No longer missing the missing piece

Last Sunday, May 6, my essay was chosen as the weekly winner of Philippine Star and National Bookstore's "My life as a book" contest. To those who couldn't access the link, here's a post of my entry ;-)
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No Longer Missing the Missing Piece

As a preschool teacher I have used many books to teach young children important lessons. From the basics such as the days of the week with Eric Carle’s The Very Hungry Caterpillar, to life lessons like embracing one’s uniqueness with stories like Leo Leonni’s Swimmy and the importance of sharing with Markus Pfisters’ The Rainbow Fish, the books I read to my kids made values more than just an idea. Rather, these life lessons became real to them, in words they understood.

It was no surprise that when I started teaching psychology at the undergraduate level, I took with me stories such as The Giving Tree, Seven Blind Mice and William’s Doll. While my older audience initially scoffed at the thought of their instructor story-telling, they quickly changed their minds. From neuroanatomy to human development and social norms, the once technical concepts became facts they actually remembered.

If my life were a book, it would definitely be a children’s book, not too long, not too short, colorful and simple yet full of lessons that matter most. If there was one, however, that most represents my life, it would be The Missing Piece by Shel Silverstein.

Growing up I always used to feel that my life would be so much better if only I had the missing piece of myself that would have completed me. Very much like the Circle who couldn’t go places quickly because he had a part missing in the story, I felt like there was something wrong with me, that there was something missing which was holding me back from being the best possible me.

While I cannot say I had a bad childhood nor can claim no good opportunities came my way, I always had a nagging feeling that there was something more, that there was a life out there that I did not have because I was not “perfect”. I felt that if only I was prettier and thinner, or perhaps smarter, life would be so much better. I even believed that if only my parents were still together, everything would be great.

In my fantasies I imagined finding what it was that I was missing. I’d close my eyes and live in a make-believe world where I was a princess who knew no sorrow, pain or longing. When morning came, I held on to my dream and tried to make it reality by filling the void I felt with things I thought should be there.
In my quest to find it, I came across different people, places and things that looked like it would fill the vacuum and make me whole. Like the wedges the Circle in the story picked up, these pieces were supposed to complete me. So that’s what I did: I took on these roles, responsibilities and wrappings with the fervent belief that with my missing piece found, I’d be okay.
However, not all these pieces fit perfectly. Nonetheless, I tried to make them fit. After all, you make do with what you’ve got right?

Once I picked up the “be-the-best” piece. This piece held the belief that being the best at something would make me happy, I strove to be in the honor’s list and to have the nicest things in class, and to be everyone’s best friend. However, that didn’t fit right. While I was proud of my accomplishments and recognitions, I grew so tired of trying to outdo myself. With the resolve that I do not need to be the best but to just do my best I let it go.
 
Being a true-blue daddy’s girl, I used to feel that with him around, I’d be whole. So at thirteen, I decided to live with him in the States. I even got a job and earned money a thirteen-year-old in Manila would never be able to. The shopping, the freedom, and the independence…that was great! But then it was too much for the adolescent-me to handle. Pretty soon that wedge felt overwhelmingly large and I was consumed by it. So I took it off, called my mom and came home. 

Back in Manila, I decided to take on the role of the family caretaker: the responsible one and the one who took charge of everything. I went out of my way to provide for my siblings in all possible ways. I took care of my lolo as his health failed and spent many Sundays by his side watching basketball while tending to his needs. But when lolo died and my brother’s stopped needing me, the hole returned and I was left with that lost feeling again.

So I tried filling that empty space with lots of nice things, from beautiful clothes to the coolest trends. When Sweet Valley High was the teen Bible, I had a complete set. Before the cellphone era, I was one of the first to get my own pager. I did love all my nice things, however, these things didn’t love me back.

One day, I finally found it. I was finally whole! The funny thing is, I found it just as I stopped looking for it. 

Out of the blue, I found it there lying in the strangest place: my doctor’s clinic. At first I ignored it, denied I wanted to try it on and went on with life as I knew it. Eventually I caved and tried on that wedge which, to my surprise, fit perfectly. With newfound confidence, I went off and loved every moment of it. Life was good! And yes, I was perfect! I lost eighty pounds, got a new job I loved, went to graduate school and aced it. I even made amends with my father. More so I finally felt secure enough to let my guard down and let others see the real me. To top it off, I fell madly in love with a guy I thought I’d spend the rest of my life with. For once in my life, I felt complete.

