Day 7: The Fear of Mirrors

Evil Queen on TV: Magic mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest one of all?
Little Angel: Not me.

I have no recollection of watching Snow White even though that was the first Disney VHS tape (90s kid whaddup?) our family owned. But I remember saying that back to the TV screen aloud. I was prolly five at that time.

Twenty one years later, nothing changed. That line stuck. Up to this day, I still mumble “Not me.” back to the mirror.

I had a hard time writing this. This post is actually weeks in the making. Remember that Dove ad? Yep, that started everything. I didn’t like the ad but it did spark a rather lengthy discussion with ze boyfriend about how society views beauty. It also made me realize how ugly I see myself.

That was actually painful to type.

This pretty thing never worked out for me. In a sea of petite frames, almond eyes and straight hair, frizzy top curvy tomboy me sticks out like a sore thumb. It also did not help that I grew up with a drop-dead gorgeous mom.

See what I mean?

See what I mean?

I do admit that not being pretty had its advantages. Because I can’t be the pretty girl, I decided to be the smart girl. That pushed me to excel in my studies. I drowned myself in books. I was thrilled to find Plain Janes like me in the stories I read. My heroines growing up (Jane Eyre, Jo March, Anne Shirley and eventually Hermione Granger) were everyday girls who were kickass, brilliant and capable. Their looks did not factor much in their stories. They were able to get their happy endings because they were feisty trailblazers. Besides, I know that beauty is not everything. I’d pick compassion over beauty any day.


I love these books. ❤

Song of Solomon 4:7 
You are altogether beautiful, my love; there is no flaw in you.

However ugly and fat I see myself to be, it does not change the fact that I am a woman created by the King of kings. I might find it hard to believe sometimes but I am a really His precious princess. He loves me. He sees my acne scars, jiggly arms, humongous feet, crooked teeth and declares my reflection beautiful. He appreciates that I love Him with all my mind and soul. He knows that my body is taking some time to catch up with the other two but He knows that it eventually will. He is amazing like that.

Someday, someday.

P.S. To the boy who processed this (and everything else) with me, thanks for putting up with my craziness. Two happy months! ❤


Day 4 – The Fear of Fighting a Battle Alone

I look up from the e-book I am reading and I see it.  And for the first time in months, I take the massive sight of it all in and mumble a quick thanks to God.

I have moved in to the new apartment that I share with my 2 roommates last September and from then til now, I have been averting my eyes every time I pass by that building.  Which btw is every freakin’ day.

I am a very visual person and I just cannot bear myself to look at it ‘cause the building represented everything that has been plaguing me this half year.

A prayer that was left unanswered.  A dream that was not fulfilled.  A future that did not happen.

Or so I thought.

I am gonna be the first to admit that patience is not really my strongest suit.  I despise, make that abhor waiting.  Especially if it’s waiting for something I really really really want or when I have sacrificed or am willing to sacrifice everything just to do this one thing that I don’t really want to do in the first place.

I gotta have things my way on my time on my terms.  All or nothing.  And I will do everything in my power to do everything to get it.

So the past few months of fighting for something alone wiped me out.  I cannot do anything but be still.  I seriously wanted to take the easy way out. Pull the plug and give up.  It was the most logical thing to do.  I don’t deserve to be treated this way.  I didn’t need this.  I am perfectly fine where I was.  I don’t need added drama (Yep, world.  That came from Drama Queen me.)  in my life. Plus the fact that it is easier and less complicated.

As is the theme of this blog, it was again about me, me, me, me, me and me.

Yep, I am such a self-centered, spoiled brat.

I have always wanted something/someone to fight for me.  I won’t admit it to your face but that’s what I have always wanted.  All my life, I was the one who picked up the wee bow (Should be read with Merida’s gorgeous accent, of course.) and fought for things/people/beliefs that I love.  I guess I am waiting for the moment that someone/something else will do the fighting for me.  Cause to be honest, fighting a battle by yourself can be extremely exhausting and lonely.

Because of months of silence, I assumed that I was just the one holding on, wishing, fighting and praying for this.

