08 September. World Literacy Day.
If you teach a child to read,you change a life forever (World Literacy Foundation).
Timid, shy, reserved, quiet, loner and introvert. People has all this denominator of me. If not yet contented, they add to it, me living up to my Kankana-ey or Iloko surname that means at the side. I just smile, say at the back of my head, so who cares? Is this a psychological impairment? But then, duh! Can I not just be oftentimes the thinker? Failed performer? The aphonic me after the excitation of being the first to raise hand to sing a tune in our music class. We have this per-class presentation to commemorate the Nutrition Month and ours was a skit. My head ached finding the right words and fixing the flow of the scenes. In our intermediate years, I was pointed to be the cheerleader turned mannequin upstage. I told myself, where did all the scriptwriting I OC-ed on and about. I cannot think so well how I delivered my lengthy valedictory address. So much for my embarrassment. Then came high school. Our class adviser divided the class according to proximity of homes so that everyone would not be hard up during rehearsals. The ones from the west wanted a choral singing. I was that corpse with mouth I did not know if it had open to the lyrics or to escape a deep breath. It was like I had already done my part how this was to be executed then why must I have to be here. But to think that I volunteered to declaim for the intramurals? I was also shocked to place somewhere I did not expect. LOL much. I also had the same Sisa piece during the community celebration of New Year and took the first prize. Shaking, shivering, cracking voice, cold extremities and beading sweats on forehead. Who won’t have these for a first-timer anyway? To widen horizon of acquaintances, to broaden relationships, I decided to be as engaging. I thanked Dad who left me in a dormitory of mixed personalities to live with for the supposed years of graduating my diploma. Was it for the cheap boarding or dipping me in warding off my other me? I knew he thought of me to grow up. I thanked Dad for all the chances of letting me see the world. Though I was not really invited but because of him, I was a privileged delegate of Ti Pagpag ket para ti Amin, a summer eco-camping sponsored by USA Peace Corps Volunteers. The eco-camping was a jam-packed week-long of book-binding, walking the earth barefoot, seeing the mummified remains, nature trekking and environmental talks in Kadaclan, Barlig, Mountain Province. He kept registering me in the Girl Scout of the Philippines, that is – he was an active Scouter for a long time and once designated as Council Commissioner. Scouting was his biggest activity for the longest time where he wanted everybody in the family get involved on. My brothers also had in their fair exhaustion of staying obedient to earning ranks – from a regular membership to Venturer to Outdoorsman or that Eagle. Mom sometime said why all those times for this movement that he cannot furnish the house. The marbles purchased and remained stacked in the tool room waiting for a decade. Dad is dad. Mom is mom.
Dad wanted us to be different, think differently, and do things differently. Mom wanted us this close ties with our oldies and be just what everybody was doing – join the drum and lyre or choral group of the church. The contrast of everything that we have to balance. Yes, I heard them in their silent word war. My Dad pre-occupied of smoothening a slab for the corner of the ceiling mumbled, “Mom should not be like this and talk like this and should do this,” and not mind the curling sheets of wood coming off the planer. Mom, lulling my sibling upstairs, would talk to herself things I could not comprehend and would spring those tears.
Then this choice of what to do for the rest of my life – doing a veterinary job.
Being away from home for the longest time had me this homesickness and the longing of heading home. Who is this crazy crying to herself in a four-walled isolation? You sure cannot compare the years an overseas worker has to endure.
Similar things, an HR asked, “What is with the shyness?” Then I have to straighten my ventral column. It went on with the introduction of a person of few words. Somebody who does not know how to smile? Now what?
Meeting with Robin Sharma, Robert Kiyosaki, Chetan Bhagat, many other more inspirational writers, and just lately, Susan Cain, through their works, leads me to understanding myself more. I am praying I improve in my craft more.
If you teach a child to read,you change a life forever (World Literacy Foundation).
Timid, shy, reserved, quiet, loner and introvert. People has all this denominator of me. If not yet contented, they add to it, me living up to my Kankana-ey or Iloko surname that means at the side. I just smile, say at the back of my head, so who cares? Is this a psychological impairment? But then, duh! Can I not just be oftentimes the thinker? Failed performer? The aphonic me after the excitation of being the first to raise hand to sing a tune in our music class. We have this per-class presentation to commemorate the Nutrition Month and ours was a skit. My head ached finding the right words and fixing the flow of the scenes. In our intermediate years, I was pointed to be the cheerleader turned mannequin upstage. I told myself, where did all the scriptwriting I OC-ed on and about. I cannot think so well how I delivered my lengthy valedictory address. So much for my embarrassment. Then came high school. Our class adviser divided the class according to proximity of homes so that everyone would not be hard up during rehearsals. The ones from the west wanted a choral singing. I was that corpse with mouth I did not know if it had open to the lyrics or to escape a deep breath. It was like I had already done my part how this was to be executed then why must I have to be here. But to think that I volunteered to declaim for the intramurals? I was also shocked to place somewhere I did not expect. LOL much. I also had the same Sisa piece during the community celebration of New Year and took the first prize. Shaking, shivering, cracking voice, cold extremities and beading sweats on forehead. Who won’t have these for a first-timer anyway? To widen horizon of acquaintances, to broaden relationships, I decided to be as engaging. I thanked Dad who left me in a dormitory of mixed personalities to live with for the supposed years of graduating my diploma. Was it for the cheap boarding or dipping me in warding off my other me? I knew he thought of me to grow up. I thanked Dad for all the chances of letting me see the world. Though I was not really invited but because of him, I was a privileged delegate of Ti Pagpag ket para ti Amin, a summer eco-camping sponsored by USA Peace Corps Volunteers. The eco-camping was a jam-packed week-long of book-binding, walking the earth barefoot, seeing the mummified remains, nature trekking and environmental talks in Kadaclan, Barlig, Mountain Province. He kept registering me in the Girl Scout of the Philippines, that is – he was an active Scouter for a long time and once designated as Council Commissioner. Scouting was his biggest activity for the longest time where he wanted everybody in the family get involved on. My brothers also had in their fair exhaustion of staying obedient to earning ranks – from a regular membership to Venturer to Outdoorsman or that Eagle. Mom sometime said why all those times for this movement that he cannot furnish the house. The marbles purchased and remained stacked in the tool room waiting for a decade. Dad is dad. Mom is mom.
Dad wanted us to be different, think differently, and do things differently. Mom wanted us this close ties with our oldies and be just what everybody was doing – join the drum and lyre or choral group of the church. The contrast of everything that we have to balance. Yes, I heard them in their silent word war. My Dad pre-occupied of smoothening a slab for the corner of the ceiling mumbled, “Mom should not be like this and talk like this and should do this,” and not mind the curling sheets of wood coming off the planer. Mom, lulling my sibling upstairs, would talk to herself things I could not comprehend and would spring those tears.
Then this choice of what to do for the rest of my life – doing a veterinary job.
Being away from home for the longest time had me this homesickness and the longing of heading home. Who is this crazy crying to herself in a four-walled isolation? You sure cannot compare the years an overseas worker has to endure.
Similar things, an HR asked, “What is with the shyness?” Then I have to straighten my ventral column. It went on with the introduction of a person of few words. Somebody who does not know how to smile? Now what?
Meeting with Robin Sharma, Robert Kiyosaki, Chetan Bhagat, many other more inspirational writers, and just lately, Susan Cain, through their works, leads me to understanding myself more. I am praying I improve in my craft more.
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