Two days into the year 2020, and the world is already falling into chaos.
excerpt from my journal
Let’s face it, the world was never at peace. Not really. Greed and individuality isn’t exactly the best combination of human characteristics, but here we are.
Even before this year started, numerous horrendous things that can only be done by the stupidity of humans were already happening. Some of the things that immediately come to mind are the wildfires in Australia that has been literally lighting up the entire continent ever since September of last year, the mini-Holocaust happening in China where Muslim Ughiurs are being taken, tortured, and persecuted for their internal organs since 2018, and the Hong Kong protests which have been scary violent since the beginning.
With Greta Thunberg leading the Green Movement, and the official announcement of the impeachment of Trump, people were starting to gain hope as they entered 2020 with a more determined fighting spirit.
And then Trump had to kill this important Iranian fellow, Qasem Soleimani. Three days later Iran has raised their red flag of war, and the human carrot has an 80-million dollar on his head.
Now, why the hell am I even thinking about this when I’m not even American? You see, if this war continues, it wouldn’t be just any war. It would be the third world war, and as a citizen of the country that had been dragged and been fucked up more than once by the wars of bigger countries, I can say with my whole heart that I—and probably all the other people who didn’t kill or threaten anyone to start a war—would like to be excluded from this narrative, thanks very much.
I don’t like this at all. First ever entry to my first ever blog isn’t about mine or my country’s life, but about the potential destruction and probably end of the lives of almost everyone from all over the world.
Scientists have already said that the Australian fires can and probably will speed up the melting of ice caps. Imagine surviving a nuclear war just to drown from the flood that might cause the 6th mass extinction.
I wonder if someone is making an ark already. Probably the elite 1% already have their tickets to their secret Noah’s Ark 2.0. In which case the worst people would be the last ones standing. Or floating lol.
People often say the world isn’t fair, that it wasn’t created equal. I believe it was created equal, and then someone decided they were better than everybody else.
This is the first post on my new blog. I’m just getting this new blog going, so stay tuned for more. Subscribe below to get notified when I post new updates.
Three years ago I was diagnosed with Major Depressive Episode after one of my few attempts of self-deletion.
Two points in regards to that statement:
Firstly, the psychiatrist diagnosed the unfortunate event as something caused by a depressive “episode” instead of a “disorder” because, according to her, it was my first time to be consulted by a psychiatrist.
Here’s why it doesn’t sit right with me: We live in a painfully traditional country where it’s common to look over mental health symptoms as simply attitude or behavioural problems.
My parents didn’t “believe” in mental health, or if they did, they didn’t believe their child would ever need one because all of their children are normal, nay, exceptional! Gifted! There should be nothing wrong with their children, why would there be? Any hint of negativity from their child that they could not present to others as a simple quirk of the child would definitely be considered as a sign of failure of their parenting anyway, right? So no, my parents never brought me to any mental health professional.
Instead, I didn’t grow up with dreams and long term aspirations. Mainly because I didn’t think I would need one. For a very long time I thought I wouldn’t live long enough to be anything, and it was normal for me.
You know how when older generations call a child an “old soul” what they really mean is “Damn, how are you so depressed at such a young age” but they don’t really say it? I was an old soul kid. And for a long time I thought that was a compliment.
I do think some of them meant it as a compliment though. It is common in the Philippines for people to commend you for your resilience. How your strength is measured by how much pain and struggle you can endure. My mother did say I was her strongest kid.
I don’t wanna be strong anymore. Not if strength is about not speaking up.
At 13 years old, in our small port town of Puerto Princesa, there weren’t any professional mental health clinics to my knowledge. So I sought out counsellors. I met every school and university counselor available and accessible to me for years hoping they could help me. They couldn’t. Either psychology still wasn’t taught well at that time or it was simply their methods and approaches for me, I just found no help from them.
I finally decided to handle things on my own so I chose a psychology degree in one of the best universities in the country. The whole time it’s like trying to build a boat when you don’t know how to sail. All the what the fuck is all this for because I wasn’t going to live long enough to sail but I kept hammering anyway. Deep down I wanted to make sure I did my best before I go down, just so I could say I did everything I could.
Because that’s what I do. Anything I do, I do it well. I do it better than most people. And in a relatively short time, I’m one of the best. That’s how I knew myself. Isn’t is funny now how it turns out it was my ego that would save me from destruction in the future?
