๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐; ๐๐ง ๐๐ฎ๐ญ๐จ๐๐ข๐จ๐ ๐ซ๐๐ฉ๐ก๐ฒ
โIf, letโs say, you were to write a story with me as the main character, it would certainly be a tragedy. No. Everyoneโs the same, in fact. All those that walk this earth. All steal and from all, something is stolen. We canโt help it. Thatโs who we are.ย
Steal and be stolen. Imprison and be imprisoned. Follow and be followed. Do and be done unto. Affirm and negate, over and over. We fight ceaselessly to save ourselves from loss. And yet, the people and places we love will one day surely be lost. We all will surely be forgotten. Life is sad. Empty. But despite knowing we will one day disappear, we still strive in wretched ways. We still wish to be beautiful.ย
And I consider, โWhich one?โ. I choose, โThis one.โ Forever choosing, forever being chosen. Nothing more, nothing less.โย - ๐๐จ๐ค๐ฒ๐จ ๐๐ก๐จ๐ฎ๐ฅ:๐ซ๐, ๐๐ก๐๐ฉ๐ญ๐๐ซ ๐๐๐
๐๐ข. ๐๐จ, ๐ฐ๐ก๐จ ๐๐ฆ ๐?
โTwas one well-weathered, average fourteenth of April in the year 2004 when I was brought upon this earth, particularly in the wind-swept desert of the country of Bahrain. After nine months curled snug inside the warmth of my motherโs womb, my being had finally experienced the sensation of coldness for the very first time. A foreign chill, blinding lights, a shrieking cry, and soft moans of happiness. Admittedly, I do not remember much of the past, but this, the very first memory of my existence, is one that I shall never forget.ย
Iโll be frank, my existence was a result of an affair outside of wedlock. After my mother, the lovely Emelyn O. Cabuhal, had moved to Bahrain in order to find work, she had fallen into a forbidden love; Somehow, she had gotten caved in by my father, Rodrigo D. Ganganโs slick charms and handsome demeanour. A saleswoman falling for an engineer; It was the romance story of a lifetime. In the end despite all austerity, things had eventually worked out, and as a result was me being their happy little accident.ย
My mother had originally named me after the Thessalian princess, Cyrene, from the lore of Ancient Greek mythology. However, I doubt that most are savvy of who she is. Although an inferior shadow amongst all the other renowned heroes of Greece, my mother had a deep affinity for this particular character due to her unrelenting courage and strength. Princess Cyrene was known to have been a fierce huntress, wrestling with even the most ferocious lions and slaying them bare-handedly all for the sake of protecting her homeland.
Bravery and strength, back in the day, especially that painted upon a woman were extremely unusual characteristics that were often looked down upon in the past. My mother did not heed this much attention, and had hoped that like Princess Cyrene, her precious baby would grow into resemblance as that of Princess Cyreneโs courageous and indestructible portrait.
Thankfully, I did. As I had interviewed my mother in preparation for writing this biography, her eyes shone up with pride as she foretold how as a baby, I was never one to cause trouble. I was, by her words, very well-behaved, silent, and almost too mature for my age. Every so often, shivers would run down my parentโs spine as my infant eyes would just merely watch them with something akin toย defiant astuteness. It was no question to them that I would grow up to be someone remarkable; But, perhaps, in what ways?
In my younger years, I had been brought up with the luxury of a princess; Or at least, that was how it had felt for me. Left to right, I was heavily spoiled by my parents; Almost to the point where I had to never experience getting dirt on even the tips of my pale nails. Back then, my being became sublimely colored in pretty and posh pink - dolls, dresses, desserts. I can recall the sensation of my former desire for everything bright, feminine, and simmering.
