tell them that they are no longer welcome in my head as negativity or depression. If they happen to return begging for me to feel their pain, I will simply smile at them and say, "no thank you.. I have already turned your pain into strength."

The Plan...

I was almost 5 when I arrived in Canada. By the time I was 7 I had already planned my escape. I had decided that I didn't really feel welcome at this place I was supposed to call home. I mean what was with all those awful looks I would get from this person that apparently I was supposed to call Mom? Who was this lady anyway? Why did I always get these vibes of anger from her? Why was she using such a mean tone with me? Had I done something wrong? All these questions would come up in my mind everyday.

I remember becoming quiet anytime she would enter the same room. Even if I was in mid-sentence. Especially if I was talking to the man I was supposed to consider my dad. I remember feeling scared that I would upset her. I remember feeling bad if she saw that I was laughing and playing and having a good time with her two kids I was supposed to think of as brothers. Why was I feeling this way? I felt she hated me and I didn't even know why. I didn't even really understand who she was. What was I doing here?

I was tired of feeling confused, sad and lonely. The only place I really loved was school. I was in love with my teacher, Mrs. Vasilla. I am unsure of how you spell that, but she was always so loving and had this amazing smile on her face. She really cared about everyone in that class and we learned so much from her. I had great friends that I could play with and these awesome cubbies that we could all fit in and sit comfortably. Our very own private niches. I remember one recess having this talk with another little girl about how we hated being at home and that we should run away. We talked about it, and little did she know I had already been thinking about this for days. I decided I would include her in my plan.

So the next morning I woke up super early and tiptoed down the stairs making sure not to hit any creaks and cracks that would give me away. I carefully opened up a kitchen drawer and took out small ziplock bags. I filled them with food: marshmellows, lucky charms, chocolate chip cookies, trail mix and apples. I then snuck back upstairs and stuffed some clothes and underwear into my knapsack covering my food and then piled my school things on top. It was working out perfectly. I didn't say so much as a word as I simply followed orders from this supposed mom when she awoke, and then I went off to school.

I went the whole day in school quiet, yet excited about my escape. At recess I explained to the other little girl what I had planned. I had everything prepared for us to run away. We would go after school and set up our new home in the little house attached to the play structure. It was perfect shelter and I even had food, clothes and blankets. We would meet at this spot at the end of the day. My friend nodded in agreement. I was excited I wouldn't be alone and we proceeded to play.

I thought my plan was going off without a hitch until the final bell rang signaling the end of the day. I went to get my bag and was about to find my friend when my teacher approached me. She kneeled down in front of me and said, "Is there anything you want to talk to me about?" I shook my head. "No? There is nothing going on at home that you want to tell me about?" I shook my head. I could feel my eyes welling up. "Ok, sweetheart, your friend tells me you're planning on running away from home. She told her mother and her mother told me. I think we should call your mother." I burst out into tears. Why? How could this be happening? I don't want her to know! That girl was supposed to keep her mouth shut and she said she would come with me! I don't want to go back home! These thoughts whirled around in my head as I cried and cried and cried. My teacher just held me.

I never said much. I couldn't even find the words to explain to anyone what had happened, or why I would want to run away. What was the point? That evening after my supposed mom had picked me up and taken me back to that wretched house, she sat me down on the couch. I was stiff next to her waiting for some sort of punishment. Something cruel. But she surprised me. In the whole time I have known her she had never given any form of affection to me. But this one time, and it was the first and the only time in what would be a long, long time after that, she looked at me with tears in her eyes, a pained face and gave me a big hug. I could feel all of her sadness, and we both sat there for a long time and cried together.

Intermission... A Note on Friendship

I was just about to sit down and recall a memory of when I was about 6 years old, when my phone rang. Let me first explain to you that the caller on the other end was someone whom I had figured had removed herself from my life for reasons unknown to me... but she explained, while I patiently listened, all the reasons as to why she had vanished out of my life for almost half a year. We have both grown so much, and changed so much even in that tiny window of time. And to be taking the time to have a conversation of pure honesty is so refreshing. Friendships are relationships. We must remember that any relationship worth keeping is a relationship worth the time and effort of maintaining, for better and for worse. Meaning, if you choose the people in your life wisely and you choose to love them, then you must love them unconditionally. You must let them go if you have to, you must remain nonjudgmental in their choices, and you must always keep your heart open to them. And this is a practice. A constant awareness. These friends will be able to teach you things about yourself, while reminding you to have gratitude because these types of friends do not come easily and are far and few between.

