Small World, Small Word.
Before the millennium, I was an ignorant child, preferring to be quiet than to ask questions. I was a coward to initiate conversations. I didn’t want to be rejected, who would want that? I grew up with boys around me, so I was boyish. I was more comfortable to be with them than with the imaginative, fantasy-thinking, young girls. I didn’t want to have lots of friends. I wanted to kill some people. I hated things, events, experiences, and people. I didn’t want to be called in class for recitation. I kept all my opinions. I was a selfish little girl.
Please Don’t Mock, Let me Talk.
I was 11, I started to identify myself with my girl friends. I hanged out with them, talked with them over the phone, thinking that they can be my pretending sisters. I voiced out some of my opinions, then I was accused as a backstabbing person. Every one of them left me alone. Their previous enemies became their allies to defeat me. I was defenseless. I ate alone, played alone, went home alone. They weren’t contented. They pissed me in our school bus by going on board at the same time as I did. But, I kept my composure. At a young age, I learned how to fight back by not fighting back. I can’t share you how I did that. They just ended up apologizing to me.
Only Boys Will Hear My Voice.
I talked often with boys. I shared my problems, opinions, laughter, stories, and anything that I can say to them mostly. I was distant to the girls. I talked to them of course, but I set limits. I can’t trust them to keep secrets unless she’s the most quiet classmate. Then I met other boyish girls, and I was more comfortable with them. I hated gossips, make-ups, fashion, boy rivalry, crushes, pink, my menstruation and many more. I hated it when I have to be careful on my moves so there won’t be any blood stains. I hated my gender because I don’t feel safer compared to boys when I’m alone outside. I hated the fact that I can get pregnant. I hoped to be a boy.
Young Lady, Be Pretty.
I had to stay in a group of girls. Everyone was telling me to get glam. Incidentally, I met a wonderful group of young ladies. We were friends since high school. We shared our stories, we talked about boys, we laughed the loudest, we studied sometimes, and we even made music. Until now, some of them are still my closest friends. Also, I was in a fun-loving group of young ladies in college. It was like fate. We had an honest, fun, and girly friendship among us. We talked about everything – make-up, faith, Philosophy, food, other people, school, family, experiences, opinions, ourselves. You name it. Yes, I was already that talkative and opinionated. But, there were times when we fought, we were hurt, we got mad. Then we patched things up. It just happened.
When I Share, I Feel Bare.
I had arguments and misunderstandings with people. My brain was always triggered to make me speak up. This might be due to my repression of opinions back then. I said my opinions wholebrainly (credits to me for coining this). I shared my experiences. I saw the wrongness of the world and the error of the only rational beings. I blamed it on my stupid feelings. My stupid feelings were self-inflicted because I had held on to that altruistic and selfish rope. I blamed this to what people refer to as love. I don’t know if I share the same feeling with the whole world if I say that I am in love. I was a bitch. I stood up for myself. I learned that if I am a giving person and if I will treat others kindly, many people will still not be ungrateful and will treat me like crap. For every information that I gave, I felt like I was giving away a piece of clothing.
Did I Fulfill My Repression Release? Oh, I Might Be Missed.
I started to work just last month. Trying to identify my new environment, and still working on my versatile personality that will best suit there, I am quite not like my normal self yet, or is this now the new me? Maybe I have changed. Maybe I have to. I am happy with everything in my current work – people, culture, values, my job description, the schedule, its nature, and the location. Maybe, I am like this when I am happy. I forgot what it’s like when happiness is felt. I am happy for a year now, but its twin is pain so I can’t consider it a good level of happiness. Before being happy, I was loud, funny, easy to be with, fighter, and hated by some people. I know, you know, we know, you hated me. I’m sorry. People change. Some will just be missing me to be around them. Some will be thankful of my change, by that I don’t mean the street-dwellers. Yet, I will always have this dual personality. It’s different from bipolar but I guess I have that too. At least, the repressed opinions showed up and not my killing-people-dream. Well, it ended up showing today with my interest in torture, psychotic movies, my drawings, imaginations, and dreams in my sleep.