Little did I know that people have been fighting alongside me all this time.  They were actually on my side!  They didn’t abandon ship.  They wanted me on board.  And not because they were desperate or didn’t have any other choice but because they really thought that I can do it.  They believed in me even if I myself didn’t believe in me.

After all the sleepless nights battling self-doubt, hearing that was kinda too much.  (If you’re me, EVERYTHING is kinda too much.  I can be very dramatic, what can I say?)  How could I be so shortsighted?  How could I be so stupid?  As is always the case, all I was seeing was myself.  God was powerfully moving in the background but I was too busy with this whole self-preservation deal to notice that.

If I am to get this “figuring out life” thing really rolling, I have to believe that people are not out there to get me.  They are for me.  Sure, they can (and prolly will) disappoint me.  Sure, they can (and prolly will) hurt me.  But by shutting people out, I am just hindering myself from growing.  The problem with having books as your friends growing up is that they never talk back.  They never disagree with you.  I can always change the book if I don’t want to read it anymore. I have been so used to that setup that I was pretty much applying that to my dealings with people.  But that’s not how it works in real life.

I need to let people in.  I need them to challenge my beliefs.  I need them to broaden my perspective.  I need to give myself an opportunity to know them and vice versa.  I cannot just shut out everyone who does not make me feel safe.  Plus, it’s getting boring just hearing my own voice over and over again.

I dunno what will happen to this dream but every time I will pass by that building now, I will smile knowing that God and other people are fighting alongside me.  He may choose to grant the desires of my heart.  He may choose to withhold it too.  But I will choose to trust in His ways and timing and learn to accept His answer, whether it’s yes, no or wait.

Day 3 – The Fear of Not Being Different

If there was one thing that drove me to where I am right now, it has always been my desire to be different.

I remember 4–year-old me making a promise to lead a very different life from everyone in my family.  (You want the sordid details? Talk to me in person.)  I vowed that I will excel in my studies and use my education to get out of the hell hole that was Cavite.  I will not be like them, never be like them.

I entered school and the desire to be different took over my life.  I was kinda great at school so I thrived in that environment.  I was the weird literature-loving girl in elementary and high school. I was fortunate enough to go to UP Diliman where I was known as the black-wearing, music-loving, I-am–gonna-be-a-music-journalist-after-this-suckers girl who didn’t really care about what others thought.

I lived for the high that being different brought me.  Then I met Jesus my last semester in college and everything changed.

The Jesus I knew growing up was angry and distant.  The Jesus that CCC (Bless these people, really!) was so countercultural and awesome that I wanted to be like him.  Finally someone I can aspire to be.  Finally someone who loved me back wholly.  Finally someone who accepted me, flaws and deep wounds and issues and all.  I was so filled with His love that I wanted to go fulltime with CCC to share the gospel.

Life, however, happened.

My mom kicked me out of the house when she found out that I was a Christian and wanted to be a missionary.  I don’t blame her.  My mom has always been the pragmatic type.  She is also not a believer so the big revelation that her only daughter is “throwing it all away” (her words) for God (who was never really a figure in our lives) is so absurd.  Plus the fact that the one who financed my college education was my very pious Roman Catholic aunt in the States also did not help. She just wanted what was what she thought was best for me.  Translation? Financial security.

And that didn’t sit well with oh-so-smart-I-got-this-all-figured-out fresh from graduation me.  I wanted adventure.  I wanted to change and see the world.  I wanted to create.  I wanted to collaborate.  I wanted to make a difference.  I wanted to be different.  I didn’t (and still don’t) care about money.

But all I had was passion.  Without firm Christian foundations yet(still?),  I got pretty bogged down by everyday survival that I decided to put God on hold and pursue a career far from the mission field.

Those were my wilderness years.  I learned it the hard way that a person cannot really spark a revolution however good your intentions are.  As much as I hated admitting it, I became part of the system that I vowed to change.  The idealist got disillusioned and beaten down.  I was no longer different.

I became a suit. *shudders*

Thankfully, God had other plans.

