x on the map
Hello.
This is my first ever personal blog entry. I've only ever read one other person's (Kyla's) personal blog, and she's been at it for 10 years. She's brilliant. She's very chatty, both in person and on paper, so you can only guess how much work it would be to scroll all the way back to her 2010 posts and see how she went about her first entry. I guess I'll just wing it!
Um (I say a lot of umms irl), I guess it takes zero brain cells to start with introducing myself. Let's start over (I like starting over a lot).
~
Hello.
My name is Aira, my complete name's initials are SACC, I have a cool and edgy persona named Essi (more on this soon), and this is my first ever personal blog entry.
There's not really anything to see here, just me blabbing about how my thought train led me to creating a blog to house all my "inner workings", as I like to call them, with a pinch of drama.
Let's start with the drama and just get it over with.
Let's start with the drama and just get it over with.
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i actually be like this
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You see, like Kyla, I too like to talk a lot, but years of both externally-caused and self-induced insecurity have taught me to just sit quiet and smile. I've stopped myself a couple times from saying that winning joke because my anxiety told me nobody was gonna find me funny, just cringy... only to hear said joke told by someone who thought it out waaay later than I did, and having the room erupt with laughter. I would will myself to laugh along despite that familiar twinge in my chest. And then I'd end up thinking, "Sayang. I should've just said it."
I don't think myself a victim of the circumstances more than that I've caused them myself, and vice versa—depends on my hormones.
When my mama was still in the country, speaking my mind was what she loved to teach me. I would say whatever came to mind, and I thought I had a great sense of humor. I wasn't exactly the class diva, but I was one of the girls everybody loved to hate and hated to love. I spoke out my mind so much so that I was blindly sending people against me. I found out during my tweens that I wasn't exactly whoever my brain made me out to be. Still, I found some friends who were like me and still liked me, so it wasn't like I became that depressed loner overnight. It wasn't until my heart learned to feel a different form of love that I began to hate myself more.
My mama was my best friend (still is; we talk almost every other day if Globe's crappy signal allows). She had me six months before she turned 20, so the gap between us wasn't too wide. She's putot, and I was tall for my age so we'd often share clothes. She's really smart and being the only person I hung around with, I easily picked up on her manners and the ways her brain worked. She would bring me to shows she hosted and to bars her band played at. We did everything together and she always cheered me on when I did things she thought she too would definitely do. I was no stranger to the social life other kids slept through. It was perfect.
When I was 12, my mama started leaving for India. It was a few short trips at first, that gradually leaned more into permanency as she started building a family there... until she just couldn't afford to have two homes in different parts of the world so she had to choose. I stayed at my lola's during the softest and most sensitive years of my life, and even though it wasn't perfect, looking back now, it turned out to be exactly what I needed. FF to when I was 16, thought I've had enough and somehow knew it all, I left home. With my best friend not being within an arm's reach, I found temporary shelter in the suffocating arms of someone I thought I was willing to die for.
Still donning the scars from the abrupt changes in my life, I found myself vulnerable to changes in the way I perceived myself too. I believed that the insults I devoured on a daily from the person I loved were the truths I just failed to see. I was 18 when I became fully convinced I wasn't worth anything, and that the words I said didn't matter to anyone. Then came the silence in my soul. I could still imagine myself thinking, and my shower thoughts were still very much active, and within the confines of a shabby bathroom I still bore the many expressions I kept hidden for my own sanity. Outside, I was shackled. It took me another few years to realize the depth of the hole I had dug for myself.
So okay na. I won't bore you with details of how, but I got out with the help of family and friends too perfect to be simply friends (they were the family I had for a long while). I found my voice again. But it was no longer the same voice I so proudly shouted with, sang with, talked, laughed with. It was coarse and full of uncertainty, and trimmed down to the point of frailty. It's the voice I still carry to this day, with bandages and stitches peppered all over. And even though it sounds funny, I'm now ready to let it be heard.
I'm still very insecure, still overly conscious. People may mean well when they say not everything's about me, but I wonder, "what if they hate me?" And if they do mean it in the worst of ways, I might, yet again, misunderstand. I still can't bring myself to tell that winning joke until after the moment passes, and when I do gain the confidence, it's during the wrongest of times. I am awkward, but at least now it is for real. I gladly embrace the cringiness this lady has to offer... and whatever you're reading now is by her.
