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MODULE 3, Entry 2 of 2.

My Online/Offline Identities

This may seem very unlikely in this day and age, but I have no self-created social media posts on SNS! But we will continue to dissect what exactly I have on all my active SNS accounts (i.e. Tumblr, Pinterest and Facebook), and discuss my overall lack of self-created posts.

Facebook

These two posts are the only things I’ve added to my timeline in the last half year. They’re posted by my Mom and my older sister, respectively, who are more active on Facebook than I am. I don’t really use Facebook so much for anything. I haven’t updated my profile picture or cover photo in over a year! :( But I do use Messenger a lot, mostly for school-related communication or with friends.

Tumblr

My real-life Tumblr account mirrors the same findings. I don’t create my own posts, and only reblog those that I find funny or interesting. I usually use Tumblr as a source for fandom meta-analysis, in-depth astrology updates, and obscure linguistics and Roman history posts. I feel like my account is very disorganized, which is uncharacteristic of me, a person who labels everything and plans out things to a tee. Tumblr gives me an avenue to be in the moment, to like what I like and post whatever. Tumblr is also an excellent source for a wide variety of esoteric topics, a huge factor in my constant use.

To get a more organized understanding of my online interests (as Tumblr posts are numerous and not very organized), we will look at my Pinterest boards.

Pinterest also allows for a diverse slew of topics of interest, except without Tumblr’s user input. But Pinterest is more organized because it provides boards. And I think, with 374 followers, I am able to relate my ideas more with the community without really interacting with them. My interest are mostly fandom-centered (e.g. Game of Thrones, Maze Runner, Harry Potter, Les Mis, etc.). I have a few boards on KPOP, but they stopped being active after I lost interest. I have my girly boards with clothes and make-up and aesthetics. My most popular and extensive board is the one on humor!

Discussion

I believe several things have contributed to my lack of self-created posts:

I didn’t grow up with social media. My mother in particular didn’t allow me an email or a Facebook account until I was 16. So most of my life was not centered around chatting or online life. In fact, I don’t like chat-messaging for hours on end! This explains a lot about my inactivity on Facebook, for example. Updating people about everything going on in my life seems a bit tedious and somewhat narcissistic unnecessary for someone who was only exposed to the culture for two years. In this sense, I am more of an offline entity than an online one.

My offline shyness translates into my online persona too. I avoid allowing posts that show unflattering angles or shots on my timeline, and I (like in real life) feel that I’d be a little self-absorbed if I started doing that.

I only really stick with sites that hold my interest. I believe I mentioned in my other blog entry that I love information. I can spend hours looking up the most obscure topics because they make me happy. Online too. This is why my accounts on Snapchat and Twitter started becoming inactive after a few weeks.

The sense of community is enough for me. Knowing that other people are interested in my pins, or seeing my friends on my timeline from time to time is enough for me to feel “at home” in my virtual world. Sometimes I leave comments or reacts on Facebook. I leave likes on Pinterest. On Tumblr, I leave anonymous comments on my the page of my mutual, Sydney Clark (@trulymadlysydney), who’s been like a sister to me in the year I’ve been on Tumblr, telling her how I’ve been or congratulating her on her latest achievement.

In all, my virtual persona is very, very similar to my actual personality. I believe it is the product of a restricted upbringing, in the sense that online life was never really part of my life until recently. I carry a lot of myself into my virtual world (my shyness, my punny humor, etc), whilst exploring the topics that interest me in real life (fandoms, Roman history, French language, and so on).

#module 3 #socsc 11

BINHI Reflections

My time spent with Ate Sheila at Blessings Bookbinding and Photocopy Services truly was a blessing, and I mean this sincerely with all my heart. At first, I was very apprehensive about not knowing anything. Even with Ate Ekha’s help and all the workshops we attended, being on the spot was different: How was I supposed to last 6 hours without making things awkward? What if I made mistakes with the printing and Ate Sheila would have to suffer for it? I didn’t want to be a burden. But when I got there, everything went better than expected.