The $30, 000 baby

I have vague recollections of my early days in the Philippines. Sometimes I wonder if I have dreamed it, or if they really existed. I have recollections of climbing bars with vines surrounding it. I have flashbacks of me running somewhere to play with palm trees everywhere stretching high into the sky, and my mom shouting at me to be careful and maybe not to run so fast. I have one image that stands clear in my mind of my mom and I praying side-by-side, by the bed as the sun sets. Maybe she was praying for me to have a better life. Maybe I was praying never to leave her side.

I was born accidentally, in my moms last years of menopause and 10 years after her last child. Because of her age and the frailty of her body, I was born 2 months premature and was kept incubated. It seems even as a baby I was in a hurry to experience life, costing my parents about $30, 000 just to keep me alive. Philippine Pesos or not, that is a hell of a lot of money. When I was about 2, my father died of a heart attack. He left behind a family of 9 and a stressed out mother with hardly any money to support her children. I am really uncertain of all the details and have only been told bits and pieces. The last time I saw her and I asked her about her decision she said, "I was sitting here in the dark, in this old house with nothing, no electricity and with no money even to buy my baby milk. I asked God what was I to do? And this was the answer." This is the day her heart broke. I am not sure if it really has been amended since then.

I was almost 4, perhaps close to 5, I embarked on the journey of the beginning of my Life. Really. I was asked the question, would I want to go to Canada for a vacation? A rhetorical question at that. So unsure of what was to come, I boarded a plane with an almost perfect stranger and headed to the land of opportunities. This almost perfect stranger would be my father's sister. The ironic and cruel twist of fate would have it so that this very fact would change my life. She had two boys with a Canadian man and couldn't have anymore. Her husband wanted a girl and so when my mom was pregnant with me, the offer was laid out: if it is a girl, can we have her? The answer at the time was no. The answer 2 yrs later, was yes.

It took almost 3 years for the paperwork to go through, during which my soon to be replacement father would send me vitamins to eat in order to remain healthy. And I did. Apparently my only attempt at fighting the change was coming up with a high fever on my way to Canada. Other than that, I had no complaints. I vaguely remember being carried into the airport, meeting a handful of people and receiving a teddy bear, whom would be my most devoted companion for the majority of my life. The $30 000 baby (probably more with the paperwork, flight etc.) had arrived.

Rummaging in the Darkness

If someone were to point to a deep, dark, cold hole in the ground and tell you to jump in with nothing except one solitary match and say "don't use it until you've found something in there to light it with and keep it ablaze," what would your response be?

When confronting any trauma it has been said that the best way to overcome it is to look it directly in the eye and face it with no fear. When letting go of the past one has been told that one must first focus on what must be let go of, feel it very deeply, forgive and then let go. After, one is then free to move forward with nothing hindering progression or growth. Sometimes a lot of what holds a person back is their inability to let go past traumatic situations, whether they are conscious of it or not. I suppose in order to transform it is best to wrap your beautiful ugly into a cocoon and remain still, in the darkness, until nature permits you to exit your shell with exquisite wings, free to fly.

And so here we are. I am prepared to wrap my beautiful ugly into a cocoon, jump into the dark hole with the single solitary match and be still until there is something that can keep the light ablaze long enough for me to find my way out and spread my wings.

It starts long before I was born, but that story would be ridiculous for me to try to narrate as I don't have all the details and I'm sure I never will. I will try as best to recount the events of my childhood in a chronological order, but as I attempt to lift the haze and break down years of hardened molten lava encompassing solid, concrete walls, there may be memories that float up unannounced. So the order of these may be jumbled, but then such are the memories of life...