March 22, 2013
Today marks the end of my first year as a bonafide Iskolar ng Bayan. I should be heaving sighs of relief and muttering, ‘finally”, but looking back at the fleeting academic year, I can’t help but feel disappointed.
I think what I showcased wasn’t enough. I could’ve done much better, and I should’ve.
Here are those belittling thoughts again; pinning me. I should be happy, glad even, that I made it through the first year all in one piece, with my emotional puzzle pieces scattered, barely surviving, but has survived nonetheless.
I survived.
Life in the university isn’t what I first thought it would be—and I mean it through the two sides of the spectrum—both in the positive and negative light. I can remember dearly the first time I stepped through that overwhelming gate of my university. That first glimpse at the equally overwhelming faces of people hanging inside. I can’t think of anything sane; just the words God, help me and other things along that line clouded my mind. I was asking for celestial guidance. I stumbled upon my words when asked by the personnel. And if not for some good upperclassmen, I doubt my mother and I would finish our engagements for that day with sane minds.
But I survived that day, thankfully, but I know it’s just the tip of the iceberg. I still have so many inner and outer demons to conquer. I still have four years, presumably, of lodging in this university.
By the time we arrived home from that curt visit on my would-be university, I was aghast. I remember locking myself inside my room, pretending to be asleep or doing something else, but in truth, I was crying.
It brought back memories from when I was a high school freshman. Believe it or not, I wanted to kill myself before the first day of school starts. I guess I read too many American novels on bullying, then. So many ‘what ifs’ entered my mind; what if nobody would want to be friends with me? What if I become bullied since I came from a private school? What if I make a bad impression to my classmates and school authorities? And worse,what if I fail?
I was afraid of failing, and because of this I have let so many chances pass my way. I kept thinking about the empaling possibility of failing my parents, but more than that, I was afraid of failing and disappointing myself.
I cried myself to sleep that night. Then came the first day of school; I opened my eyes grudgingly, sighing deeply as we made our way to a school of about 4, 000 faceless students. I couldn’t let go of my mother, and like a child, I clung to her until she had to go. Nobody talked to me, and when finally someone did, it was to question why a girl from a private school decided to move to a public high school. Let’s just say that talk was a mock of identity.
But seriously, looking at it now, I want to laugh at myself. At my timidity. At my silly thoughts of wanting to end my life just because I was being sent to high school. But I can say this now because I aced it; not with flying colors, though. And believe it or not, the guy who mockingly wanted to trample on me that first day by asking that mock question became my friend.
A great one at that.
I digressed, sorry. I just couldn’t help but share this because of the sudden recollection of memories from that time.
But nothing changed; the night I was crying myself to sleep a year ago resembled the night before my first day of high school. I guess not much has changed. I am still the coward that I was five years ago. But I guess what separates me from that coward high school freshman is the fact that I managed to smile after drying my tears. Let’s say I matured a tad bit. I managed to blend in, find good friends who—even we had separate classes during this second semester—still put up with someone like me. I managed to let go of some boggling inhibitions, and seek Him the more. I know I still have to shed some other pessimistic thoughts and attitudes, but I want to think I still have time for that; I still have His time to do those.
I said above that I was disappointed at myself for showcasing less when I know I can exhibit more. All those, I want to put behind my back for a while; I wouldn’t really abandon those realities, but instead, I’ll look at them. Look at them and have it inspire me not to do those things again. I may be keeping tab at my inhibitions, but I do this so as to—if not thoroughly not do it again—somehow commit less of the same mistakes if possible.
I learned that nothing comes easy, because if it would, no one will really seek Him and his guidance. It’s all part of the plan, a plan to usher our hearts into Him.
I know you know who I am talking about there.
---
I've re-read to Mitch Albom books this week, For One More Day and my personal favorite—Have a Little Faith.
And at the moment, I have another tab open to his website. He just never fails to amaze me with the depth and simplicity of his words. He has this different kind of eloquence and style that I couldn't help but admire so much.
I was crying a while ago as I listened to the recorded conversation between him and Morrie (Tuesdays with Morrie).
And in truth, the books he wrote always leaves me crying.
You can listen to it here when you have the time: Tuesdays With Morrie