Which brings us to my second point.
For three years I only shared my suicide attempt story to a very select few. Because I knew how heavy and difficult it was going to be for other people to deal with that knowledge, yes, but also because it was embarrassing for me to say that it was a failed attempt.
Pride is a funny thing. I got it from my parents, thank you very much.
Anyway, just a few months ago I moved in with my grandmother and aunt on my dad’s side to avoid all the toxicity from my mother’s side of the family. My parents’ separation was not clean so they avoid each other like the plague.
I have been living under the philosophy of compatibility ever since. That means I understand everyone is doing their best with what they know, and sometimes their best is unhealthy for me.
I have to love myself enough to know what’s not good for me, but also consistently check myself if avoiding certain people is about growth or simply comfort without growth.
Good thing about being a perfectionist who is also a recovering people-pleaser is that I’m used to giving the benefit of the doubt to other people and do things in order to please them, but now I am learning that giving benefits of the doubt should have limitations.
I do and do my best, then if I run out of solutions and different ways to please them without sabotaging myself, I have to admit to myself that their lifestyle simply isn’t compatible with mine.
It has been working out for me so far. In a few months I’ve gained new rich friendships, and have been free of relationships that don’t serve fulfillment for me.
I feel so different now. Changed. Which is good! I always strive to change, because I believe if I don’t change it means I haven’t learned anything. It makes me feel so happy and proud, looking at how far I’ve come.
I found a journal entry I wrote when I was sixteen. I brought it to one of my therapy sessions months ago. I don’t have it with me now so I can’t remember the exact words written there. But sixteen year-old me felt the need to achieve greatness in such a short amount of time (because I used to sincerely believe I wouldn’t live past 30).
The entry felt so worrisome and heavy every time I read it. Climate change, misogyny, rape culture — every single issue I was learning about at that time felt like another heavy responsibility I alone should be able to solve before I die.
Sixteen year-old me had their heart in the right place, but since they were so used to getting things done on their own and in order to get the results they wanted they had to do it themself, they believed they should solve all the world’s problems on their own too.
It sounds ridiculous now, sure, but I have nothing but love for sixteen-year-old me. They were doing their best with what they know. And at that time, they knew if they wanted peace they had to fight for it themself.
I found myself crying onto the journal pages saying, “It’s alright. You’re sixteen. You don’t have to save the world.” It was such a heavy burden for a child to have. You know that feeling? When you grow up in a burning house so you feel the need to extinguish every burning thing you can find?
Who could’ve known that years later, I would be enjoying a long trip with a good friend, and the heaviest burden I could feel was of dealing with the weight of saying goodbye?
Who could’ve known that it will come to a point in my life where the worst things I was immediately aware of were the uncomfortable bus seats and how sad I was about not being with this friend again for a little while?
The annoying people were right — life does get better.
My concerns went from a world I didn’t know how to save, to a love I didn’t know how to hold, where to put, nor how to contain.
I feel like I’m filled with so much love now, ever since I decided that my life’s purpose was not any career or servitude to make my parents proud (although I heard that is also a byproduct of a good parent-child relationship), but fulfillment and learning in the greatest sense. I find it so easy to find love and precious moments in everything now.
I do acknowledge my privilege in being able to be supported and not worry about my survival anymore, and the privilege of being able to cut people off that are unhealthy for me.
I’m just so happy for myself now. How I’ve changed so much.
I am proud of the decisions I’ve made, and the growth that came with it.
I have never been so excited of uncertainty in my life.
Absolutely, literally, anything can happen!
I’m excited to see what I’m about to do next, too.
No great plans, just going with what feels right.
P.S. Considering I had major perfectionism and control issues when she started seeing me, I hope my therapist is proud of how well I’m dealing with uncertainty now lmao hello Doc Enola ^-^✨
I visited and reconnected with my Lola Nida and Mama Belle yesterday.
I asked Mama’s permission before I did, of course because I wasn’t sure if my reconnecting with Papa’s side of the family would hurt the case that Mama is building against Papa. It’s a long story, but it’s not about that.
Lolo Boy, Papa’s Papa, died last year. And ever since he died Lola Nida and Mama Belle, Papa’s youngest sibling, have been living by themselves in their house. Of course I knew they felt sad and lonely, but it felt awkward for me to come and see them while hiding from Papa.
