Cheese!

Thats it. I have proof that I was never meant to be prim, proper or ladylike.
While nosing through an old album at my mom's house, I noticed that almost all my pictures were, um, quite funny.
One shot from my childhood, for example, has all the expats barkada's young daughters posed and smiling properly. I on the other hand have this huge grin plastered on my face that looks almost comical (really mugging for the camera).
Another, which was taken at a Christmas party, had all my childhood friends posing neatly and smiling by Santa's sled. I wasn't paying attention and now have my ponytail to represent my face for all eternity. Typical.
I look through more photos in the hope of finding a few that can pass for "composed". No such luck. I'm either acting really silly or am smiling waaay too much.
And the other shots that don't have me smiling? They either have me shoving food into my mouth or caught in the middle of screaming something out (or looking at something besides the camera).

They say, how you act as a child is more or less how you'll act for the rest of your life. So good luck to my aspirations of making the cover of Time magazine, I suppose.
I never really had many "poised" shots...possibly never will.
A friend's theory possibly proven - I am not a normal girl. Oh well. We can't all be barbie - I sure as hell don't want to be.
Here's to a few more decades of mugging for the camera and looking silly. :)

You can't be angry at the whole clan...

Ever since I was young, the importance of family in one's life has constantly been drilled into my head. My mother would always tell me that family was important, that you could rely on them when everyone else has run out on you. I put one hundred percent faith in extended family. Poor decision making there.
To say that the cruelty I experienced from the cousins I lived with surprised and angered me would be an understatement. I cannot, to this day, believe I had become the object of so much hate from those I invested so much love in.

I won't bother going into detail about the whole sordid affair but because of the rift between me and three female cousins, I have more or less turned myself into an outsider. Since Christmas, I have not attended family functions lest the vermin decide to grace the occasion with their two-faced presence(s).

I also stayed away because I felt that if faced with a lack of support from any more members of the family, I'd rashly disown the whole lot. My mother's side isn't one to show much affection to each other (but are known for wonderful arguements) but I didn't think I could take seeing my current enemies fawned over while I was questioned.

You see, because I was perceived by the clan as the child born with the proverbial silver spoon in her mouth, I never got much sympathy compared with the other girls. I didn't expect any this time around.
I knew that because most of the attention was usually showered on the 'girls' (who admittedly had it tough growing up and deserved it back then), soon as word of this little melodrama got out, I'd be on the receiving end of lots of scrutiny.
No matter, one got used to it. Couldn't blame them either. Before this happened, I myself blindly showered all attention and defended the 'girls' anytime something happened.

So since last year, I kept my mouth shut, my head down, and didn't bother giving anyone my side of the story. I'd had enough anyway. I'd proven that I could rely on my friends more than some family and that was enough to keep me away.

I had no idea how much I wanted some inkling of support (or at the very least proof of affection) from the rest until the other day.

After driving my mom to an aunt's house, I realized how much a part of me wanted to still be acknowleged.
My mom got out of the car and my Kuya got into the front seat and asked if I could drop him off at the next corner.
I hadn't seen him in ages and wasn't sure what I was going to get. He playfully tousled my hair (never does that) and asked how I was and such. I kept it light and joked that I was now employed as my mom's personal driver.
Right before he got off, he gave me a hug, kissed me on the head twice (again, he never does that) and told me to take care.
He didn't pry and didn't give me any lectures of the type that I was used to getting from him as a child.
It was like he respected my decisions but was still letting me know that I was important to him.
It was a three minute drive and he was just one Kuya out of the lot - but I instantly felt better. All the angry feelings I was carrying around subsided somewhat and I let myself remember that I was still part of the family.

Halfway home, and with an old eighties song playing in the background, I found I couldn't see the road too well through all the saltwater.

She got in.

The girl sighed into her coffee mug.
She was suffering from writer's block and a need to indulge in some stimulating conversation.
She needed someone to listen to her story. She needed to listen to someone tell her a story. Either way, she needed something by way of human interaction.
She had just been accepted into IAFT...she should've been ecstatic. She was. She really was. She just didn't have anyone to share the great news with.
Everyone she could tell was busy. Those who were available couldn't be told.
How ironic.
It was a long time coming, but she was finally on her way. And all it took was a few bad turns last year to finally get her started down this road. How very, very ironic. Happy. Sad. Bittersweet.
She loved the irony. She may have loved it more had it not been her story.
It was fine, it was a story any which way.