It began at a very young age when I realized I was the only one in my family who didn't have a Father. My mom wasn't there as well, and whenever she came home, there is always this wall that we've continually mounted for the years we've spent apart that's become too high to tear down. And I so badly want to tear it down. But it's not always easy to relearn how to love. If I was a character in Ricky Lee's Para Kay B, where this girl descended down to earth from a place where there's no love, I'd probably be her, shocked by the x-ray vision of her chest through her eyes that revealed, she had no heart.
Growing up, I had to put up with an Aunt who constantly scared me, and I had to live along the current of her mood or patience or else, I'm dead meat. In my 20 years, I've probably ran away from home more than 10 times. Because there is always this vacuum inside our house which never passed up on the opportunity to suck me in, and often, I found myself gasping for air. Very young, I knew, I wasn't one of the lucky ones. I lose important documents, get in trouble for the most mundane things, be humiliated crying in Grade School and my sister will refuse to come to my defense. I joined writing contests and lost them all, I get sick on the days of our Field Trips. On the day I didn't, my mom and I were left behind by the bus while we roam around Megamall clueless of what to do next. This, of course, was the reason why I wasn't always allowed to come to Field Trips. I once spent my recognition day in Grade School home alone, and my yaya had to scrounge around for any relative available to pin me my ribbon. I'd gotten a 3rd honor award, but by then, everyone was more interested with my sister's gold medals in sports, art, and beauty pageants. It was one day during those years when I got slapped (softly) by my aunt when I refused to pray the rosary in bed because, "he never listens anyway."
And then I went to come live with my mom in London. And I just got tired of praying because I knew that nothing will ever be a blessing if I was stuck in London, sulking every waking morning for being too damn unhappy. Nobody understood, they all thought I was just a spoiled kid who wanted things to go her way. But ofcourse I wanted them to fucking go my way, because it never does.
And did I mention? In the wide number of my generation, I was picked to inherit the family disease. I have a heart illness, while every one of my cousins live in perfect health. I don't wish sickness on anyone, not even on the person I loathe the most, but you just don't overlook the fact that as if your life doesn't suck enough, the universe gives you a ticking time bomb inside your chest. (No it's not so serious, I won't die from it - well maybe someday I would - it's just an inconvenience I have to live through for the rest of my sad life.)
By High School, I became happier. I thought I found my niche, and then I decided to fall in love. Which started the long-running streak of insecurity and self-pity and this infinite thought of never being good enough. To say it short: I grew up wading through a chain of defeat and failure. That whenever I succeed at something, it almost always fades out with whatever wrong is going to happen next. And they never wait too long - tragedy, I mean.
I managed through College, because I was already aware that I'm jinxed. That not only was I fated to trip on public places with a dozen other people there to laugh at me, I was also fated to fall short on the bigger things in life. And even if I manage to come through, I had, by then, drained out every bit of emotion until I'm too spent to really celebrate the good thing, because I've already become numb.
I thought that I had my time coming after Graduation. That I'll no longer be categorized into the status quo where I always lose among, and that this was my time to live without strict walls of judgment. But I failed each and every job application until I was just forced to take one that's already there, one that don't necessarily make me happy. During those times, one failure after the other, I visited the church to plead my case. I was bargaining for something; something little that I need to have compared to all the other hundred people who were getting everything they wanted without having to ask.
It's true: Bad things happen to Good people. And it's not an isolated case, because I've spent most of my life watching jerks and bitches get to their pedestal when I'm always tripping through hurdles. And God knows I've worked hard. He should, because otherwise, I have maybe not cried loud enough.
It's gotten to a point where I'm comfortable with being the girl who never gets what she wants; where my name is associated to bad luck, and nobody is ever surprised to see me fail any more. They just feel sorry, because I'm the kind of girl who gets bare and naked vulnerable for the whole world to pick on. And I don't mind, I've grown accustomed to having an audience to my heartbreak story, it's just, it would be nice to be the girl who gets something for once. Not even everything, just anything.
And up until this point, I have not had the break. I'm still the girl who spends her birthday looking pathetic waiting for a call that would never come. The girl who ends her birthday with a terribly aching heart. For as long as I can remember, I've always had to wake up the morning after my birthday, trying to mend the extent the Universe has chosen to break my heart this time.
It's not as if I'm the most oppressed person. But heartbreak is relative. I couldn't just compare my life to a girl who has nothing to eat in Africa, because in life, you get what you get. And whatever we're given with is proportionate to things you can and can't have. I have not asked for too much in my life, I never did, but I've never felt like I was blessed. Most often, I feel forced to settle for whatever's there because after 20 years, it has become the story of my life.
And I'm just really having a hard time believing that there is someone behind all of it, with a glowing robe and a wand waiting for the perfect moment to cast a spell and make my life magical. I know he supposedly carried the cross, and died so we could live, but am I suppose to carry a cross too? Isn't my burden heavy enough for a girl who only ever wanted a tiny hint from life that she, too, is being taken care of by whoever is in charge?
All I know is that if God was to be human for a day, I will make sure he hears it from me, and all I've kept through years are vent out to the one person who actually can do anything about it but haven't.
I haven't given up on faith, i'm just saying, I will kick the next person who will tell me "it's all in the plan." Because that plan sucks. Really, really does.
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