Now that I was whole, the world seemed brighter. I was finally traveling at speeds once unknown and seeing sights once unseen.

The trouble with speed, however, is it leaves no room for control. No time to, as the Circle puts it, stop and smell the roses. Soon, the values and beliefs I held on to began to slip away. I never realized that all the time I thought something was missing I was enjoying a beautiful life. I got so caught up with what wasn’t there that I didn’t appreciate what was actually there.

In the end, the piece I thought had been perfect was actually not. By the time I knew it, though, it was too late. It was stuck and I was going too fast. I lost touch of my thoughts, feelings, and most importantly, to what was essential. I began to do things I swore I wouldn’t, like attach my worth to someone else. My sense of happiness and identity became correlated to a phone call or a text message, or what people thought about me. Worst of all, I suddenly did not know who I was anymore.

It was difficult to let go of that piece, for it seemed to be so right. But eventually I had to. And it was when I gave it up that I realized that I was okay just the way I was. Maybe there wasn’t really a “perfect” me, but a “me” that was perfect. With that, I embraced my being incomplete…from not being thin and pretty enough, to not knowing all the answers, and to still not having a husband, the two and a half children, a station wagon and a house with a white picket fence. It was only then that I truly understood what being whole meant: it wasn’t having all my pieces together; it came with loving what I’ve got right now. It isn’t always easy, I admit. Times still do come when the feeling creeps up, but that’s what life is about right?

And so if my life were a book, it would be amongst my favorite authors in the kiddie section, picked up by preschool teachers just like me. Underneath a brightly colored cover with big, animated drawings, my story will hold it’s own lesson, encrypted in simple text to be read during story time. While they underlying values may not immediately be grasped at age four or five, my story will hold values they will take with them for the rest of their lives. After all, is really where all life’s lessons are truly learned: in kindergarten.

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Band-aids

When I was a young girl, I used to believe that band-aids were magical. Not only did it seem to take away whatever hurt I felt, it also covered up the scratches and cuts on my skin. Maybe it was not seeing the cut flesh or the angry red line of blood that comforted me, but whatever it was by simply putting on a band-aid, everything became better. Like magic, all the pain, fear or hurt I was feeling would go away as soon as my mommy would stick on a band-aid. She always used to say “let the wound breathe”. She’d tell me to not to keep it covered up all the time. While I may have obeyed many times, I never used to get what it meant. I still insisted on putting on that band-aid so I did not need to see the imperfection the wound brought along with it.

When checkered band-aids came out, it was exhilarating because not only did that mark of imperfection on my skin disappear, I could even match it to my outfits. Even when I got too old for the cartoon character band-aids, I had fun getting them, albeit I never did like the reason behind needing one.

As I got older, wounds progressed from scrapped knees, to paper cuts, and eventually, they moved on to fears and insecurities, bitter disappointments, and even broken hearts. By then, the band-aids I used started taking on different forms, depending on the wound I needed to cover-up. Sometimes, my band-aid could come in the form of a tall, no whip, mocha frapuccino. Sometimes it was a shot or two (or more) of tequila. At times a bit of make-up and a whole lot of attitude worked wonders. For bigger wounds, a new dress or a new pair of stilettos were the perfect answers. When those wouldn’t work, it would be a splurge: a new “toy”, whether it be an ipod, a pocket PC or laptop, even a new car. Some called for impromptu weekends in Boracay, or instant road trips to Tagaytay. But for the really big ones, those wounds that cut so deep and way down to the core, the best band-aids came in the form of chocolates, ice cream and cake…these were the magic band-aids covering my wounds. Those magic strips, in whatever size, shape or form, soon became something I held on to tightly and grabbed at the slightest twinge of pain.

One day, during one of my Grey’s Anatomy marathons, it hit me what “letting it breathe” meant. It meant letting the pain and fear take over, for the time being. I suppose to some extent it also meant allowing myself to cry and be hurt, even for a while.

The thing with band-aids, it seems, is that it stifles the wound. By covering it up all the time, it does not have the chance to really breathe. While it does offer protection against further infections, it does not allow the wound to dry out and really heal.

