It’s Pride Month.
I’m moving to an apartment after four years of staying in a dormitory for Uni. Or should I say I’m convincing my parents to let me.
I have no failing mark this semester, and to be honest, I feel like I can do anything. I feel invincible and my grades shoot up.
Except that I’m currently company-less for my practicum and no one is willing to accept me as of date.
I gave up my dreams of being the President of The UPLB Microbiological Society, even if I have growing passion for it.
Let’s spare the drama for later.
Let’s start with Pride Month.
My first tattoo is dedicated for this protest. It stands for all the things I choose to be brave for, and for all the things that make me weak. I am vulnerable–and these rainbow dots painted on the center of my chest reminds me of what makes me feel less than who I am. That even if I achieve great things, people I love will always love me less, and see me less, because of how I love, and who I choose to love. However, while this is the voice that narrates my story when I look at myself in the mirror, it remarkably empowers me to do more. To be more. It makes me remember that I deserve a life as peaceful as theirs, that even if my parents are loving, and giving, they are not as accepting. And it is for this very reason that I fight. No matter how beautiful these colors may be, it may not always mean a bright battle. More often than not, it paints everything red.
This serves as a reminder that I’m not in high school anymore. That sooner or later, I’m going to turn 25. 30. 33. They are going to ask who I’m going to marry. And I can’t hide in this bubble forever. I cannot hide in this goody-two shoes, plainly studying, little girl they perceive of me to be. Because I can think on my own; I can decide on my own. I am my own woman, and today, I choose to be brave.
Quite frankly, I have to stop running away. Tell them. NO. Scratch that, show them how lucky I am to be holding the hand of someone I love. And it’s a she.
I have always dreamt of being a girl boss. Own money, own business. Own apartment. Designed by me alone.
It seems like a far- fetched dream. And this time, I might just get it.
I don’t know how to convince them. But honestly, I want a place of my own. And I know it seems demanding and selfish of me, because I must only get this when I’m the one paying for everything.
But living in a dormitory and living in an apartment are different things, I believe. It’s time for me to explore, and not explore as in invite people over so we could smoke weed and drink alcohol. I mean explore things on my own. Explore myself, be myself. Create space for me and me alone. In my last year in college, I want to thrive and survive and live the best I can. This only comes once in my life, and I want to make the most of it by building myself. You all know how much I value self worth and self identity. Dignity, even. It’s something you build; it’s something that can break.
Imagine feeling sad, imagine feeling happy. Imagine feeling the need to be alone and independent and miserable; or feeling the dire need to celebrate–alone. I haven’t explored much on my own. I still have lots to curate for me, and within me.
Apart from that, this is for practical reasons. I have no roommate, which means I get to deal with myself alone. I am free to study while reciting loudly because I have no one to disturb.
I hope I can convince them.
I must admit, I am all grit and hard work and patience and diligence when it comes to academics but with anything else, I am a huge fucking couch potato. I deserve this. I deserve being company-less for my practicum.
Once again, I am running late. I fixed my papers for internship almost near deadline and now I’m panicking here and there looking for a place to apply.
This serves as a lesson. I must challenge myself to be more responsible not just academically but also among other things. I shall not wait for the last tug for me to move. People are not going to help me in the future. The world is a cruel place. I should know this by now. I always say I am my own person so I should act quick and diligently and do it.
I gave up almost everything this semester for good grades. I gave up family time, leisure time, extracurriculars. I gave up everything, including my family away from home.
It broke me. Slowly. They do not know how hard it was to sacrifice service and passion. I knew in the first place that I wasn’t ready, nor was I worthy to take the Presidency.
To my family, you have been the greatest decision I have made in my college life. But you are in good hands now, and I hope God grants us the wisdom to strengthen lose ties, and correct our many mistakes. We’ve got a long road to travel. But we’ll get there, eventually.
reverie: hers, erstwhile 