Silent Reservations

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I was born an extrovert.

To my mother, I was considered dangerous, troublesome, and problematic. 

Yes, I waved hello to every person in public I saw while tagging along with my mother on her errands when I was a toddler. However, I never strayed from her presence. I recall feeling dread when I lose sight of her. The assumption my mother had that I would wander away from her was very confusing – why would I risk my life recklessly?

It was obvious to me she couldn't care less about my well-being. She would introduce me to people I barely knew and demanded that I kiss them. But when I went to greet people on my own, whom I recognize, to give them a kiss, she would yell at me, violently shaking my body like a ragdoll, and then cursing the name of my father's mother.

The constant belligerent nagging and violent beatings during my formative years to adolescent years stood uncontested while I struggled to still hold a piece of what was left of my sanity.

My life was forever changed when she allowed a pedophile to our bedroom. I begged my mother to listen. I had no choice but to steal the master key to my bedroom from her bedroom dresser. I shared my bedroom with my sisters. 

My mother violated our privacy before. Why would she listen to me a second time? Sure enough, the pedophile visited my bedroom only to discover it was locked. I insisted my sisters not to unlock the door. I threw the key up at the top of the cupboard. The next morning, my mother was violently banging on my bedroom door. I scrambled up to the cupboard to grab the key. My mother clobbered my face the moment I unlocked the door. The housekeeper was frantically getting my mother's attention before my mother decided to punish me severely. The pedophile, whom she called her dear friend, stole her newly purchased car, and her car title. When she finally learned her friend was a wanted criminal for kidnapping children, she thanked God.

No apologies or remorse for the consequences of her actions. Yes, I was grateful that God was beside me and guiding me what to do. The level of discernment to listen to God was not something I figured out on my own.

My mother indoctrinated me when I was 7 years old. Every Bible verse she quoted was either taken out of context or misinterpreted. Every word she uttered from the Bible didn’t sit well with me. It bothered me for a very long time.

In 1995, I attempted suicide. God intervened by sending a messenger. He made me realize that the God my mother worshipped was not the God of Abraham. I decided on my own to commit my life to Christ, the Messiah, whom they called, "Jesus."

I vowed to take my journey to a renewed faith with God's wisdom and following Jesus' footsteps. 

My parents were livid for betraying the family. I did bo such thing. Since then my mother condemned me for being a heathen. She told everyone at her church how an obstinate and ungrateful child I was.

I was beaten violently to the point of exasperation and frustration. She had the audacity to ask me why I stopped being her sunflower?

She left me in the quicksand. She called me all kinds of insulting names. She allowed her anger to manifest into a cultural tradition that no Filipino would consider nurturing. 

I had to learn from others what it means to be a woman of virtue. It was from the kindness of strangers where I learned to be a wholesome individual. My resolute stance as an evolved introvert is not my resolved state of mind.

When we emigrated to the U.S., I asked God if I should quit and break my vow. I was quickly reminded with a big warm hug from a Youth Leader, God never wavers – neither should I. 

God led me to a place I saw in my dreams years before I knew what it was called. I enlisted in the Air Force. For the 2nd time since 1995, I was free again. 

My unit supervisor advised that I take self-help classes to manage my anger. Years passed and I was becoming more like Christ.

I will fight for justice and righteous for the sake of freedom, peace and love. Just as the Messiah once did 2,000 years ago.

I was young and adventurous once more. I became a mother at the age of 23. 

My mother was constantly nagging me even though she was 752 miles away. My first husband was furious with me for allowing my mother to control my life. I was so distraught. 

I became isolated. I wasn't allowed to go anywhere. I couldn't hold a job for more than a year. I cried myself to sleep. My greatest mistake was trusting my mother-in-law. My first husband called me a pushover, naive, and selfish woman.

I tried everything to reconcile my relationships with my parents and my own family. I was at my wit's end. When I threatened to end my relationship with my family, I was thrown into custody of the military mental ward.