While I will admit I am blessed to have so many band-aids at my disposal because not everybody is able to afford such necessities and I have an abundance, all they really do is cover up the wound. It puts on the pretext that it doesn’t hurt and that everything is fine and dandy. Healing, however, apparently takes more than just slapping on a band-aid. It should be allowed to bleed and be given patient attention and cleaned with antiseptic. While it may sting and hurt, it allows for healing to begin. However, what it needs more than anything, I learned, is admitting that it hurts.

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Invisible?

In an episode of Grey's Anatomy, one of the characters asked, "If I went missing, would anyone notice? ". When I first heard it, I disregarded it and claimed it was cheesy. However lately, I've kinda been asking that question. Maybe it was the birthday blues (or should I now call it post-birthday blues?), but for the past month, I've had this overwhelming feeling of being invisible.



While I will admit that I'm not a very sociable, extroverted individual, I couldn't help but feel that my social circles were shrinking to almost non-exisistent. It's like if I vanished, no one, except probably my dog, would notice. Sure, people see me, but they only see the me on the outside. They see me as an extension of my things, my accomplishments....but not as me. It's like I've been existing in my own world, taking care of myself and facing everything independently.

While I do value that independence and, dare I say, power, I can't help but wish sometimes, someone would be there with me. Not necessarily to do things for me, but to do things with me. I'm not talking about a "knight-in-shining-whatever" here --- I just mean I'm tired of doing things alone. While I do have friends, it often feels that I am doing things FOR them. Further, I feel like an old nightshirt that is stuffed at the back of the closet, drawn out occasionally. Admittedly, it's not that I'm asked to do things for others, and its perhaps my absurd need to please others all the time, but sometimes I wish I could see that I do have some degree of value or importance. I wish that people made an effort for me sometimes. More importantly, I wish they saw me more for who I really am, and not WHAT I am. That I do have feelings, and although they may not understand where it comes from, its there.

While it was said in jest a long time ago that I was not asked to be bridesmaid at someone's wedding because it would cost more to have a dress made for me compared to having one made for someone skinnier, it cut me to the core. It was as if, in my perception, that I was just not good enough.Similarly, someone at work jokingly said that I'd have to live a love life vicariously because I'd probably never get married, I felt like I was simple not worth much. As immature as it is, it hurt so badly that I spent my birthday alone, even though I did recieve text messages and birthday greetings. It's selfish, sure, but it just felt that to the people who mattered to me, I was on the back-burner and that there were just too many things more important than I was. Even though I know it was unintentional, when I was not included in transportation plans for a recent event, I felt terrible. Again, it was assumed that I would be okay on my own. Put it this way, when I said I was feeling down and depresseed recently, someone retorted "This coming from someone who just bought a new car AND a mac". Yes, I am lucky I was able to do that and that I could afford it. But what hurt was being told this with so much sarcasm, as if because I had things come more easily than others do, I had no right to feel sad. It felt like a slap on the face; a total invalidation of my feelings.

Cognitively I know it's irrational, but feelings-wise, it's been hard to reconcile. In my head I know it's my unconscious need for affirmation, or perhaps attention, and a need to be liked by others. It's difficult to understand, even for myself, and yes, I know to many extents its so childish and pathetic. Maybe it's the inner child in me, or perhaps the wounded soul...but I need someone to take care of me too. I need to know I'm not invisible, and that I'm not simply remembered in passing. It's not necessarily being TOLD that I am remembered, I just wish I could see that I am appreciated and wanted. As someone once said, the best conversations you could have would be those with a friend, sitting on a bench, without saying a word at all. You just know you're not invisible.

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Gluing back the pieces

Gluing back the pieces when life falls apart is never easy. It's a painful, messy mess that leaves you chipped, cracked and broken. Even if you are successful gluing it back together, it's never ever gonna be the same. While supposedly these cracks or chips add character, it isn't always welcome.

Of all the pieces that are hardest to put back together, it's a broken heart. Mistakes at work, it's simple, just do a better job. Arguments with friends, flared tempers and petty "tampuhans", an apology and the renewed respect for the value of the friendship is the cure. With embarassments, some time, some tequila, a few laughs: it's all better. But a broken heart...no amount of superglue or even duct tape can really put it back together again.