#BINHI reflections #SOCSC 11

MODULE 2, Entry 2 of 2.

Questioning my Hogwarts Identity

In life, there are things you are sure about. And then there are things you are sure about.

#SOCSC 11 #module 2

MODULE 2, Entry 1 of 2.

Who I am with different people, as told through the freshest memes. (Also, I made them myself! :D) Without further ado, I present some of my many faces!

#module 2 #masks #socsc 11

MODULE 3, Entry 1 of 2.

Changes in the Parent-Child Relationship

I was really interested in the two articles on Individuation because they were clearly written by Americans, for an American audience. As we all know, American culture is one that emphasizes individuality and independence, which is an ideological climate that is very, very different from Philippine culture.

From reading Smollar and Youniss’ work, it seemed that much of the initiation towards separation was done on the child’s part. The child is driven to explore outside the family, transform parental bonds, redefine the power dynamic, while the parents adjust accordingly. In my life, it seems as though it is my parents who might sever the parental bond. Interesting, isn’t it?

This infographic is an analogy of the individuation process as I have experienced and am currently experiencing it now, but instead of Smollar and Youniss’ focus on child-driven separation, my version also includes the perspective of my parents (as I have gathered from what they told me). The process is divided into four maybe five? sections. The years are my own categorizations.

The Childhood Years (0 to 8) My parents were fond of me during my childhood years. I remember excitement and happiness. My dad would teach me how to swim, ride a bike. Mom would dress me up, maybe treat me to a “pedicure.” (She would only color my big toe!) I remember Mom would tell me to stand at one end of our long hallway, while she stood at the other. Then she would make me as fast as I could whilst screaming as loud as I can, right into her arms as she would catch me into the tightest embrace. Of course, there would be times where they would get mad at me, but they were mere flashes in the pan, forgiven and forgotten within the day.

In the infographic, this relationship is crafted with excitement and eagerness by my parents (because there is a certain fondness for babies, isn’t there?). The parents form the child into the mini-me versions of themselves.

Preadolescence (9 to 13) These years mark the beginning of true disputes. These were the years my parents started literally hammering me to fit into the mold that they wanted me to take (in terms of mannerisms, behavior, etc.). My mother always said, “I’m not afraid to be the unpopular parent, as long as my children are the better for it.” Corporal punishment was a big thing in our household (though thankfully, the thick wooden slat above the TV has been long out of use).

These were the years I first felt any resentment towards my parents, who didn’t allow me to go out with friends or experience the use of social networking sites like every other normal child. I wanted to find who I was (if I was anybody at all), but I felt caged in. Still, I swallowed my pride and obeyed. I had no choice. My parents too were a lot moodier, especially Mom who was undergoing menopause. Hence, there was a “turning up of heat” in the process with the intense exchange of emotions.

The Teenage Years (14 to 17) Ah, my teenage years! This was the time I started crying about boys and worrying about carbs. My parents took a secondary role in my life during this time, while I started problematizing the society-based standards imposed on me. (Why is no one making me ligaw? Why am I not pretty? etc, etc.). Like glass, I was very fragile, but a semblance of identity had started to solidify. But ‘cracks’ started to appear as well.

By cracks, I refer to the products of how my parents raised me when I was younger. For example, remember when I said they didn’t allow me to go out with friends when I pleaded to? By the time they gave me the freedom to go out, I no longer wanted to. All my friends had built cliques and friendships without me, and I felt out-of-place, like an outsider. I turned out shy and an outcast with most of my relatives, often outshined by my more outgoing sister. And I am still paying for their mistakes repercussions to this day.

Young Adulthood (18 to this very moment) Turning 18 was more tumultuous than anybody expected. Because my parents babied me, growing into an adult with all the uncertainty made me cling on to the comforts of childhood. I have been sadder and angrier now, more than I ever was before. I started self-harming, and seeing a psychiatrist. I am reclusive and socially awkward. All the mistakes of the past seemed to have accumulated into one big mess of a person, too brittle to adapt to life’s new demands.