Yes, I mentioned genocide. They took the threat seriously. When I gave them the big picture of my situation, they didn't call authorities to arrest my parents or my first husband for abusing me.

I was misdiagnosed for having a borderline personality disorder. I wanted to give up so much. I was tired of being beaten to silence. 

I stopped being me. I lingered in the shadows once more. My anger grew and festered. I hurt my baby without realizing it. I wanted to find ways where I could be happier and still have my baby with me. 

I felt truly alone (2001 - 2008). I grew fatigued and emotionally weary. My saving grace was God's promises to see to my child's well-being. Her smile was the only thing that kept me resilient throughout my day. 

November 2008 was the day every thing turned upside-down. I filed for separation and protection. Even though I was the victim of domestic abuse, I had to take visitation rights for seeing my child.

March 2009, I gained full custody of my child with my best friend's help. He helped me picked up the pieces of my soul that was abandoned in the darkness. 

On June 6, my best friend and my sister surprised me with a visit to California. My mother was nothing more than a judgmental and belligerent host to my best friend. 

My father on the hand was more accepting. When my father learned that my best friend intended to marry me, he gave me a surprising revelation. 

He asked me to forgive him for being a negligent father. He should have trusted his gut when I was always thinking of him and his well-being despite of my isolation from him. He never realized that my mother was manipulating my emotions and violating my personal boundaries. He recalled the letter I wrote him in 2004. He made every effort to protect my sisters in my stead.

I couldn't believe he interpreted my letter just as I intended. I poured out a lot emotions of recompense for being a extrovert. I was overwhelmed with emotions to hear from my father that he was very proud of the woman I became. 

When my father passed away 11 months later, I was beyond disbelief. 

I tried to console my mother when her husband passed away. She forced me to celebrate my birthday to see my father dead in a casket. A birthday I will never cherish the way I used to when I last visited California.

She doesn't know that my father sanctified my marriage to my current husband. I am bound to my husband's will in accordance to God's covenant at the Garden of Eden. 

I said a lot of things that upset my mother. She was overbearing despite proclaiming that her behavior was due to her husband's abuse against her.

I haven't spoken to her since 2010. Whatever I have written here in this blog was my past experience. She cannot take that away from me.

My silent reservations of not returning to California was because of these moments where my own mother made me a prisoner to her delusional reality.

I can't blame my sisters for being indifferent and blind to my imprisonment. I had to protect them from her. When I left California in 2000, I prayed everyday for their future endeavors to be free from my mother's oppressive and toxic behavior. 

Their well-being was always in my thoughts. I try my best to remember calling them just to let them know how I'm doing.

They are the reason why I am in almost all of the social media platform. 

I learned six months ago that my first husband still consider me his buddy. He was indeed high-strung when I first met him. He eventally found his inner-peace – just as I have expected. I never realized I was the baggage. That's okay. He taught me a lot of things about America. 

My mother had a preconceived notion that America was the best country to live in. Since we were forced to tag along, I did my best to make my life as toxic-free as possible. 

I acknowledge that my past trauma doesn't define my present self. I have evolved into a wholesome individual. I owe it all to God for delivering me from oppression. I am saved and redeemed. 

Since my renewed faith has given me the knowledge and power to connect with others, I bless them too by sharing my experiences. 

I came into the world of violence. In the darkness, I grew into a russet potato. I can weather any season and storm that comes my way. My flowers bloom in the summer – absorbing the beauty and light of others around me. I maybe in the darkness, but my vines that bud from my eyes will continue to find the light and meet the world just as I am.

Fundamentals of Humanity

People say that the world is full of darkness and that the night is full of terrors.

“All the darkness in the world cannot extinguish the light of a single candle.” ~ St. Francis Of Assisi

People do not realize that darkness is not evil. It is the absence of light. It brings the balance of life itself. Darkness is for rest, rejuvenation, healing and restoration. Darkness absorbs light. Light varies in formation. 

Darkness doesn't extinguish Light. It holds it in place. If you ever find yourself in total darkness, let your light shine. Very few people realize they have this ability. It is written in the book of Matthew, if your light is darkness, then great is the darkness within you. 