In an episode of Sex and the City, Carrie ended by saying “No matter who broke your heart or how long it takes to heal, you'll never get through it without your friends”. I guess Carrie's right, you can't get through it without your friends. Without them, who'll help you put the piece in the right place, or carefully pinch the tube of glue with out getting you more messed up?

But what do you do when your friends get sick of it, or worse, don’t get that despite the passage of time and sincere efforts you put into putting back the pieces of your once perfectly managed life you're not okay? It's as if no matter how much glue I use, it's never enough to put me back together again...especially when all you want to do is to say how much I miss him.

So what do you do when as pathetic as it is, the only glue that I can't think of right now is him?

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Home Improvement

About a week and a half ago, I finally gathered up enough will to get out of my room and grab a cup of coffee. I had spent the entire day in bed nursing a little headache and a huge heartache while watching episode after episode of Ally McBeal. In many of the episodes, Ally would be sippig a cup of coffee from Starbucks, hence the craving for coffee. So I got up, brushed my hair and put on a clean outfit then got in my car and drove the five minute drive to "my" Starbucks.

When I got there, I was devastated!!! It was boarded up and a sign hung saying they were closed for renovation. Talk about bitin!!!

Anyway, yesterday I drove by the area and saw that they had resumed business already and so at the spur of a moment, I decided to park my car and hang out while working on a report I was writing. Although the renovations were minor, the place felt spruced up and more vibrant. As I sat with my laptop in front of me, I remembered all the times I had spent studying, working or just whiling away time there. A few years ago, when it first opened accross the street from my mothers house, I spent about 4 out of 7 afternoons there for hours! I started reminicsing about friends now gone, moments passed by, and yes, aches and pains made better over a cup of coffee.

I sat there, somewhat wiser than I was when I first set foot in the doors of that Starbucks branch, and realized that things really have changed. I no longer am just a student trying to study for my comps, or a lonely young girl mending a broken heart. I was not the sick, skinnier version of myself, and though the weight gain may not be something I appreciate, I realized that it wasn't so bad.

Just like walls that need fresh coat of paint, or couches that need new upholstery, even old spaces that just need to be moved around, we need some home improvement ourselves. At least for myself. For example, I was whining recently about how I just couldn't get things done the way I used to do it. I guess it was all the grime and dirt cluttering up my system. The anger, resentment, disappointments...all of these became stains on my wall of optimism. Because of it, there was no brightness and pleasure around.

While it may not be as easy to clean up my act as it was in Starbucks, I am inspired to at least try. Slowly, I guess, I will find a renewed brightness. But for now, I'll start with throwing out my trash. Let's see how that spruces up my personal rooms.

Things do change. And change is good. It may not be easy, but then again, who ever said life was easy?

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Why I cry at weddings

"I need to believe that men and women love each other. I need to know that they go home to each other every night, so I can believe that it will happen to me too someday". - Ally McBeal

While I may not be the only person who cries at weddings, I always feel selfish when I do. Why? Because honestly, many times I cry no only because of happiness or well-wishes towards the newlyweds. Rather, I cry for myself. When the bride walks down the aisle, I have my own Ally McBeal moment and see myself in her shoes, walking towards the man of my dreams. But reality sinks in and I realize it isn't me, and so I imagine my heart crashing into a million pieces right in front of my eyes. Selfish, right?

I do feel happy for the couple getting married. But whenever I am at a wedding, especially lately when I see all my friends get married, my feelings of insecurity are heightened and all my defenses crumble. While success and career have been blessed for me, sometimes I can't help but retort to myself, "I never really asked for that". After all, growing up I always dreamt of being a housewife, complete with the two and a half kids, a station wagon, the dog and the white picket fence.

However, this weekend, at the wedding of one of my "sisters", it dawned on me why I cry at weddings. While the anxities were stirred up and the woe-is-me feelings were pushed to the surface, I realized at the end of the day that I am not crying because I don't have what she has. I cry because through these people who take the plunge and walk into forever together, I start to believe again that love exists.