My parents would frequent me to join Flores de Mayo, local fashion shows, singing competitions, and many more; Always too keen to have their child work and participate in so much and do so much in order to fill their childish desires that they were given no opportunity in partaking in the past. The line,ย โYouโre lucky you got the chance to do this,โ always stuck besides me like a burning birthmark, but I was too prideful to let it eat me away negatively. Itโs alright; Iโll shoulder the burden and carry our dreams.ย
Due to such persistent coddling, I was not as academically-driven as I am now; As I continued to pursue leisurely activities, I admittedly neglected my studies. Would you have believed me if I said that I had almost failed not one, not two, but almost four subjects in the span of my early elementary days? Unbelievable, right? Instead, most of my time was spent fondly hanging around peers or inside the church, partaking activities hosted by my local congregation.ย
Looking back, it honestly leaves me awestruck how social and extroverted my younger proprium was, as it seems that now, my energy has decreased tenfold, and even the simple act of socializing left me flabbergasted and anxious of its impending interaction. I am certainly not the young, lively child as I was in the past.ย As I shift through the many photographs laying inside our albums to scavenge for materials for this self-indulgent writing, I would be lying if I said that these pictures of my youthful self appearing devoid of misery left a bitter tinge in my tongue. The me in the past certainly did not know what was coming around for her in the years to come.ย
It was also during this time that I had come to love animals; How trivial may this piece of information be, but my passion for animals had strongly persisted up until today in the present times. Had it not been for the dog who have stuck to my side like glue during the precedented years, perhaps I would have not been as empathic as I am now.
However, as I look back into my life, I realized that even as a child, I was very superficial. Never had I ever really been a dreamer; I had no real ambition. I dreaded the question poised by adults regarding what I wanted to be in the future, because never could my mind wrack the courage to think far along the tracks. Perhaps it is because of my romantic self who had believed that I was already, currently living the dream, Blinded by the walls of utopia that were plastered by my parents, I did not know what more I could have asked for.ย
I was abruptly awoken from this dream after I had lived past a decade into this world. In the beginning of the year 2015, my father and I had to repatriate ourselves back to the Philippines, leaving my mom behind in order to act as the breadwinner of the family. My father was diagnosed with Parkinsonโs disease, forcibly causing him to retire from his well-paying job as an elevator engineer. I began to miss not only the grainy particles of sand that constantly filled the desertic air of Bahrain, but my mother of all things.ย
Indeed, the shift from the Middle Eastern metropolises to the green, overpopulated cities of the Philippines left me feeling alienated beyond my wildest imaginations; However what most impacted me was my separation with my mother. Words cannot put how was suffocating, so terribly suffocating was her absence in my life. Whoever quoted the famous saying, โDistance makes the heart fonder,โ is no one to make short of. Itโs unbelievably true, and perhaps even more heartwrenching than one thinks it is.ย
A year later on July 9, 2016, my father passed away from a heart attack. I never got to see him in his final moments because prior to his passage, as his condition had begun to worsen, he, alone, had moved back with his first family in Isabela. Nights never pass without me wondering if before the last breath had escaped him had he ever thought back about me, even if just a fleeting thought. Admittedly, I was ever the daddyโs girl; And I doubt that up to this day, I have yet come to terms with his passage. There were many things that were unfortunately left unsaid, and many I regretted.ย
From a dainty pink, my being was forced to soak itself into a deep, dark hue; And as I had struggled to come out, my skin was already marred in a hue of gloom. Because of the darkness, I could not even identify what were the things that I used to like or love. Everything was covered up with blotches of pressure, pain, and trauma. I had never realized how hard reality truly was nor had I understood what I had done that made me deserve such misery. When I was finally hit with the realization that the world was definitely not as kind as it had looked like inside the comfort of my parentsโ embrace, the feeling was unwelcomely sudden. It was as if I was dethroned from my position as princess and was banished from my own kingdom for all of eternity.
Depression began to devour the entirety of my being, and just in a span of two years, I had lost more than 10 kilograms in weight, had forty-three self-inflicted battle scars, and committed several attempts of self-destruction; All but unsuccessful - fortunately and unfortunately. My entire self was thrown around, beaten up, and shattered in several fragments, and up until this day, even as almost a decade has passed, do I believe that I am completely healed.
