Autobiography

This doesn't seem like an autobiography but I passed it as is because of my poor memory of my childhood. Plus, our teacher said to make it more story-ish. LOL

A mist clears as the enshrouded past reveals itself – looking back from over a decade and a half, I end up at a dead end. I can’t imagine any images from back then. Words and names are the only ones I remember.

Yes, I am the child of Shirley Legaspi and Warwinn Sy – two people only to be split-up by the rush of parenthood. My mother occasionally comes home with bruises on her arms. They said that it was from my father but such a sight couldn’t be comprehended by a mere child. To me, those bruises were necessary between lovers- husband and wife. What can I say? I guess I have a somewhat unusual mind.

I grew up believing that my family was complete but was it really? I didn’t think that my mother and father weren’t together at that time. It only occurred to me a few years later – when my father told a friend of his that he was with his wife. What did I see? I simply saw my father’s friend and her daughter with us in my father’s car but that was only a few moments before that statement was said. My views suddenly changed and I sort of became more emotional.

My mom was a person who worked as a nurse in the United States for the welfare of our family. I was raised as someone who was used to ‘overseas’ goodies’. I lived at Tondo, Manila so I guess such things could be easily appreciated. I was raised living without my parents. I saw my mother as this person who was made to just keep sending goods and my father as this person who I’m supposed to visit every weekend. Was I wrong? Of course I was.

“I was raised living without my parents.” Does it sound like the start of the story worthy to be on dramatic television shows on late-night spots that make your tears jerk? It does, doesn’t it? Well, my life’s story would probably get rejected and trampled on. I was a spoiled brat. I cried when I didn’t get what I wanted. Of course, they wouldn’t allow me to get everything except this one special person – our neighbor and probably my grandmother’s best friend.

She was my choice. I favored her more than everyone else. She was the only I considered that cared for me. I treated everyone else as nuisances and just people who get me the things I want. This is the typical spoiled brat’s mind’s cycle. Of course it was wrong. I was too young to differentiate the wrong from right. I lived that lifestyle until just before entering adolescence. Traces of that rather unwanted personality would still be with me, I guess. After all, I believe that you are what you are and if you wanted to change you would still somehow retain bits and pieces of your original self – your fated self.

As a spoiled child, I was dissatisfied with my grandfather’s death. After his death, our wealth deteriorated to small amounts. Our only source of wealth would be my mother and her two brothers. I used to think that we would go downhill from then on. We used to be one of the known people in our home but after my grandfather’s death, we ended up transferring homes and being normal, typical people who lived in a quiet neighborhood.

Yes, we ended where we are today. We transferred to BF Southland Classic Homes after the passing away of my grandfather. Did we really deserve this? Well, things happen for a reason after all. Everyone else probably didn’t deserve it but I, on the other hand, did, in my opinion. I didn’t shed a single tear during his funeral. I think I even laughed at my grandmother weeping at his grave. At that age, I probably didn’t understand the real losses that occur during someone’s death. Was my age the real problem? Maybe it was the way I think or view things.

I transferred at about when I was in Grade 4 – Elementary. I guess I lucked out when I immediately acquired friends. People truly are friendly when they’re young. Older ones tend to isolate foreign entities and do inappropriate acts to the extent of discriminating them. I truly was a lucky one.

All of those are what made me today. I could be emotional. I could be bratty. But after those experiences that I’ve been through, I could somehow comprehend the things that happen in my surroundings. I was a victim of adolescence though. I would most probably discriminate newcomers. I would say bad things behind their back. I could be the fakest person you could’ve ever met or I could be your most trusted companion. I act differently depending on the situation and I think strategically at times. This is what I am now. I’m not proud of it, but this is what I am. This is my life’s story.