I was in the darkness for a very long time. In college, I learned about the allegory of the cave. Even to this day it beguiled me. So many questions that were never answered:

Why can't the prisoners turn their heads?

What were the crimes of the prisoners?

What are the consequences for the prisoners if they face the campfire?

Why are the puppeteers by the campfire? 

Are the puppeteers supposed to entertain the prisoners?

Why would Plato assume that the shadows became the prisoners’ reality?

Was Plato teaching his students that he could read the minds of the prisoners?

Was Plato one of the prisoners?

Is the reality for the prisoners being imprisoned for life? Or were they held against their will?

What is the premise of their imprisonment in the cave?

Even after my professor reviewed my summary of this pointless exercise, he eluded that I missed the point of the lesson. 

What exactly is human behavior? Have we become so blind to the simple truth that we are mammals as much as the next evolutionary primate?

For eons, a single organism broke the process of entropy. It evolved into different types of species. The oldest written record of human existence was found in Egypt and ancient Sumer.

If the Torah wasn't written after the 2nd destruction of the Jewish temple, wouldn't you think the Jewish oral tradition would have suffice as a trustworthy source of information?

I have played “Pass the message” game many times. Sure the possibilities of another person, who received the message, would put their own spin to it, but did the message lose its original content?

Let's state that what happened in the Garden of Eden was fact, wouldn't it suggest that each one of us were born with the knowledge of good and evil, and the power of the tree of life?

If you were paying attention to your children's development, wouldn't you have noticed which child you could guide to do extraordinary things while another child of whom you were incapable of persuading to make good decisions?

No, I'm not an expert in psychology. I was born into violence. I lived with my abusive parents for 21 years. I was beholden to my parents’ biracial cultural traditions for another 20 years. In parallel to the Exodus story, I was wandering in the desert for 40 years.

I spent that lifetime writing my experiences in Blogger. My current husband is a very private person. After reading my Blogger posts, he suggested I delete them. My therapist suggested that I keep them in another location. I was grateful that Blogger has a “Revert to Draft” option. 

The difference between reflecting and ruminating is progression. Reflecting leads to progress whereas ruminating leads to hopelessness if you allow it to do so. Regressing to a state of hopelessness and melancholy will only trigger the traumatic experience. 

If I'm being honest, I was against removing my journal entries. Even as I write this post, it made logical sense to do so. As Dr Ferruci stated in his book, “Eliminate something superfluous from your life. Break a habit. Do something that makes you feel insecure. Carry out an action with complete attention and intensity, as if it were your last.” However, I was emotionally invested in sharing my story. 

If people could write an autobiography or a memoir of their life, why couldn't I do the same?

I was 42 when the meaning of life came to pass. I admit I was angry with my parents. They failed to realize that it wasn't seething hatred and contempt I had against them. It was their hypocrisy and delusional sense of self-awareness. They were the ones who made the world believe that I was inherently evil. 

No one was born inherently evil. If we truly are spiritual beings, then we exist as matter, which can take many forms – solid, liquid or gas. It takes a lot of energy to transform into a physical property of matter. Whether we are expending heat or light. 

As a follower of the Messiah and servant of the God of the Universe, it is my duty to share the truth. We are worthy of salvation and redemption. It is written, “To anyone who calls out [My] name, I shall be their God, they shall be my people.”

Each and everyone of us has a choice. If the allegory of the cave makes sense to you, by all means break the chains, ask for forgiveness, discern what is true and righteous, and step into the light that sets you free from oppression. Start living to your fullest potential. 

It's not every day you can wake up from the comforts of a nice warm bed, good food, and a cozy place to stay at. I have seen so many homeless people. It is beyond me for anyone to be complacent with being dependent on the kindness of strangers. 

As a woman, it's challenging to be kind to strangers. I had several encounters of men pushing me into a corner begging for money. 