After 3 years, He finally called me to the mission field through OMF Literature, Inc.  For the first time ever, I was plugged into the Christian world and they were okay that I was different.  My typical day was filled with books, God, fellow Christians who understood and celebrated my quirks, spiritual mentors, meaningful conversations, lots of laughs, books and more books.  I also started taking my faith “seriously” and decided to plug myself into CCF St. Francis mid last year.

I was at my happy place and I got spoiled and complacent.  I thought that since I was leading such a great life, I can handle things my way again.

Yep, I can really be the stupidest girl in the world sometimes.

God gave me a clear vision of where He wanted me to be early this year.  I shrugged it off, tried to run away from it because it was so far from what I envisioned myself to be.  I told God that I didn’t want to be a bore. (BAHAHAHAHA)

But He was persistent.  He kept me awake for days on end.  I relented begrudgingly, took the first few steps that He showed me to take then He became silent.

Just. Like. That.

It seemed so unfair to stop hearing from Him after I did everything He asked me to.  Little did I know that He was using that silence to teach me something else.  I was so focused on His grueling silence regarding my obedience that I failed to realize that He is using this season to teach me that this I got this whole being different business all wrong.

This obsession for my being unique made me alienate/hurt a lot of people.  It wasn’t my intention and I wasn’t aware that I have been doing that but I have been judging people who didn’t agree with my likes and belief system.  Yep, the girl who hated judgmental people became judgmental herself.  The irony of all ironies.

I was such a jerk.

The funny thing is I am now realizing that in reality, I really am not that different from everybody else.  It will still take me some time to unlearn it but I am beginning to accept the fact that I am essentially just like you.  And that is not a bad thing.

After all, just like you, I am in need of God’s mercy and saving grace.  Without Him, who are we really?  Without Him, who am I really?

I am getting there in His time.  Someday, someday.

P.S. I’d still prolly judge you if you like Twilight and 50 Shades of Grey but it won’t be a reason to pull the “Friendship over.” card. Or not.

P.P.S. I still want adventure.  I still want to change and see the world.  I still want to create.  I still want to collaborate.  I still want to make a difference.

Day 2 – The Fear of Reaching Out to Someone You’ve Wronged

They’ve always said that you always hurt the ones you love most.  As much as I wanna cry foul over that statement, I know I did just that to him 7 years ago.

Last time we saw each other, I said a lot of things I really didn’t mean.  I was sick with chicken pox, young and stupid.  I also just had a grueling NatSci 1 (a Physics and Chem combo GE subject for everyone who’s not from UP) midterms that I somehow managed to do great in despite my sickness so that might  have contributed to that, too.

“You never accepted me as your dad.”

“You know what’s funny?  The year I finally told myself that I want you two to get married, you do this to us. So thanks a lot for ruining our lives!”

I was tired of hearing my Mom cry herself to sleep.  I was tired of seeing my brother waste a year away just because of what happened.  I was tired of trying to be strong for everyone when I was also hurting.

The only family I knew is falling apart in front of my eyes and I cannot do anything to prevent it.


I picked up the phone, dialed AFPMC’s number and tried my luck into weaseling my way through the operators to talk to my ex-stepdad over the lunch break today.

It’s been 7 years.  I actually never thought I’d be able to hear his voice again.  I don’t know why but the minute he said hello, the tears started streaming down my face.

It was so good to hear his voice again.

We did the usual small talk.  I asked him how he is and he told me that his diabetes has taken a turn for the worse over the past few years.  He now has to undergo dialysis three times a week.  I winced when he said that.  He told me about seeing Inka and Topher last year.  Inka’s going to college next year and Topher’s doing great even if the kid is kinda sickly.  He also told me the last time he saw me was on TV.  I marveled at the fact that that seemed like ages ago.  My voice apparently changed, too.  I laughed a little and said that 7 years is a really long time.

He also answered the question that was plaguing me all these months.  It was really him whom I saw in Megamall on a wheelchair some months back.  He told me he saw my hair and knew instantly that that was me even though he didn’t get to see my face.  I told him I regretted not stopping to say hi.  I wanted to tell him that the reason why I stopped is that I couldn’t bear seeing him that way.  You never really want to see your parents (biological or not) that way. Ever.  I was not ready to accept the fact the he was that sick.  I wanted to tell him all these so badly but I didn’t.  I guess I wanted to tell him that in person.