"I think I need to believe that it works...love, couplehood, partnerships. The idea that when people come together they stay together, I have to take that with me to bed, even if I have to go to bed alone." - Ally McBeal

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Seattle Grace

For the past two months, I have set up camp in the surgical wing of Seattle Grace hospital. Everyday, despite all the work I need to do, I switch on my dvd and settle in, watching and re-watching the drama unfolding in the lives of those surgical interns and attendings in Grey's Anatomy. I cannot count the nights I spent crying myself to sleep while watching Meredith proclaim "I miss you" to McDreamy. I cried while she asked "why didn't you fight harder". And yes, I cried when she realized her mother slipped back into her Alzheimers state. I lived life vicariously through the lives of those people. Pathetic as it may sound, it made me feel "alive". I was happy, I was sad...I cried, I laughed and I felt the hurt and hopes they did too.

Initially, I watched it only to keep myself entertained. After a while, it started conjuring up weird images in my head and leading me to recall past and present relationships I was going through. I started comparing and relating things I was thinking and feeling to what was going on in the show. Soon, my reality started shifting, and all that mattered what was going on in Seattle Grace.

When I stop to think about it, why do I keep watching it, even though I know what's gonna happen next? Even more, why do I keep getting emotionally involved in a make-believe show, a fairy-tale, a life of pretend?!?

Then it dawned on me. I love watching the show for two reasons: first because by being in Seattle, I was not sitting home alone watching television feeling low and disapointed in my sad, uneventful existence. Because I was there, I did not hace to face my thoughts, feelings and emotions, nor did I have to admit what it was I wanted or did not want.

Secondly, watching Grey's Anatomy gave me and excuse to feel. It gave me an excuse to be sad, to be hurt, to be lonely, and even to be happy without facing my own emotions head-on. By feeling through these characters, it was okay to cry. It was okay to laugh and somehow, it offered me some degree of comfort knowing that no matter what, somehow, things will be okay. The little bits of wisdom narrated at the start and end of the show likewise gave me the semblance of insight. While it may not be my experiences, it still gave me a glimmer of hope that maybe things will indeed be alright be alright. By pretending, I did not have to face the truth.

The thing is, I can only pretend so far. So at the end of the show, I'm left with the truth that I don't have the answers and that my life is a mess despite the mask of "all-is-well" that I wear. In the end, I know I have to face the fact I'm not okay and that behind the confident, independent woman is a scared and broken little girl who doesn't know what to do anymore. But in the meantime, for my sanity's sake, I press rewind, and watch it all over again.

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Put on the paddles...

I was thinking. Maybe it's time to just grab the paddles, make eveyone and everything stay clear, and just jump start my life again. Then again, maybe it's not that I've gone flat-line. Perhaps it's more like I'm stuck on a respirator, breathing in and out, but not really "living". Occasional blips on the monitor, but generally, a slow steady beat. Predictable. Undeniably predictable.

There's only one problem. I can't do it alone.

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Time

For some reason, even though I try desperately to schedule things and manage my time well, it feels like I can never get things under control. It's like no matter what I do, there's too much to do. It's not like I do too much, but for some reason, time seems to keep slipping through my hands. In many ways it comes across as a cosmic joke, seriously.

I used to be good at this, managing to keep my life on track, I mean. But time seems to have stopped for me five years ago. Since then, I've been caught, trapped in it's web. I'd move forward at times, but there's a force that seems to be sucking me back in to that moment in time, and no matter how I've tried to jump start it, it keeps getting stuck. In the words of, yes --- once again, my new addiction, Meredith Grey, "...time takes pleasure in kicking our asses. For even the strongest of us it seems to play tricks. Slowing down...hovering...until it freezes, leaving us stuck in a moment, unable to move in one direction or the other".

Five years ago I knew where I was going. I knew what it is I wanted and I knew what it was I was capable of. Today, no matter how many bright and new shiny toys I have, I have no idea who I am. I have no idea where I am, nor where it is I want to go. All I know is that I'm hovering, frozen in that moment of time...unable to move forward, unable to go back.

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Seriously?!?

As trivial as it may seem, I was incredibly stressed out by the last episode of Grey's Anatomy. The clincher of it all was the fact that I wasn't even watching the actual episode, as it is not yet showing here in Manila. I've been satisfying my addiction with transcripts of episodes, and while it's not as great as watching the actual show, it feeds the urge esepecially since I have no choice but to wait for it to show (or perhaps pirated dvd's hehe).