So, um, why a blog? Well 'cause I've tried Tumblr, but all the other posts are just too amazing to be tainted by my own mediocrity so all I do is reblog (still reflections of my personality). Twitter, well, I can't seem to remember to login daily and I doubt the divided threads would work for me. Facebook? The engagements (likes, comments, or the lack thereof) distract me. I figured a blog would be the only place I could rant all I want without having to worry about who's read it or what they'd think. This is my own, and I can't wait to just be.
Before I go, or before you go, I want to thank you and applaud you for getting through this nonsense. This will be the only long selfish post, so feel free to stick around if you wanna.
fin ~
___
P.S.
I am in independent goldfish, because I'm free but not really.
Also, "x on the map", because I finally found a home for my musings, yay!
And, um, listen to Where Not to Look for Freedom by The Belle Brigade.
My mama was my best friend (still is; we talk almost every other day if Globe's crappy signal allows). She had me six months before she turned 20, so the gap between us wasn't too wide. She's putot, and I was tall for my age so we'd often share clothes. She's really smart and being the only person I hung around with, I easily picked up on her manners and the ways her brain worked. She would bring me to shows she hosted and to bars her band played at. We did everything together and she always cheered me on when I did things she thought she too would definitely do. I was no stranger to the social life other kids slept through. It was perfect.
When I was 12, my mama started leaving for India. It was a few short trips at first, that gradually leaned more into permanency as she started building a family there... until she just couldn't afford to have two homes in different parts of the world so she had to choose. I stayed at my lola's during the softest and most sensitive years of my life, and even though it wasn't perfect, looking back now, it turned out to be exactly what I needed. FF to when I was 16, thought I've had enough and somehow knew it all, I left home. With my best friend not being within an arm's reach, I found temporary shelter in the suffocating arms of someone I thought I was willing to die for.
Still donning the scars from the abrupt changes in my life, I found myself vulnerable to changes in the way I perceived myself too. I believed that the insults I devoured on a daily from the person I loved were the truths I just failed to see. I was 18 when I became fully convinced I wasn't worth anything, and that the words I said didn't matter to anyone. Then came the silence in my soul. I could still imagine myself thinking, and my shower thoughts were still very much active, and within the confines of a shabby bathroom I still bore the many expressions I kept hidden for my own sanity. Outside, I was shackled. It took me another few years to realize the depth of the hole I had dug for myself.
So okay na. I won't bore you with details of how, but I got out with the help of family and friends too perfect to be simply friends (they were the family I had for a long while). I found my voice again. But it was no longer the same voice I so proudly shouted with, sang with, talked, laughed with. It was coarse and full of uncertainty, and trimmed down to the point of frailty. It's the voice I still carry to this day, with bandages and stitches peppered all over. And even though it sounds funny, I'm now ready to let it be heard.
I'm still very insecure, still overly conscious. People may mean well when they say not everything's about me, but I wonder, "what if they hate me?" And if they do mean it in the worst of ways, I might, yet again, misunderstand. I still can't bring myself to tell that winning joke until after the moment passes, and when I do gain the confidence, it's during the wrongest of times. I am awkward, but at least now it is for real. I gladly embrace the cringiness this lady has to offer... and whatever you're reading now is by her.
 |
| gi-kutas ko |
So, um, why a blog? Well 'cause I've tried Tumblr, but all the other posts are just too amazing to be tainted by my own mediocrity so all I do is reblog (still reflections of my personality). Twitter, well, I can't seem to remember to login daily and I doubt the divided threads would work for me. Facebook? The engagements (likes, comments, or the lack thereof) distract me. I figured a blog would be the only place I could rant all I want without having to worry about who's read it or what they'd think. This is my own, and I can't wait to just be.
Before I go, or before you go, I want to thank you and applaud you for getting through this nonsense. This will be the only long selfish post, so feel free to stick around if you wanna.
fin ~
___
P.S.
I am in independent goldfish, because I'm free but not really.
Also, "x on the map", because I finally found a home for my musings, yay!
And, um, listen to Where Not to Look for Freedom by The Belle Brigade.
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