Do you look much older than your age? I am. I remember when I was still at grade five when a man who is eighteen years older than I, was trying to flatter me with all those words that most species of my kind loves to hear - telling you to have the beauty of a goddess, the kindness of a person asleep, the industriousness of an ant, etcetera, even though you’re not. Funny how most men I know have the same style just to trap a ladies heart, huh! I didn’t fall into his trap though because first and foremost I was too young for those things, and second first and foremost he is not handsome! (Indeed there is first first and second first, heheh!) Call me superficial but come on…get real! Physical attractiveness often land at the top list, if not the topmost, of one’s criteria of who and what kind of lover one wishes to “have.” Anyway because the man thought I was already 16 or 17 year-old, he started courting me, only to feel ashamed when he later found out that I was only 11 year-old! I’ve also observed that most men who get “interested” of me are at least 8 to 10 years and up, older than I am. Can we consider them pederasts? Nah. It was my appearance’s fault. Can’t blame them for “falling in love” with the beauty of a woman when she is still actually a girly girl. Whoa! (Do you think a storm is approaching already? Just let me carry my own chair, after all, it is only in imagining and writing that I can become whatever I wanted to become). Well anyway, I also had some childhood puppy loves; Tin-Tin my favorite, her brother Tan-Tan, their mother Delilah…I loved puppies, heheh! If you’re thinking of humans, forget it, heheh! ;-)
What am I saying in here?
Ok, I’ll get serious now….
Ah, forget ‘bout it. I don’t wanna be the next one being lamented in the funeral soon, you know (Well, that is, if ever there are people, or even someone to lament my death, heheh). Now, where am I… Uh, yes, because my father is so strict I remember that some college ladies would even have to ask my dad’s permission if I could be their friend saying, “Uncle pwede ba naming maging kaibigan si ate Anabelle?” Gosh! I was only in my high school years yet those college students were addressing me as “ate” or “manang” already! ggrrrrrrr!!! Hey I am not an over-age either, ok. It’s just that I really look older than my age.
I think the reason is more because of thinking too much. I’m not saying I am a genius because I am not; I’m simply the moron of morons. Well anyway, I always appeared to be serious all the time, aloof, and distanced. I don’t know but I used to busy myself thinking of possible solutions of how to eliminate the virus that has consumed the human heart. Perfectionist that I was (well sometimes, I still am), I easily get depressed with people, with things around me, and even with myself, that I often withdraw to my distant world. I considered the world, or life for that matter as a problem to be solved, rather than seeing it as a gift to be enjoyed. Moreover, with the kind of family that I grew up with, my ability to paint my life with bright colors was crippled, that I just often find my works dominated with dark hues. I was really crazy (actually I still am, only in different ways now, bwe,hehehe) thinking I was a hero, born to save the world from its impending doom. But thank God (if there is God) I woke up from that long nightmare and realized that the world doesn’t need a hero after all. Or, even if they needed some, or one hero, they fail to appreciate them anyway. What’s the sense? Thank God (if there is God) I woke up to my senses and realize that I am not a hero after all. I never was, and never will be one. I was just pretending, and it’s all over.
Some people consider me deep, mature, and grown up beyond my years. Well not because I look older than my age but because I always seem to be serious, cultured, mannered. But honestly I am still immature, “childish,” “mababaw” in a lot of ways. Being serious does not necessarily mean maturity. Stop smiling does not necessarily mean being a grown up person already. Aside from being dominated by a black bile, that is, aside from having this melancholic temperament, I was “forced” to “grow old” at the very young age. I had to be “serious,” to assume responsibilities, and if possible to stop fantasizing already. But then it was (and still) my imaginative ability that saved me from total self-destruction. If I can’t be a child in real world, why can’t I be one in my world of fantasy, right? It is by holding on to ones dreams that one can still manage to smile though reality is to be lamented upon. Sometimes it becomes more depressing though, knowing that oftentimes it is difficult to extend that light from the world of illusions to reality.
Here I am, 22 years old, and it’s only now that I am beginning to feel how it is to be a child. Being serious could be so tiring. I also want to laugh out loud, to shout at the top of my lungs, to sing though it may cause storms and thunders, to dance though it may cause earthquakes, to write as if no one is going to read it, not minding my poor sentence and grammar construction, to draw my master pieces although they may just be crap to others, to speak my truth, my dreams – or die in the attempt.