Anyway, in the last episode, as many may know Meredith Grey dies. Like a bunch of other addicts who waste their time going through blogs and spoilers of the show, I wish that it's not a real death. Then again, at this point I can only speculate.

Going back to yesterday, I was really overwhelmingly wigged out by the twist in this darned three-part episode! Natatawa na nga ako sa sarili ko because it's so silly to be affected by a television show! Nevertheless, I'm anxiously waiting for the next episode to see what happens next.

Now that I've slept through it, I realize that maybe I feel this way because I resonate with her dark and twisty world. Granted that it's a television show and Meredith Grey is merely a character, the uncanny wisdom that the writers have granted her has been a source of inspiration for me.

In the last episode, her narration went something like "There's so much more I wanted to say but...I disappeared". That struck a chord in me because as I said in my last blog, I got lost in my world of denial. And yes, there's still so much I wanted --- and needed--- to say but I never had the chance to. Because of this, I just denied the feelings existed, pretended I wasn't hurt and painted on a smile to cover up the tears. In the process, "I" disappeared. Behind that veiled happiness, I lost a part of me who knew what it was I wanted, what it was I was about...who I was on the inside. In many ways it felt like I was drowning in a sea of misery and though my head is above water, no one understands why I can't get myself out. The thing is, much as I'd like to get out I can't. Sometimes I do believe I can, but most of the time, I just wanna forget about it and sink to the bottom and just cease living a sad and pointless existence.

Maybe Meredith drowning and going on to the great beyond is a wake-up call. It's like what they say about having your entire life flash before your eyes for you to realize what it is you have. And through this experience, you appreciate your life more. My friend said maybe this whole Grey-thing is a way for her "to wake up and stop being a loser". Well, maybe she's right. In the same way, maybe it's time for me to stop feeling like a loser even though things aren't the way I want them to be. After all, it's bound to get better. And though I may feel that I have disappeared, maybe I really haven't. Despite the fact that I feel unheard and lost, the world does see me. In whatever small way, my voice is still heard in this vast universe.

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Blog runs dry...

It's been months since my last blog, and it does indeed feel like I've lost all sense of creative spirit in me. It's like a well that got dried up. Or perhaps a watering hole in the midst of a hot, hot summer waiting for the monsoon to come. Perhaps there will be a deluge of words flowing soon. I sure hope so, as I'm starting to feel parched, literally. It's like I haven't had the time to sit down and reflect on what it is I'm thinking and feeling.

How do I sum this up?!? I guess bottom line it's that I allowed myself to once again get caught in a rut and just let myself fester there, without really meaning to. It's kinda like a line in my new favorite addiction, Grey's Anatomy...It’s easy to suggest a quick solution, when you don’t know much about the problem or you don’t understand the underlying cause or just how deep the wound is. The first step toward a real cure is to know exactly what the disease is to begin with. But that’s not what people want to hear. We're supposed to forget the past that led us here, ignore the future complications that might arise and go for the quick fix...And that's just what I did. All the pain, discontent and dissatisfaction I was feeling, I ignored. Slapped on a band-aid we call work and doused it with alcohol (literally hehe) and just let it be. Ignored the tugging at the heart strings. Denied the longing. And yes, lied that I was okay.

It’s been what, four years? Five? Since then I’ve never really regained my footing after my freefall. The freefall to the unknown that left me so jaded and bewildered. While yes, I did make resolutions and did reconcile certain aspects of that period of my life, but I lost a part of me then. The part of me that loved myself and actually knew what it meant to be loved. Not necessarily in the romantic way, but in the truest sense. I let the disease of cynicism and bitterness eat me whole. Yes, once again it came back and overrun me.
In the past few years, I found myself slipping back to old habits. Eating, sleeping, overdoing things…and letting myself go. It’s time to rip of the band-aid and just take the time to heal. And in the words of Meredith Grey, “…as human beings, we all try to do the best we can. But the world is full of unexpected twists and turns. And just when you’ve gotten the lay of the land, the ground underneath you shifts. And knocks you off your feet. If you’re lucky, you’ll end up with nothing more than a flesh wound, something a band-aid will cover. But, some wounds are deeper than they first appear and require more than just a quick fix. With some wounds, you have to rip off the band-aid, let them breathe, and give them time to heal.” .

Time. It’s time to heal and let this hurt scab over. And this time, no more picking on the wound.

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