Skip to main content

'What a waste of a life'

"Nakakapanghinayang lang. Isa lang ang buhay natin. Tapos kapag nabuhay ka parang apologetic ka pa, na nahihiya ka sa sarili mo, hindi mo mailabas ang pagkatao mo. Parang what a waste of life." 

It's a pity. We have only one life to live. And you live it apologetic, ashamed of yourself, not able to show your true self. It's like, what a waste of a life.

This was said by actor Ian Veneracion about his daughter who came out to him at 16.

I was having breakfast at work when I caught Ian and his daughter on TV. I was about to listen to an audio book or something, but then Ian came on, and because I have always admired the guy, I watched their interview instead. 

I didn't hear most of what they said, but the above statement stayed with me. I'm straight (and consider myself an LGBT ally), but I'm also very familiar with the feeling of shame in being your true self. 

But what parts of me am I ashamed of? Perhaps now is a good time to reflect on that, since I am on Stop, Look, and Listen mode. 

Off the top of my head, I can think of some qualities I've tried to control or even hide ever since I was a child: I lack social graces, I'm too needy, I'm awkward, I'm bad with numbers, I'm fat, I have bad skin, I sometimes struggle to find the right words, I overthink things, I have self-esteem issues, I'm not always the bigger person ... 

But listing this down makes my shame feel so petty (especially when put in context with LGBT issues). 

Then again, maybe all this shame is exactly that: petty.

Petty, in the face of this one life we are given to live.

***

I thought it took only courage to show yourself to the world. I still think it does, and yet I don't think I ever felt brave showing up. I'm realizing now that I've always shown up as my best self when propelled by happiness. 

Happy over petty. Happy over petty. 

Choose to be happy.

Popular posts from this blog

The work for which all other work is but preparation

I've been thinking, off and on, of something I once read: The purpose of marriage is not happiness but holiness. Never having been a "good" Christian despite my many attempts, I couldn't understand this line of thinking. Having been raised Catholic, I understood "holiness" to have as one of its main ingredients suffering — and why even want to get married if to be successful at it means to suffer? But these words never left me, bobbing up every now and then from the flotsam and jetsam of my brain. Until, one day, it dawned on me what the statement meant for me. On that same day, I also realized that I do want the gift of marriage. In fact, that is my Christmas wish this year.  My view is not a biblical view, but I don't think it strays too far from it. To be holy is to be set apart from others, as God is, in his perfect goodness and righteousness, in his perfect love (yes, this is biblical; yes, I know I said I wasn't looking at it biblically).  The

Visita Iglesia

My mom and I went with my sister, her family, and the in-laws to their Visita Iglesia for the Holy Week. I'd never done this before, but I had such an interesting time, and I think I'd like to do this again next year. We didn't do the Stations of the Cross, though. We just prayed and lit candles. A lot of candles. Here's a list of the churches we visited. Recto The University Belt churches, all of which are within walking distance to each other. The path to all those churches were lined with vendors hawking all sorts of things, from food, like calamares (I'd never seen calamares being sold as street food before! Lucky U-Belt kids!), all-sorts-of-balls-and-the-like (chicken, squid, fish, kikiam , and kwek-kwek ), to bottled water and flavored beverages, to candles and religious paraphernalia. 1. The San Beda Church , which I loved for the gilt of gold on the statues and the ceiling, and because once a Bedan, always a Bedan, though I didn't go to San Beda

Dream: Disaster

Last night's dream. This is a long one. I was in a management class that suddenly became a cooking class. The teacher whipped up this Italian dish with pasta, meat and some mushrooms and vegetables. "Would anyone like to have this?" she asked us. Nobody replied. A bit miffed, she handed it to the student in front of her: me. The dish looked delicious, actually, so I stood up and went around the classroom to get everyone to try it. Some of my classmates feigned interest, and some didn't bother to hide their annoyance, but most got some of the food. The plate was soon empty, even for me, so I went back to my seat. The teacher, who'd been watching me serve her dish, asked, "Why do you have blood on the seat of your pants? Do you have your period?" Surprised, and suddenly anxious, I whispered, "I just finished my, um, girly thing, ma'am, but I'll go check. I might have just sat on something that looks like blood." I saw what looked like blo