Cajuguiran, Isabel Katrina G. 2011-29316
BS ABE
C12 CEAT
PI10 3/25/15
The Unfinished Story of an Introverted Writer
I definitely do not remember the weather the day I was born. I mean, I couldn’t even say hi to my mum or dad much less see whether the sun was out or not. I did see a light, though. Or I probably did. It’s usually pretty bright in hospital rooms so that’s what I imagine the room looked like when I was born. My mum told me I was the light in that room so it must have been really bright. I was born on June 7 in 1994 to Crispin and Mary Jane Cajuguiran. My parents said they waited four years for that Tuesday to happen. Apparently, mum’s blood type wasn’t compatible with dad’s blood type so they had a problem having me. Mum’s body also thought I was a really harmful foreign object in her system so there was a chance I wouldn’t have been born. So, born. So, my life was actually a give and take sort of thing – I I was given a chance to live my life but fate decided to take that chance to live away from all of my future siblings. It was quite difficult for me when mum explained all this. I felt like I was responsible for all those those would be people’s lives. It wasn’t all fun at first for my parents and I during I during my infancy. The first three years of my life were mostly spent in a hospital since I was a very sickly little baby. I probably ate something I shouldn’t have when I was one year old because I was told that I had really awful stomach problems that year. I was hospitalized because I was so close to
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getting dehydrated. I imagine my parents worried so much since they waited quite a long time to have me. My hospital trips didn’t end there, though. When I was two years old, my parents learned I had asthma. I was kept in a medical ward for doctors to observe if that week-long cough I had was just a cough or something worse. I also had asthma attacks often but after my first three years of living, I overcame my asthma and everyone was able to breathe better again. My parents told me they had to “import” other children for me to play with. They said it would not be socially healthy for me if I grew up with very minimal human interaction. They were right, in a way, because I used to be afraid of people. It started out with voluntarily seeking solace instead of looking for friends to play with. I didn’t want to go out during a certain period of my childhood. I chose to stay indoors more and more often and purposely avoided people when I could. There was even a time when I couldn’t even order from fast food restaurants without breaking a sweat. I eventually grew out of that phase when I joined some declamation contests when I was in elementary. Since I had to perform in front of people I didn’t know, it was a bit daunting at first. My mother trained me and made sure I performed each of my pieces well – which I did. The fact I didn’t have panic attacks were a miracle, to be honest. She taught me how to overcome the fear but the awards I got from winning contests definitely helped a lot, too. I started to make friends on my own during elementary. I decided to break from my comfort zone because I realised then that I would friends to get through school. It’s funny I started making friends for some selfish reasons because, one day, I just got tired of making those selfish reasons the reasons I made an effort to make friends for. I realised that 2
sometimes I needed someone to talk to about school, share secrets with, share my food with and even practice lines of my speeches with. I learned that sometimes it’s better to share life with some people outside my home. I grew up, graduated from elementary and tried to reinvent myself for high school. I wanted to earn more friends during high school than I did during my elementary years. This was a bit hard for me, though, since I did not pick up on “social cues” quickly. I was also quite different and disliked going with what my other classmates were up to just because a lot of people were doing it. I made a lot of friends during high school but, on some days, interacting with people became taxing for me. I felt tired from talking sometimes and wanted some other way to express myself. For a few years, I composed some songs because I decided that it was my catharsis and my ticket to Berkley. Unfortunately, I realised I just copied tunes from songs that already existed and just created lines to match the tempo and melody. So, I stripped the tunes from my songs and got left with mostly original pieces. That’s when I learned that I kind of have a knack for writing stories and poems. My poems then weren’t actually about my life but about what most songs during my high school days were about – pubescent problems with a dash of angst. During my emo era, I wrote about unrequited feelings, crushes who crushed their admirers and a bit of rebellion. I got tired of shallow topics fast, though (thank goodness). I began to watch slam poetry and became inspired to write about more pressing matters – bullying, politics, and education. Serious stuff. Unfortunately, I wasn’t satisfied with what I wrote. I felt like what I wrote was forced out of me and writing lost its value for some time. I fell back into my quiet self again. I couldn’t write for a long time and just stayed observant during the whole phase. 3
When I entered college, I was able to write again. This time, I kept my poems more personal. I wrote about the guys I liked and how they occupied my thoughts often. I wrote about my love-hate relationship with my subjects and how I try to salvage my grades at the end of each passing semester. I have also written about my friends’ stories and life is in Los Banos. I felt more connected to my writings then and was able to feel like it was a catharsis again. I am usually able to write when I am under pressure – after a period of strife, after a problem in my family, or during exams week. I am usually able to write at least two poems, then. If I am under a great deal of stress, I get to write more than the usual two. Unfortunately, I don’t earn from what I do nor do I learn anything related to my studies. It doesn’t make sense to write during Hell week but that’ s what I usually do to relieve myself. So far, my life has been about finding myself. Up to now, I still don’t know exactly what I want. Sure, I try to map out my near future a bit by studying so I can somehow manage to graduate on time and I try to decide early on where I want to work and if I want to continue studying. I try but everything I do seems so mechanical to me. I wonder sometimes if I do these because I force myself to like it or if I genuinely do like what I am up to. I want to be able to say that I do what I like and feel effortless when I work. That seems impossible to me, at the moment, though. I honestly think all people my age are confused about what to do with their lives. Even the most meticulously planned out life has some loopholes that drive the person mad. At this stage, I guess my goal would have to be to define myself and to strengthen my character. Who I am at this point in my life will probably still be the same me years from now.
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