At this point, my parents are tired. I feel I have drained them of the will to support me when I am such a toxic person. Mom said my sister and I were opposites. Ate rebelled in her early teenage years, estranging herself from our family early on. While I, on the other hand, “grew beautifully” (obediently, like a dog), and didn’t complain. I’m a late bloomer, I guess, in the sense that all my bottled up teenage angst came at the onset of adulthood. For this, I have hurt my parents unnecessarily, and I have worried them beyond reason too many times, all within the last year or so. They always tried their best within their capabilities to accommodate me, but now their hands are bloodied, wounded and tired. Enthusiasm has turned into exasperation. In frustration, they have told me that they don’t know if they can keep draining themselves because of me. I guess we’ll have to see.

Adulthood (? to ?) I don’t know where I’ll go from here. I don’t know if my parents will have the strength and the patience to support me if I trigger another suicidal breakdown (the last one was about two weeks ago). But I do know that life moves on, whether I’m ready for it or not. Adulthood will come for me, regardless. I only hope I won’t have to go through it completely alone.

#SOCSC 11 #module 3

MODULE 0, Entry 2 of 2.

15 September 2018

Dearest Katelyn,

I don’t know what to say or how to say it. These past few weeks have been the highest and the lowest points in your life. Suddenly, you’re free—free to go where you please, to do what you want. You have a beautiful campus with beautiful people, and possibilities that make your life before seem dull. Yet here you are—lost, anxious. You have no friends here. At least not yet. Again, you cannot connect with them. It’s the way it’s always been. College was supposed to be different. Did you throw your life away? Will you watch it pass you by? You didn’t join any orgs this year. You are very afraid that that’s exactly what you’re going to do. You can’t commit, you say. You don’t know if you’re good enough. You’re not enough. Well, let me ask you something.

Look at the drops of rain outside. See the mud and the earth, the ants that crawl. It thunders and it weeps outside; the skies are gray. The windows clang against their metal frames. It’s chaos. But it is beautiful in spite of it, is it not? The wind is cool, your hair is splayed. The bed is warmer than it’s ever been. You count the splatters on the wall.

Now think.

Do the showers make you weep, my love? The clouds and the dark grey? You cry for your future. You cry for your friends. You cry for all the things that worry you, and yet you never weep for joy. For laughter. For blessings. All you see are the problems, the work, the stress. But life is colored by the smallest things you take for granted—the sun in the morning, the blue of the sky. There is so much more to the world around you, and there is so much more to you too. There is a world within, the depths of which only you can know.

I can see that you’re afraid. Behind the façade of indifference, you are lonely. You shut people out because you think you aren’t worthy of their love, that they’ll leave and replace you like they always have. Let them in. Take the chance. Get hurt. Be loved. Open yourself up to the fact that maybe you haven’t found the right people yet, but you’ll never find them if you don’t try. You’re more interesting than you think. Share that with the world.

And for once, don’t center your life around grades. You’ve given up so much to get where you are—you lost your childhood, your friends, your happiness, your life. Give it a rest. Give yourself a rest. Join extracurriculars. Take chances. Your fear of failure will get you nowhere. Don’t sit and watch as the world passes you by. I know you’re lost. You don’t believe you can make it through life. But, Katelyn, you have found reserves of strength you never knew you had, in something inside you that you didn’t know was there. Do it again. And again. And again. Prove your mom and your sister wrong when they call you weak. You have it in you. I know you do.

Life is beautiful. You don’t always have to be the best. It’s okay to make mistakes—what would life be without them? You’re everything you want to be, my love. You’re everything you’ve ever been. And you’re exactly where you need to be. Take it easy on yourself. Take it slow. Live one day at a time.

Breathe. Fail. Live.

I’ll be here every step of the way.

Katelyn

#socsc 11 #module 0

MODULE 1, Entry 2 of 2.