I wanted to talk more but he’s scheduled for a dialysis and had to go.  I left my number and told him I wanted to meet him for dinner and I am bringing Oyie, too.  He told me that he’s free by Thursday next week.

If he doesn’t text me, I’ll call him next week.


Next up?

Contacting my real dad.

Day 1 – The Fear of Knowing Where I (Don’t) Stand

Go ahead, ask me.

Q: Given the choice, would you rather know or not know?

A: Not know.

Q: Why?

A: Knowing seems so final and I’ve always hated goodbyes.


Of course, you don’t have a single clue but I actually started The Brave Project yesterday with you.  Yes, you.  If you just knew how much I wanted to dieeeee that time than ever having that conversation with you.  The fact that you won’t get to read this is a tinny tiny consolation. Yay me!

I was able to say sorry but I don’t think I ever got to say thanks.  For everything.  You are partly the reason why I am doing this.  I know I did stupid stuff before like shrugging off the people who has laid the groundwork for this massive overhaul but I guess I just said that to be funny.  You were very patient and I appreciated that a lot.  I just have a really funny way of expressing it sometimes.  Really sorry about that.  And yes, I know.  My sense of humor is the pits.  At least, we can always agree on that.

The last time I was here, I burned the bridge.  Pulled the pin, threw the grenade and walked away without even so much as a peep on where it hit.  I frankly just didn’t care.  I was hurt and and confused. I also was 22.

“How dare you wrong me? What did I do wrong? Why me? I me I me I me I me I me I me I me I me I me!”

He was bad news so it was prolly better that way.  To be honest, a part of me wants to do that to you, too.  But I cannot make myself do it.

Maybe that’s the thing about doing the right thing.  Maybe doing the right thing especially when it comes to the people who matter is really hard to do.  All srs bsns ’cause you always risk hurting them or worse, losing them.  Doing the right thing can also mean shoving all your wants and desires aside to make room for what the other person wants.  It is actually listening, not merely hearing.  An actual two-way conversation, not self-aggrandizing monologues from both camps.

I won’t lie.  Right now, it feels like my heart is being ripped apart into a million tiny pieces and all I want to do is build these massive walls around me and shut you out off my life for good because the thought of facing you again hurts so much and it makes the simple act of breathing excruciatingly painful.   But I cannot do it.  What good will that bring me?  I know that really wouldn’t solve anything.  I am just pushing the issue under the rug.  And well, you don’t really deserve to be treated that way.

So I gave myself a weekend to be stupid, faced my fear of dealing with the issue, learned to accept the facts and however painful it is, walked away quietly to move on.

I miss you already.

Do you believe in second chances?  I hope you do. Cause maybe next year, we’ll just laugh about this.  Maybe next year, I’d squirm at the fact that I liked you.  Maybe next year, I’ll look back and go, “What the hell was I thinking?”  Who knows, right?

But for now, I  am waving a little goodbye.

P.S. Did I sound like a total cliche or what?

Day 0 – The Why

Lady Gloom Angel made quite a grand entrance in the form of “heap on the floor” (to quote She & Him) me last weekend.  I was a wreck.  I would normally give a detailed, hourly account of that fateful night (Cause I am a glutton for punishment that way, ha!) but even the usually thick-faced (especially at every chance to laugh at myself) me thinks the specifics are kinda embarrassing to detail here.  Let’s just leave those to your very vivid imagination.  Always remember the wise words of Pablo Picasso.  Everything you can imagine is real. (Lolwut?!)

I ended up talking to a friend online about my boohoos around 12 midnight-ish.  I was going on and on about the major suckage that is my life and how much I hate failing in everything I do when he practically shouted through the screen.


I have never been tasered but I am pretty sure this is his equivalent of virtually tasering me.  And this is a bohemian (?) dude who never says anything nice to anyone when he’s sober.  He asked questions, I whined some more, he gave some stupid advice, we laughed it off, I whined some more and then he had to go to sleep.