This time, since I have realized I can live on my own terms outside my complicated relationship with my parents (and siblings), I have decided that I can allow myself to see the rest of the relatives my siblings and I have been avoiding because of our parents’ separation.
It felt unfair that just because my parents finally decided to end their relationship (a decision I fully support tbh) that we lost a whole set of grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles, too. It felt lonely that we had to figure out things all on our own at a time when we needed more support, at least emotionally.
Since neither of my parents are even supporting me anymore, honestly, the support I would get from reconnecting with other relatives wouldn’t hurt too. I trust that they love me as a grandchild/nibling even if they haven’t seen me for a long time.
Lola was crying with tears of joy when she saw me, and Mama Belle welcomed me literally with open arms as she hugged me tightly. At that moment I felt like an eight-year-old again.
They were excited to talk to me, what’s up with my life, asked about my boyfriend, my art. We talked a bit about my parents’ separation, how our family was before it. They just wanted to know how I was doing and if I’m doing alright. It was heartwarming, and I felt loved by them.
They were encouraging me to reconnect with Papa, too. They’re really worried about him. Sounds like he’s not taking the separation well, but he’s not open for therapy. He’s isolating and not making efforts to take care of himself. He doesn’t sound like he’s going out with his friends nor girlfriend anymore. I’m no psychiatrist but it sounds like he’s depressed.
I’m not entirely sure how I feel about Papa yet, but the plan is to at least be civil with him. Lola and Mama Belle expressed their excitement with my plan.
Baby steps. I got my stubbornness from my father, I think. But unlike me, he’s stuck in his old ways and doesn’t sound open for growth anymore. I wouldn’t push him. I just want to do my best to gain peace for myself and the rest of us.
I admit I still have a lot of issues to address, but that’s okay. One step at a time.
Oh I almost forgot, Lola Nida was very adamant offering me their place to stay at. “Ang dami-daming mga kwarto dito!” (“There are lots of rooms available here!” I felt excitement and hope in her voice. “Dito ka na lang, para kung ma-miss ka ng boyfriend mo edi ligaw-ligawan ka uli niya dito,” she said. (“You can stay here, and if your boyfriend misses you, he can court you again here.”
I made no promises to Lola, but I told her I would talk to my boyfriend, Ian, about it. Honestly, it didn’t sound bad. I want to feel courted, too, since Ian and I never really did a courting phase (another kinda long story, I’ll talk about it next time).
Ian didn’t seem too excited hearing the offer when I got home, though. He said it’s up to me and what I want, but he became sullen and avoidant as the night went on. He didn’t even hug me as we slept last night, which he usually does. Even this morning, I feel like he’s distancing himself already to save himself from the heartbreak when we separate.
I think he believes it’s all going to end up in a break-up for us anyway. And because of his behaviour, I’m starting to believe the same.
I asked him if he’d come visit me when I stay there with Lola and Mama Belle, and he said he would but not always. He’s not a texter either so the idea of him not wanting to see or talk to me every day saddened me.
It’s been going on a while, but I do feel like he’s just waiting for me to give up on the relationship. Give up on him. But as I told you, I’m stubborn too. Always telling him I’m not giving up on him nor our relationship. Maybe at some point I do have to.
I just want everything to work out just fine, but maybe it’s selfish to think that. I don’t know. I’m 95% confused in life, the 5% is just me being “well fuck it, I don’t think it could possibly be more fucked up than this”. And the universe be like “All I can promise is you not dying.”
Anyway, I still have a lot of excitement towards the vast possibilities in my life left of me, so I am doing my best to figure things out and make the best out of what I’m given. I know I can have an amazing life too, I just have to reach out and take it. Even now, my life isn’t all rainbows and unicorns, but if I look at it from another angle, I have stories to tell and a hella lot of lessons learned. If this is what acceptance of the journey feels like, then I don’t regret any of it.
Creating a blog two years ago was a great idea. Forgetting it ever existed was not.
I just remembered recently that I did create a blog in the beginning of the pandemic, and honestly I’m so grateful for past me. I’m surprised to read the blog posts I have here now, I can’t even remember writing most of them.
That’s the thing, though. I can’t trust my memory anymore. I’m not even sure what’s real anymore either. There’s a possibility I’m being gaslit, but maybe my brain just simply forgot how to brain, too. I think I have repressed a lot of relevant memories. Relevant to my perspective towards my family and how I feel about all of this.
