Life like a Glass House

This is my birthday entry , I am turning 32 this Sept. I don’t know what to label this post though it sort of resembles an assessment report. Whatever it’s worth…I exercise the liberty of posting it. Cheers!

I am a Freethinker who works in a glass office, in one of the most surprising nook and well kept secrets of Makati. Our building though not a skyscraper, is one with sophistication and artistic innovation that friends and visitors used to comment, “Hey your office looks like an Art Museum”. I don’t mind since I love it the way it is. More than just an office, this edifice quite reminds me a lot about life.

I consider my circumstances growing up in the province, was quite a sheltered existence. Thanks to father’s random lectures, despite my cloister, it has been impressed in my mind that there is a big world outside my home and my school. The realities of life, both beauty and harshness, I further gleaned through the pages of the books and magazines I’ve read.

I have been educated through the public school system from grade school to college, except for a brief stint in Chinese kinder school and a private school in the 4th grade. When I turned 10, I’ve given up the outdoor play since there were only 2 girls in the neighborhood where I grew up; Heart, who is busy with her stamp collection and shitsu puppies, and me, who found seclusion a wonderful place, I did have a stamp collection too though not as extensive as Heart’s.

I breeze through high school while undergoing the perfect summation of identity crisis. Like any other teen, I wanted to fit in. I’ve tried taking school seriously which turned out to my advantage. I got excellent grades and great friends, all went well until I succumbed to a nerve disease that almost claimed my life in the summer before junior year. I became a vegetable at the mercy of my neurologist which gave my parents the ultimate fright of their lives. I called this episode in my life – the falling into the dark pit- until I found brilliance and comfort in W.E. Henley’s ”Invictus.”

The recovery period from such a nearly-fatal blow was an arduous process. Not only did I sought refuge in my seclusion castle, which is like a glass house where the only thing that protects it from intrusion is a deadbolt, I also buried myself into reading until further solace came in the form of writing. Once again I retrieved my pen and restarted a journal. Writing is therapeutic. It paved the way for me to find the missing portion of myself after the ordeal.

Through the years, I realized that I have become my own person. As a child, I always wanted to be like my father, a very strong force to contend with. My mother on the other hand is the sensitive soul and that, I can never be a gentle creature like her. Though not a lot like my parents, I carried their values, their strong faith in being a “family” as well as their belief on taking on social responsibility. And for these, I thank them.