I was left to ponder with the question above.

Do I really think of myself as a failure?

The short answer is yes. The long answer is below.

This is Dexter’s letter to Emma, taken from One Day.

To say that I can relate is an understatement. 

My life is far from perfect.  Most of the time, I dunno what the hell I am doing.  Sure, I “try” (really really hard) to make it seem that I am okay on the outside.  I project an image of a put-together girl who has it all figured out.  I even have the nerve to push people away when they don’t get me.  But in reality, I don’t know a freakin’ thing about anything. I talk a good game about seemingly having answers to whatever is thrown at me but I don’t really know jack about the things that matter like faith, hope and love.  Couple my ignorance with the important stuff to my extreme paranoia when it comes to letting people into my life and voila, you have the accident waiting to happen that is moi.

It took me quite a while (and 3 angry close friends’ confrontations in the span of 4 days) to admit what I am about to write here to myself.  At the risk of sounding like a suicide risk, I am starting off this blog/project with this confession.  (Contrary to popular belief, killing myself is not really my style.  I am too scared of blood. Yep, there’s that word again.)

I am just so freakin’ scared to do anything that I end up blocking my own shot to being happy.

I implode. I self-combust. I crash and burn. (These all sound like really cool superpowers, don’t you think?)

Out in the world, I am this giddy girl who believes in unicorns and fairy tales.  But late at night in the solitary confinement of my kingdom(which is the top bunk of a double-deck bed somewhere in Pasig), I blame myself. For everything.

If only I were this.  If only I weren’t that.  If only I did this.  If only I didn’t do that. If only. If only.

Playing the victim can be very romantic when you think of it. Oh, the anguish! Oh. the sleepless nights! Oh, the nonstop worst case scenarios! Cue the world’s tiniest violin. (This is precisely the reason why Wuthering Heights is a classic.  Tortured Heathcliff ftw!)  Make these thoughts reside in your head for 25 years and they will become your drug.  Who needs illegal pharmaceuticals when I can get my fix by just going to a dark corner to sulk ala Angela Chase?  (Yes, I do realize that I am sounding like an immature 15-year-old by comparing myself to a fictional teenage heroine of the 90s. Btw, go watch it if you haven’t seen My So-Called Life. ‘T was a great show that was off the air way too soon. Check out Twin Peaks, Freaks & Geeks and my beloved Firefly while you’re at it.  These shows were also gone way too soon. Sadface.)

If I am honest with myself, I can even say that this dark abyss of a reality that I have created for myself has become my home.

I can rant off all the excuses in the world to rationalize my shitty outlook in life.  Daddy issues.  Abandonment issues.  Bad childhood.  Sexual abuse as a kid.  Betrayal by my own family who turned a blind eye on said abuse because of money.  Feeling that I’ll never be good enough for anything or anyone because I am dirty.  Having to prove my worth over and over again to people who just don’t “get” me.  Growing up in a family who finds it hard to express encouragement.

But these are just those.  Freakin’ excuses.

2 Corinthians 5:17 New International Version

17 Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!

This verse is very much basic Sunday School and yet I can’t claim this promise.  And I dare call myself a Christian, right?! (And a Sunday School teacher at that!) I can really be such a hypocrite.

But I need to stop all this before it’s too late.  I need to stop blaming myself for stuff that wasn’t my doing.  I need to stop with the pity party and begin seeing myself the way God and the people important to me see me.  I need to stop letting the hurts of the past deter me from pursuing the things that will make me happy.  I need to stop holding on to grudges and start forgiving the people who have wronged me.  Ultimately, I need to stop with the if only’s and begin the probably long journey of forgiving myself for feeling this way all my life.

Things like this keep me up at night.  I cannot believe I am baring it all for the world to see.  Yep, universe.  I am deeply flawed and I am telling it all.  The process of revealing how dark and black my heart really is frightening and liberating at the same time.

So I am starting The Brave Project to push myself to get past these issues and live a life that’s good and right and real. (I love you, T. Swizzle! Listen to State of Grace now!)

Please be my strength through all this, Lord.  I need you more than ever.