If kindness has falseness at its base, it is no longer kindness. It is labored courtesy. ~ Pierro Ferruci 

The reason why I am still alive was because of how I was raised. It was very easy to manipulate men into believing that I was not worth their time. Why would a poor homeless man beg for money from a poor single mother?

There was one occasion where that explanation didn't work. The beggar's mistake was he blocked the door of a restaurant, where patrons were supposed to enter from. When an employee saw what was happening, she called the manager. The beggar took off when my husband came to my aid. Even though I was offered a free meal for the inconvenience, it didn't absolve my fear.

If anyone was truly in need, they wouldn't be so pushy or demanding to the point of physically violent. It's also sad to see women, who beg on the streets and depend on the kindness of strangers, tend to always manipulate the situation in their favor. As for the men, they always resort to violence. 

The only time I have ever truly rejected being kind towards another person was a 58 year old woman I encountered on the bus. The design of the bus here in North Carolina favors disabled persons of all ages. The disabled seating is 3 and a half rows in front. I sat on the last seat of the 3rd row since the two disabled rows were occupied by a paraplegic in a wheelchair. The half row of seats were taken by a disabled person with crutches, a pregnant woman holding a toddler, and an elderly person (looked about 75 years old to me). 

All of a sudden we heard a woman yelling at the top of her lungs. The bus driver convinced this woman that the bus cannot kneel any further to the ground. The wheel would rupture at the weight of the bus that was already 50% full. The bus driver firmly told her that he had a schedule to run.

She demanded for a ramp. The ramp for the bus in question wasn't designed for transporting people. You can call me cynical, but I was anticipating for the ramp to be used, so I could see her fall on her ass and break open her skull on the asphalt. 

She continued to yell and protest — threatening to sue the bus driver for emotional distress and trauma for not attending to her physical needs as a disabled person. The bus driver gave her an ultimatum: either get on the bus or wait another hour for the next bus to arrive. She begrudgingly got on the bus by dramatically extending her leg onto each step. 

After she paid her fare, she fixated her eyes on me. She yelled, “Why are you sitting here? This is for the elderly and disabled people!” I laughed nervously and told her that I am a disabled veteran. She yelled louder, “You're too young to be a Veteran – let alone be disabled! Get off the fucking seat that is meant for people like me!” I told her that I could show her my Veteran card to prove to her that I was a 40% Disabled Veteran certified by the Disabled American Veteran organization or I could take my pants off to show her my leg braces (I was wearing shorts underneath my pants). That was why I was laughing nervously. Does this lady really want me to prove my disability in public? (A very common occurrence in Asia where old people antagonize young patrons at public transportation systems.) 

Someone from the back of the bus yelled, “Show her the badge! I'm a Veteran too. I'm 23!” The woman looked around to see everyone on the bus were shaking their heads - including the paraplegic. She realized then that the wheelchair had taken the first 2 rows. In other words, the normal rows of seats were already full of disabled and elderly people (people much older than her). Out of embarrassment, she said she'd find another seat. The Vietnam War Veteran behind me patted my back. “That was very brave and considerate of you instead of returning that nasty energy.” I shrugged – I couldn't be any other way. Legally impossible to sue me if she was not legally disabled. 

She didn't deserve my kindness since she antagonized the bus driver. Everyone on the bus felt uncomfortable around her. Her maladramatic episode caused the bus to be late from its expected schedule. “Thanks to you, I'm late for work!” One passenger said to her as they departed the bus. I could tell from her psyche she didn't fare well that day. The scowl on her face grew into a grimace. All I could think about was how she could have deluded herself into believing that she was entitled to the kindness of strangers. 

In order to receive genuine kindness from strangers, you have to exude kindness within yourself. Understanding the concept of kindness is like explaining love — as if it's something that can be academically taught. 

You are either empty or whole. If you are empty, then you have a choice. You can either choose to fill yourself with good things or fill yourself with negative things. Never allow your emptiness to envelop those who are already full of life.

To be human is to evolve from basic instincts to light of the cosmos. Oh, what a joy it is to be among the stars in the heavens of the Universe. 

