I write to Express not to Impress

         I never really appreciated the power of writing—not as much as I do now. Lately, for some reason, I feel like I’ve found solace from my loneliness and boredom by putting my feelings and thoughts into words. Here, there are no pretensions, no need for complex words or terms.
It’s funny how the things I write about are mostly the things I’m not comfortable sharing with anyone. I may be talkative at times, but only with those I consider my friends, and I rarely share personal matters unless I completely trust someone.
It might be a cliché that I’m here, writing about myself and posting it in an online journal, but somehow, it just feels good.

I wrote, I admit, therefore I am

If I may ask you…

Have you ever had that feeling where you wake up early in the morning already feeling restless? Forcing yourself to get ready for school—not because you’re feeling lazy, but because you just don’t feel like going? You have no motivation, but you push through anyway.

And throughout the day, while you’re at school, you keep telling yourself, “I just have to get through this day. I have to.” Then, at some point, you share a good laugh and joke around with your classmates, schoolmates, or even your professor. For a little while, it feels good. You momentarily forget whatever personal issues you’re dealing with.

You feel like staying a little longer at school, even though most people have already gone home or are out doing the typical things people your age do. But eventually, you realize you have nowhere else to go, so you head home too. And once you’re alone in your room, isolated from everything, you just burst into tears.

And then, the next morning, you do it all over again.

Or have you ever felt that moment in class when you’re sitting there, pen in hand, notebook open, trying to listen to your professor? Your classmates are participating, engaging in discussions—yet you sit there, unable to grasp anything. You feel dumb. You feel useless. You feel like you just want to get up and leave, and never come back.

You ask yourself, “What am I doing here? Why am I here?”

Your head starts to hurt because, deep down, you know you do have a choice—you always do. But at the same time, something inside you is holding you back. And instead of making a change, you find reasons to just endure it until the end.

Because that’s exactly how I felt every single day when I was in college.

The ironic part? I loved going to school.

I enjoyed being there because I was always alone at home. Especially in high school, I was the kind of student who was always eager to learn. I was active in extracurricular activities—except sports. I joined various clubs, became a part of the CAT, and even served as the Corps S1. I was always one of the busiest students. I loved hosting events and representing my fellow students in school programs.

But somehow, when I got to college, all of that just faded away.

Suddenly, I felt like a completely different person—nothing like the version of me I had always known.

Do I have regrets?

Obviously, I do.

But can I do anything about it?

No and yes.

No, because it’s already in the past. I can’t go back and change any of it. Sure, I made mistakes—a lot of them—and now I have to deal with the consequences.

And yes, because I’d like to believe that whether everything happened the way it was supposed to or not, I still have a future. That means I still have a chance to do what I want and become the person I’ve always wanted to be.

No Boyfriend since Birth

I’m not really sure how to start this since I have so many random thoughts running through my mind. But I suddenly felt the urge to write about a side of myself.

I’ve always been open about the fact that I’ve been Single Since Birth, and people often ask me, “Why?” Honestly, even I don’t know the exact reason. But since it’s been on my mind a lot lately, I think I’ve finally come to a possible explanation.

I’ve been used to being alone ever since I was a child—literally alone (or something close to it). I don’t have siblings, and I didn’t grow up with cousins, relatives, or even childhood friends. Sure, I had my parents, but my dad was always working to provide for our family, so he wasn’t around much. That left just me and my mom—but we were never really close. She wasn’t the typical mother who did things like making breakfast or helping with schoolwork. Living with her felt more like having a roommate rather than a mom.

From grade school onward, I learned to take care of myself. If I wanted to eat breakfast before school, I had to make it myself. I washed and ironed my own clothes. I had no choice—if I didn’t do those things, I’d have nothing to eat and nothing to wear. My mom certainly wasn’t going to do them for me. And if I didn’t want to start a conflict with her, I just had to accept it. (That’s actually how my dad became my “lawyer”—he always stepped in whenever my mom and I argued, haha!)

I’m not saying any of this out of anger or resentment. I’ve outgrown that phase of my life. I know there’s no such thing as perfect parents, and I’ve come to terms with that. But I find it amusing how people assume I must have been spoiled just because I’m an only child. That couldn’t be further from the truth.

Making friends was difficult too. I changed schools almost every year, so I never had the chance to form solid friendships. At home, I wasn’t allowed to go out, and I had a school service, which meant my entire life revolved around school and home. Being bullied didn’t help either. I had no one to encourage me or offer advice, so I had to navigate everything on my own. Books, magazines, and blogs became my source of guidance and comfort. I became my own best friend, my own Ate, and my own confidant.

And summers? Staycation—every single year. Actually, even now, I haven’t met some of my cousins, and sometimes, it takes 8–10 years before I see certain relatives again. It honestly feels like I live abroad rather than in the same country as them.

I don’t know if you can picture what my life was like, but I’m sure some people would say it sounds boring. I always joke that I’m such a good daughter—though others, including my parents, might disagree because of my mataray and masungit attitude. But I say it because I always did what my parents wanted. I even took the college course they chose for me, without ever voicing what I truly wanted. Now, just thinking about it—writing this all down—makes me feel a little stupid. But I remind myself that I’m still lucky and thankful that my parents at least provided for my basic needs. I’m especially grateful for my dad, who has always been supportive of me. Besides, what’s done is done, and I can’t change the past.

It never even occurred to me to rebel. At the end of the day, I know it’s my life, and I am responsible for how I live it. So, I choose not to dwell on the negative.

Looking back, I think this is why I’ve become so used to being alone. And you can’t really blame me for keeping my distance from people. Normally, thinking about all this would make me cry, but now, I realize it has only made me stronger. It taught me that, in the end, the only person who will always be there for me is me. That’s why I don’t let my guard down easily, and why I have trouble trusting others.

And when guys have confessed their so-called feelings for me or asked to court me, I’ve never really believed them.

If there really is someone out there for me, he’s going to have to prove that I’m worth it—and that he is worth it too. I want to believe that there’s someone for me, and I’m not completely closing my heart because of what I’ve been through. But then, reality hits, and I wonder if maybe I should just accept things as they are and be happy—alone. Haha!