To be completely honest, I do not remember much of my younger days. It had only struck me one afternoon as I was lying in bed that I could not seem to recall much in my childhood; Have you ever heard of Dissociative Amnesia?ย ย Everything was a blank slate, exactly like the moment when you insert a CD in the DVD player, but all that appears on screen is a noisy, hurtful static. Thatโs why I am never one whoโs fond of reminiscing the past, but for the sake of this activity, I have tried my hardest.
Sometimes, I wonder, if it had not been for my romanticism that had continued its pursuit throughout the years, what else couldโve supplied my hopes? Would I have still continued standing on the face of the earth up until this day? In the end, I chose to continue to walk, and at times when I could no longer walk, I crawled. Life felt so daunting and horrific, and if I had to relive it once again, I doubt that Iโd make it through the second time. Once is always enough.
In order to pass time, I had committed to entertaining myself through various modus operandis. I sang; I danced; I read; I drew; I played video games; I joined social groups, virtual groups, and actively tried to participate in the realm of academia. I bet that every activity of leisure that could be found under the sun I had already partaken in one way or another. All of this I had done in order to fill the gaping emptiness within my heart, trying to find the solace that I was obsessively searching for.ย
There were days where I talked from morning to night, with or without company; Perhaps afraid that if I let silence even a second of an opportunity to fill the space, my being wouldโve been devoured entirely and Iโd be stuck lingering inside it forever.
From all the things that I had done, my most favorite would have to be reading.ย
If I had to choose between sketching a croquis of the person I loved most, or of a dessin of a preloved book, I would forever choose the latter with no hesitation. Admittedly, these slabs of paper have also been the primary pigment that had made the most profound color in my life.ย
It was not until several years later into my late teenage life that I had stumbled upon a particular line from an old book. In the small paper read the lines, โThat was the first fissure in the columns that had upheld my childhood, which every individual must destroy before he can become himself. Such fissures and rents grow together again, heal, and are forgotten, but in the most secret recesses they continue to live and bleed.โ The fog in my mind had finally risen. These words were what had given my bleak canvas more color.
Apart from the wisdom adorned in the rigid pages of books, if it had not been for the peers who I had met along the way, most especially my one and only batch of my late elementary days prior to my arrival to the Philippines, as well as those in my high school period, the awning cloth would have had loosen and fallen from the wooden stretcher.
The foundation of what made me today laid in their hands; And I am glad, wholeheartedly filled with gratitude, that I have crossed paths with them for both the better and the worst.
Up until this day, I am still deciding on how to apply the various tones and variations to my canvasโ surface. Currently striving to survive my first year in senior high school;ย
Whenever posed with the question of how my day was, Iโd always reply, โSo-so,โ and itโs not pitiful but a fact. Compared to the remnants of my estranged bygone days, I am doing much better; Much healthier to both body and mind, and much convalescent to the many traumas that had used to pinned my being down.ย
In the past, I have experienced the notion of being a โhorrendous piece of art,โ and no longer do I want to commit the same mistakes. In the first place, is there even such a thing as a โhorrendous piece of artโ? No, there definitely is not. Now, I delicately hold myself with love.ย
Every small stroke of my lifeโs invisible brush I take with time and precision. Now, I allow my own colors to flow freely in any direction. With the emergence of brand-new experiences, sensations, and emotions, I have yet to create a piece that would conclude my most sincere feelings.ย
As I continue to live on, I shall continue to ask myself, what am I painting? Is it a figure of Cyrene? Perhaps a palette of fuchsia, or a whirlpool of monochromatic shades? Always, I continue to answer: I am my own canvas.ย
๐๐ก๐ ๐๐จ๐ญ-๐ฌ๐จ-๐๐ง๐ ๐๐ง๐.
