Now this is an impulse blog post.
I wake up ridiculously early with a slight hangover…yeah, just a slight tiny-eenie-weenie hangover.
On the 16th floor of a residential building, I can see a lot of Quezon city. I turn my head to the left and I see trinoma; I look straight and I see Burger King and Torre Venezia, Timog; I look to the right and I see more of the Cubao area and the Ortigas Skyline in the distant smog. Here it is. It’s a great view…a great perspective.
I guess we all depend on perspective. It’s how we see life, and what we see in our lives. Perspective could actually control what kind of human beings we become and the destinies that we create for ourselves. Perspective also involves a choice. It could be perspective from a building basement or from the penthouse full-glass window. We can choose to look at life through a dirty window or a rose-colored one.
So, enough with the stalling you say. What’s my point? Well beside perspective, life is also about risk. Remember that the higher up you are, the fall is also longer and every floor adds to the fatality levels. Is that why a lot of people choose to stay safe on their low perspective points in life? Most probably.
Knowing the risks, I’ve always tried to up my perspective. Truth be told, i’ve had more than my fair share of falls. Most of them, i’ll never fully recover from. I’ve always had great expectations in life; great expectations of people. A reason why disappointment is also a part of those a many falls. I’ve sometimes wondered if the only purpose I have in life is to be a warning to others. A mistake that they should learn from but not repeat.
I’ve always said that carefree and happy lives of children are of the best examples of honest-to-God joys in life. A reason why I refuse to grow up or even remember my age. But then I recall my own childhood. A ”happy one” you say? Well, you’re partly right. About 30% right. Sure I was always happy with family and relatives. I received enough hugs, kisses, junk food, and love to keep me from insanity…and i’m thankful for that. But that’s a given.
I smirk every time I try to recall my childhood because i’ve tried to block most of those memories out. Reason? Bullying. No, not physical bullying, mainly because I was the biggest kid in pre-school, grade-school and my early high school days. It was the mental and verbal bullying that really got me. I do recall how I tried my best to look as if I wasn’t fazed by the abuse, that sticks and stones may break my bones…but words will never hurt me. Nope. It was more of a ”the tongue is sharper/mightier than the sword.”
Unfortunately, having a face, some would say ”only a mother can love” and a waist that would often rival my height was a bad profile to enter school with. I was the butt of every joke. In fact, I might have probably heard every single fat joke or insult in history. Round. Pig. Babe. Porky. Porkchop. Porkbarrel. Fatso. Fatty. Equator-waist. Sausage boy. Chubs. Chubbychoochoo. Lardboy. Margarineman. Michelin. Rumpa. Moonface. Beachball. Snorlax. Dumbo. Overbait. The winner was when someone said that calling me a pig would actually be redundant. And countless more I do not wish to recall. Funny right? Not when you are a 4 year old overweight child with no friends and no developing self-esteem in sight. It was me against the world. And the world was winning.
Being ridiculed by kids my age or older was one thing. But when younger kids, with those honest sincere eyes, questioning my very right to exist as a member of the human species, ask me how I go about my daily life with my kind of phizog, I get stabbed. Stabbed straight through the heart with a frozen unsharp sword. Somehow I manage to find an outlet. Working out my tear glands to exhaustion in places of secret.
What about friends, you say? There were few, if any, real ones. What do I mean by real ones? The ones who won’t stab you behind your back and turn on you in the slightest hint of trouble. Real friends that would stick with you no matter what. That would defend you if necessary. Back in my grade school days, these were more like dreams then real flesh and blood people. Out of this chaos, I developed an aloof, stubborn, and boastful attitude as a kid, which ironically got me more ridicule.. It was probably my way of facing the regular torment.
So that’s it. Story of my childhood life in a couple hundred melancholy words. Which brings me to my present perspective in life. No matter how many times you fall, just pick yourself up. Never complain about what you can’t have. Make opportunities so you can have what you want, and more importantly, what you need. Aim high, because sometimes the fall is worth it. Treasure true friends. Define life not of moments of sadness, but moments of unconditional love and happiness. And Smile. Just Smile. You’ll feel better instantly. You know what, I don’t regret my childhood days. I’m actually grateful for it. It has made me who I am today.
Funny how I started writing this, I was feeling really bad. Somehow, that feeling got lost in the preceding paragraphs. You might have noticed the emotional roller coaster in my paragraphs. This wasn’t actually a serious post. Just an outlet. I thank you.