Yes, I consider myself a Christian. I believe in all things because of love. Just because I am full of love, it doesn't mean I will allow others to suffer during my watch. I will lie, cheat, and steal to protect and save a life. I've done it before. I can do it again.

How you choose to be in this life, will determine what you end up becoming: heat or light. I choose to end up being the light for the world.

What's yours going to be?

My place in this world

People born from violence are not inherently evil. I know my place in this world was very lonely. I was isolated since I was 5 years old.

The narrative in my formative years that I was indulgent and spoiled. It later progressed to indifferent, insufferable, and obstinately ungrateful. 

When I left that place of origin, there was temporary peace and freedom. Most people didn’t believe in God, but the experience I had was mysterious, unexplained, and miraculous. I committed my life to the one they called, "Messiah."

Since then the journey of my healing got into very tight places. I had attempted to stop moving forward. The temptation to give up all hope of moving forward was very high. The Exodus story continued to inspire me. The experiences gained and lessons learned shaped my life. 

When I thought I was doing so well, I was reminded of my place of origin. Countless times I reflected. Other times, I ruminate. 

Just because I lay myself as an open book, doesn't mean people should have the right to vandalize the pages of my life's stories. "Maybe you shouldn't put yourself out like a prostitute!" 😩 As a feminist, that sexist comment directed at me wasn't nice. Women are allowed to choose any profession they see fit. I'm not an entertaining person. Comparing me to a prostitute was suspect.

I recall a comment directed at me back in college, "You're too young to be so wise." I was 19 at the time. Thoughts that poured into my mind came rushing through like the river breaking from the dam. 

• Solomon was 12 when he took King David's throne. He was a sought-after sage of his era

• Knowledge is power. 

• Standing up against malice, oppression, and deception is possible

• Violence isn't always necessary to take your point across 

I was born in the year of the Earth sheep. The star of Cetus and the Dídymoi constellation were aligned to celebrate my existence. Yet, the chosen sex I was born with was a constant disappointment to both my parents. Would it have made a difference if I was born other than what I was?

I was constantly violated with insults. They say words don't hurt. The very words used against me was a revered book of the Christians. The more I read it, the less it made sense. The very people proclaiming their pious religion were neither descendants of Abraham, Israelites, or Jewish people. 

I journeyed far and wide to seek shelter from those who chose to silence me from my existence. The kindness of strangers were angels in my time of need. 

There were moments in my journey where I lingered too long in the mud. I couldn't see myself getting out from under it without causing harm to myself and others around me. 

One act of bravery and a leap of faith from someone outside my culture and religious beliefs, came to my rescue.

I couldn't uphold the generosity they shared with me. Two years into the relationship, they implored me to trust them. I couldn't. Despite my doubts, I stayed. Just when I was ready to end my journey to impediment doom, my spawn was in trouble. 

Although I was physically there for my child, my connection was lost in the midst of my depression. I was led to believe that my vessel had to be fixed before I could help pick up pieces of another's broken vessel. I mean, my ship was battered and worn, but I failed to see the damage it did to my child's vessel. I agonized about it so much, that my storge connection was almost non-existent. 

I relied heavily on my partner's strength. It took a heavy toll on them. Even though my child's ship has successfully sailed into their "maiden voyage," the repairs my partner and I worked together cost a lot more than we anticipated. They wanted their ship repaired too.

Even though my ship is creaking and is in need of a lot of repairs, I understood my partner's request. I acknowledged that no matter how many people I meet and allow them into my life, very few will stay awhile. Some will enjoy the antiquity of a galleon. Others will admire it from a far. A few will try to bargain its value. Then you have the rest of the world judging how it would look better in a painting than it would in real life. As a collector of ancient civilization, I would treasure it for the rest of my life. Of course, the philautia I have is unmatched. 

Nevertheless, I challenge myself everyday to continue my journey alone – as I have carried on – since 1995. Whether I choose to continue to be an open or closed book, my title as "The Reluctant Artist" will always shine and embossed in gold. Don't ask me where the dust cover went.