April’s Fool

It seems self-indulgent to devote a whole lot of space in answering the proverbial question I dare not answer prior to this day. But life’s recent twists and turns prompted me to dive in and take the risk.

A lot of things happen to us each day, and no matter how mundane our 24 hours can get, we are molded every minute to develop into the person we continue to become. But through all those changes, two remain constant: who we initially are and who we once strive to be. It almost seems a good idea to have a concrete draft of ourselves, if only to make sure that through life’s adventures, we will not lose our I’s.

So who am I?

At this point, my mind unconsciously assumes the tabula rasa state but I shall dig in, starting with the exterior.

I have such an ordinary face, you’ve almost always have seen me everywhere. I’ve heard a number of people say that they are afraid of me, perhaps because of my occasional blatant truth-telling ways or maybe because of my bitchiness to some extent. It’s not something I’m proud of, having people cringing when I’m around, especially if one of those people is my cousin.

Ironically, I’m a cry baby. My family would testify to that. I weep when I’m sad, sick, mad, touched, happy—you name the emotions and my eyes would well up. (Parang si Jude Law sa “The Holiday”) However, I don’t cry over movies, except once and it was a comedy.

At some aspect, I am a people pleaser. I am somehow sensitive with the people around me and how my presence affects them. I am an advocate of the don’t-unto-others-what-you-don’t-want-others-to-do-unto-you rule. And with that, I may have set some silent expectations from my “others” to a fault. I also have a penchant for making people feel special because people really need that in their lives to affirm that they are indeed extraordinary. I concoct surprises because I love moments when I see a twinkle in the eyes of the person I surprised. There’s something gratifying in it. Needless to say, I don’t mind going out of my way to make someone smile.

But I am flawed and, if there’s one thing I’m brave enough to do, it’s to admit how imperfect I am. First, I have my mood swings. When I get irritated, it seems impossible for me to hide my irritation. Same goes when I’m angry. Sometimes I say what I feel but being that I have a flair for sarcasm, what I say often wounds people. Second, I tend to be overly possessive of those special to me, it’s awfully hard for me to let them go even when time calls for it. I am the embodiment of jealousy and it sucks plenty of times. Third, I am hard-headed. I do what I strongly think I should do even if I know that no one will exactly cheer for me. And then there’s my selfishness that if I act plainly on instincts, the sun will lose its purpose because the world will have to start revolving around me. I can go on nearly forever for my list of shortcomings. And so I shall digress.

Recently I discovered my incapacity for not caring. I don’t buy the idea that it is possible for me to be part of a circle where I have no voice. I think my inability to shut up about issues I inevitably am a part of sprang from me being raised by my parents and molded by the institutions I’ve attended to become an individual devoid of apathy. Plus I have this notion that if I have something good to say or something good to do, I cannot simply zip it or freeze; otherwise I will be risking hating myself forever. On some matters, I really can’t stay on the sidelines, which sometimes works against me.

Despite my seemingly frigid exterior, especially to those who know so little of me, I really am an emotional freak, thus explaining my abundant supply of tears. My emotions prompt me to write. However, my being emotional, most of the time, works to my disadvantage. I get hurt easily and sometimes end up damaged.

Of course describing me will not be complete if there is no mention of my temper. I get mad easily especially to inanimate objects, to the point of cursing at them. Notice the “inanimate objects”. I have worked on my lack of patience towards people, or so I think, thereby limiting my scarcity with such virtue to objects with no feelings or thoughts of their own. Just as equally a part of me as my temper is my sense of humor. It may sometimes be perverse to others. But what the heck! Anything to make me laugh, right? Anyway I make it a point not to hurt anyone while laughing.

I’m pushing to more than two pages, I have to take a halt. This space about me is more than enough. (And the things I’ve written will do where anchoring myself to the grand scheme of things is concerned.) I’d be a real fool if I go on.

Perhaps the rest of me, I, as well as the people I deal with, will have to figure out.

Ciao!