Somewhere else I read that we don’t stop playing because we grow old. We grow old because we stop playing. To my fellow student of life, life is too short to waste it. Growing up doesn’t mean adhering to society’s standards, or to old people’s criteria of ways of living. Growing up is learning to be oneself, affirming what life has to offer regardless of how miserable it seems, at the same time giving ones best to live authentically.
My aunt once told me, “Smile not because there are reasons to smile but because your smile itself may give others the reason to smile,” or something like that. Whether one looks older than her/his age or not, or whether one is indeed biologically speaking, old or not, may we at least be young at heart, like an animated child at play. Let our motto be, “My existence, My pleasure!”
What am I saying in here?
Ok, I’ll get serious now….
Ah, forget ‘bout it. I don’t wanna be the next one being lamented in the funeral soon, you know (Well, that is, if ever there are people, or even someone to lament my death, heheh). Now, where am I… Uh, yes, because my father is so strict I remember that some college ladies would even have to ask my dad’s permission if I could be their friend saying, “Uncle pwede ba naming maging kaibigan si ate Anabelle?” Gosh! I was only in my high school years yet those college students were addressing me as “ate” or “manang” already! ggrrrrrrr!!! Hey I am not an over-age either, ok. It’s just that I really look older than my age.
I think the reason is more because of thinking too much. I’m not saying I am a genius because I am not; I’m simply the moron of morons. Well anyway, I always appeared to be serious all the time, aloof, and distanced. I don’t know but I used to busy myself thinking of possible solutions of how to eliminate the virus that has consumed the human heart. Perfectionist that I was (well sometimes, I still am), I easily get depressed with people, with things around me, and even with myself, that I often withdraw to my distant world. I considered the world, or life for that matter as a problem to be solved, rather than seeing it as a gift to be enjoyed. Moreover, with the kind of family that I grew up with, my ability to paint my life with bright colors was crippled, that I just often find my works dominated with dark hues. I was really crazy (actually I still am, only in different ways now, bwe,hehehe) thinking I was a hero, born to save the world from its impending doom. But thank God (if there is God) I woke up from that long nightmare and realized that the world doesn’t need a hero after all. Or, even if they needed some, or one hero, they fail to appreciate them anyway. What’s the sense? Thank God (if there is God) I woke up to my senses and realize that I am not a hero after all. I never was, and never will be one. I was just pretending, and it’s all over.
Some people consider me deep, mature, and grown up beyond my years. Well not because I look older than my age but because I always seem to be serious, cultured, mannered. But honestly I am still immature, “childish,” “mababaw” in a lot of ways. Being serious does not necessarily mean maturity. Stop smiling does not necessarily mean being a grown up person already. Aside from being dominated by a black bile, that is, aside from having this melancholic temperament, I was “forced” to “grow old” at the very young age. I had to be “serious,” to assume responsibilities, and if possible to stop fantasizing already. But then it was (and still) my imaginative ability that saved me from total self-destruction. If I can’t be a child in real world, why can’t I be one in my world of fantasy, right? It is by holding on to ones dreams that one can still manage to smile though reality is to be lamented upon. Sometimes it becomes more depressing though, knowing that oftentimes it is difficult to extend that light from the world of illusions to reality.
Here I am, 22 years old, and it’s only now that I am beginning to feel how it is to be a child. Being serious could be so tiring. I also want to laugh out loud, to shout at the top of my lungs, to sing though it may cause storms and thunders, to dance though it may cause earthquakes, to write as if no one is going to read it, not minding my poor sentence and grammar construction, to draw my master pieces although they may just be crap to others, to speak my truth, my dreams – or die in the attempt.
Somewhere else I read that we don’t stop playing because we grow old. We grow old because we stop playing. To my fellow student of life, life is too short to waste it. Growing up doesn’t mean adhering to society’s standards, or to old people’s criteria of ways of living. Growing up is learning to be oneself, affirming what life has to offer regardless of how miserable it seems, at the same time giving ones best to live authentically.
My aunt once told me, “Smile not because there are reasons to smile but because your smile itself may give others the reason to smile,” or something like that. Whether one looks older than her/his age or not, or whether one is indeed biologically speaking, old or not, may we at least be young at heart, like an animated child at play. Let our motto be, “My existence, My pleasure!”
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