I’m not sure how I will be able to explain here. All I know is that if asked for a testimony, I’m not even sure I trust my memory anymore. So starting today, it is a necessity for me to blog.
Blogging feels so much different than writing with a pen and paper. I prefer pen and paper. But since I don’t want my writing to be read without my permission again, blogging is my last option (as far as I know).
I’m not aiming for an audience. I just need something to show up in case I die and nobody knows what really happened to me. I want someone to be able to read my words and learn what my reality was.
I can’t even trust my own family to not have any agenda with my malleable memories, so I have to document things on my own.
I know my username “i am fictional” can really raise doubt, but I don’t wanna create a new blog because it might make my blog posts from this blog null and void if things ever get legal. I don’t know. I just want to clarify that I am indeed a real person. Please believe me. I am so afraid of the possibility that even in death no one would believe me. I just want to know what’s real again. I want you to know what’s real for me, too.
so much has happened, and i believe you all know about the pandemic that has been currently putting almost everything to a stop.
my university, aware of being in a third world country, has officially put a stop on every activity that requires meetings and internet connection. students were literally told to not think about their acads anymore and focus on our own health and well being for now.
so far, i haven’t heard any concrete plans as to what we’re all supposed to expect as a response to this situation. but to be fair, even the national government’s main plan of action is to police everyone’s comings and goings, making sure people stay inside their houses, buffing up the military instead of the medical field for some reason. basically, their main plan is to wait this out, which isn’t a very ideal plan given the circumstances, if you ask me.
it’s Day 16 of quarantine for students like me who first got the official memo of suspension of classes on March 13, which became our Day 1, and to be honest i’m not having much of a problem so far.
i mean, i’m “stuck” in my dorm, but honestly i don’t feel stuck here. i have the room all to myself, nobody cares what i do with my time, meals are still being cooked and served, and i’m not being a threat to anybody. i don’t really feel like going back to my hometown or going “home” because i feel much safer here.
not everyone shares my thoughts, though. if my estimate is right, almost 4/5 of the students went back to their hometowns or wants to go back but genuinely feels stuck in here because their hometowns are already in total lock down, so they had no choice but to go back here inside the campus.
some said they know the risks of going home and being seen as a threat of being a carrier of the virus to their families, but they said they were willing to take the risk just so they could be in the comfort of their families. i guess, in situations like this, my inability to miss anyone or anything is pretty advantageous.
i was having no problem whatsoever until my cousin messaged me earlier this afternoon asking for a headcount of students who want to go back in our hometown, since our aunt is trying to pull some strings with someone in the capitol to get us home, i guess. i said i didn’t know about the others but i’m pretty okay here. but the other students included my name in the list anyway so i’m not really feeling very chirpy right now.
i’m not quite sure if they fully grasp the concept of a lock down, but as far as i know it’s for preventing possible carriers to enter a certain area, and limiting the possible infected people to stay in that certain area and not be further carriers to others.
Reason number 2: the land area to body count ratio of our home town compared to our university campus is terribly worse, much more is my mother’s house which only has 2 bedrooms and a space outside the bedrooms which is a living room/kitchen/dining area merged in one. now, if i go back there, i will be constantly exposed to 3 other people who are also stuck inside that small space for who knows how long, therefore giving me higher chances to infect or be infected by them.
and even if none of us get the virus, there are very very high chances that my mental health, which i have been working on since the start of this school year, will just go back to trash all over again if i will be sent back “home”.
that’s the thing about home. not everyone finds it with their family.
i don’t feel stuck here in my dorm. i will be willing to be the only one left in here if ever everyone decides to go back to their provinces. but me going back there? being stranded in an almost deserted university campus is nothing compared to my eighteen years staying with my fucked up sorry blood family.
home doesn’t feel like home for people like me, and i’m not going to act as if i want to go home but i just cant because laws blah blah. because i don’t. i don’t want to go home. that place is not my home. it doesn’t feel like home. i’m not going back.
When everything else starts to fade with the shadows, and the last sun rays hit the dead leaves among the greens, you begin to understand why Van Gogh clung on to yellow.
The sea is calm, and the mountains trace triangles down to the horizon against pink clouds and purple skies.
Sunbeams through the leaves, making the dying leaves golden and the young ones glow.
You can hear it quiet down for a moment, and then the woods begin to sing a different kind of song.