#entry 3 #SOCSC 11 #daily vacation #self care #module 1

MODULE 0, Entry 1 of 2.

E pluribus, unum.

What defines my lineage? Is it the eyes of my father? The jaw of my mother? Perhaps my teeth are like my grandfather’s, or my nose like my grandmother’s. What defines a person? A person is more than just their gait or their face, the lilt of their voice. A human being is the amalgamation of every trait, every feature, every microscopic imperfection that defines their physicality. And the internal self is the same.

Complex. Hybrid. One.

The face of my personality is a globalized creation. I am made up of the things I am, the things I have been, and the things I want to be. I see the world with the blue of Sansa Stark’s eyes, in shades of innocence and hope, and the shattering of what I thought growing up would mean. The brown of Fanny Price’s eyes are my pride -- pride against the Filipino standard that dictates that introversion is a flaw, that women should be talkative and outgoing in order to be noticed. When I was 14, Jane Austen’s Fanny Price showed me that even the most quiet of girls deserves a happy ending. That sense of hope echoed within me, influencing the way I thought and saw the world. But soon, time forced me to leave the safety of my childhood.

Victor Hugo’s Cosette is the backdrop of half of my portrait. She is my love for theatre, both foreign and local; she embodies my fondness for the French language, and the disuse of my mother tongue. She represents an awakening to the ills and the realities of the world outside. Cosette is a child growing up. She sees the problems of her nation -- the poverty, the stagnation, the disunity -- yet she feels helpless. The world of Les Miserables revolves around the men who drive the story’s narrative. Cosette challenges me to contribute to society, to change my foreign ideals in favor of a more locally-oriented one. She inspires me to never back down, even when I feel weak.

My globalized self wishes to speak with the voice of Peggy Carter. Unfazed by the limitations set on women in the time of WWII, Peggy drives me to smash the patriarchy with a stapler, whilst in red lipstick and three-inch heels. She is the voice telling me that the gender roles in the Philippines are passé. She is my sister, my mother, my lola. She is all the women who have been put down for their sex, but instead choose to stand up and fight back. She is who I strive to be.

Who I am is the opposite--I am a shy girl, more oriented towards the arts than to leadership or strength. The base of my portrait is the marble bust of Roman face. I adore the humanities. I could spend hours in museums inspecting each painting, every sculpture, immersing myself in a time long past. History is my escape. Sometimes I feel as though I am caught in the middle. My love for times before is often at odds with the world I function within today. The hand in the portrait represents this disparity. Memes meet marble. Feeds and golden filigree.

And lastly, the only thing in this picture that belongs to me. My nose. My identity.

For the most part of my life, I hated what I looked like. The women in my family are mestizas. My mother has the features of an American, with her delicate nose and her demure mouth. My sister has the alabastrine skin that bards sang about. Her eyes are a warm shade of chocolate brown and her nose is as pointed as a peak. Next to them, I was a half-baked potato: yellow and soft and round. Western standards determine beauty in the Philippines, and beauty determines worth. You have to be tall, and fair, and white. You’ll see it nearly everywhere you look, from EDSA billboards to your sachet of lotion. In my entire face, my nose was the hardest thing to accept. It represented the beauty that I did not have, and the Filipina that I was. To me, my nose symbolized more than just my features. My nose reminded me that I belonged to the Philippines, that I was ashamed of my country. And it took a lot for me to face that reality, but when I did, I realized that there is no shame in my Motherland. And much like how I felt towards my looks, I came to love my being Filipino, with all its flaws and limitations. My country may not be perfect, but its people are my people. It is home.

Including my nose in this portrait is an act of acknowledgement. This is accepting what I have. This is loving who I am. This is loving where I come from.

Many things have made me the person I am today. All of my faces, all of my masks have come from different places, different people. These influences have shaped me into the person I have grown into. My flaws and imperfections strengthen me. Variety and unity define me.

E pluribus, unum.

Out of many, one.

#entry 1 #socsc 11 #module 0