The wind starts to curl back and run its fingers against your cheeks and through your hair as it blows towards the sea.
Because everything ends, but that doesn’t mean endings can’t be beautiful.
The words inside my head are colors which makes it hard to speak straight The sounds spill and hues scatter But the words fix themselves late
I tend to stutter and my words break Even at times that I feel brave I could see the words inside my head But not in the way they’re supposed to behave
The words inside my head are colors and the images are songs Maybe that’s why when i try to speak they all sound so wrong
Because maybe they weren’t meant to be just words Maybe they weren’t meant to be limited by my voice When every single thought in my head Seems to have a life of their own by choice
The words inside my head are colors It’s kind of hard to explain The air stands like a grey old canvas where i can paint over the rain
The visions played by my soul are music that my tongue doesn’t know how to tune But why would i want to lasso comets when I’m already on the moon?
The words inside my head are colors and galaxies hide behind my eyes You can’t really blame that i tend to stutter when i feel like a whole universe in disguise
I stood at the podium, my hands shaking, For there’s little chance to be freed “You’ve been accused of robbery,” The judge said, “How do you plead?”
“Your Honor,” I said. “I beg for your time For i am on my own I do not even have a lawyer to defend me For i was told i already have too much loan.”
The judge rolled his eyes, and heaved a sigh “Go on,” he said monotonously I held my breath as i shift my feet thinking of my first words carefully
“I have worked,” i began, “with sweat and blood on acres and acres of grain and yet how is it possible, at a moment’s given, that my family’s the one who’s starved and in pain?
“I have thrown nets and caught tons of fish for my countryfolks to be fed but why is it that in an event of an attack that i most likely be left for dead?
“I have worked for days and nightshifts, making sure of everybody’s wellbeing Yet on the chance of certain death I am still expected to risk everything
“Your honor, my brother has just been killed, his body dragged through the streets by the same people who once vowed to protect us, as if he was nothing but a sack of meat.
“My children are abused every single day up to the point of beating them out of shape But everyone scoffed when we wanted to leave, and demanded silence from my screams while i was being raped.
“The sack of rice, the loads of fish, my own health, and the safety of my family Why should i be punished and be sent away for trying to survive substantially”
The judge boringly looked up from his phone and gave me a dismissing look “I charge you guilty,” the great man said, with his palm on the Holy Book
I tried to kneel with tears on my cheeks, “But my children, my children!” I begged “You should have thought about them before you stole,” But i did. Didn’t he understand? I did it for them.
As i was being dragged away, reminding me of my brother’s death, My husband’s grip on my children’s arms was enough to steal my breath
How do i live in a life turned against me How do we live if survival demands a price With every single breath we heave It takes folds and folds to suffice
I sat on the floor, my breath still shaking I heard the guards talking outside They said I will be put in a special cell Where all those before me have died.
In a world where society exists and we’re not supposed to go astray Where people tell you to be different but once you are, you’re shooed away
In a world where you are supposed to fit in, where people are forced to pretend Standing stiff, making no mistakes, patching up masks up to no end
But what if we grew tired of wearing all these faces What if we’ve had enough of all the traces Of all the white lies, the unencouraged tries, If our hearts’ on our sleeves, of all places
Why do we find it so hard to act normal when we only want to be real? Up to an age, why do people find it insulting if you’re idealistic still?
In a world where struggle is ever present Is it really naive to dream? For a kinder world, yet more real Is it really better to be mainstream?
In a world where hardship is normalized Is it really a mistake to revolt? Are we really supposed to stay subservient instead of fighting for the world that we hope?
Despite popular belief He isn’t broody or gloomy or dark Death has the sweetest smiles With eyes of brightest spark
Despite what most people think Death adores healers He oversees love and health and life For, he explained, he doesn’t really need believers
Death loves the defenders, the mad scientists, and the so called immortal gods With every bit of them fighting it, denying it, pouring everything to beat the odds
For Death is neither a hunter nor a reaper but a gatherer that is eternal Who whispers “Well done, you were magnificent” As they enter his kingdom imperial
Because who are they to hasten Death’s domain? Who are they to presume that Death, of all creatures, shall obey? He who patiently, waitingly, siphons away the great monsters of the world With a giddy snort, a happy chort, with a grin and his fingers curled
Despite popular belief Death fights and defends For when one is as inevitable There’s no need to rush your end
Zee Ro 