Me, myself and why

I have spent a good part of my life trying to figure out the various human associations that I have formed in my life. From my amours to my buds to my amorous buds (we all have/had those!) to my sweetly dysfunctional family. However, I realize that I have neglected to examine a relationship that in the end defines all the said relationships: my relationship with myself.

How much do I know myself? It may seem silly to ask myself that question since I live with myself 24/7. Nonetheless, I still get confused with me sometimes. There are times that I want to divorce myself especially after an unsavory experience elicited by my own brilliant actions. There are times when I think I’m the bomb. These are the times where I pull off those "I knew it!" moments — it can be as simple as putting together a winner outfit. There are times where I just don’t know much — like the times I watch MTV for the fifth hour while mindlessly munching on day-old pizza. Regardless, it is in knowing myself, what I want, what I’m capable (or not capable) of, that in the end make life a big "I knew it!" moment.

As a child, all I really knew about myself was that I hated veggies and loved trash TV to the hilt (still the same). Just like any child, I didn’t really want to spend time introspecting. I mean, I did not know at that time the verb existed. Rather I became Pygmalion to my own Galatea. Just like Madonna, I was constantly reinventing myself. One day I would wear a cotton diaper (Pampers were just for rich American kids back then) on top of my head anchored by a hair band and pretend that I was a nun. I would sing Like a Virgin thinking it meant Virgin Mary. Then suddenly I decided I was an actress and did countless monologues — none of which, I surmise, really made sense. I remember doing an Oscar speech in front of the mirror, where I, the presenter, would surprisingly announce that I was the winner (gasp, sob!). It may seem shallow but I first realized the importance of giving thought to what I wanted when I was allowed by mom to pick out an outfit for my first trip to Hollywood.

I breezily passed by the smocked dresses that children who went to church and ate their veggies wore. I chose a bad-ass biker chick ensemble in black. I was the only eight-year-old I knew who owned something black. My sister who smoked and used red lipstick wore black all the time. I thought that was cool. When I first got in my Joan Jett getup, I savored the addictive flavor of power of choice.

After that day, I discovered the liberating feeling of choosing my own adventure. I started choosing my own friends. I started ordering food from the menu and refusing to have that insulting kiddie meal. I chose bitchy adult TV programs such as Dynasty and the Colby’s instead of cartoons. These were the little things that, as the years passed by, have evolved into more complicated things.

Once you hit north of your double-digit age, things that affect our lives become more dramatic and indelible. This is when a firm grasp of self is important. As a child, I was a willing participant in my fantasies. They began harmlessly and ended harmlessly. However, as a teenager, I became a victim of societal ideals. I wanted a boyfriend badly because everyone had one. It was like having a human Technomarine latched on my wrist. Once I had him I had no idea what to do with him. My friend said you talk about life and pretend to be deep. My mother said to laugh at his jokes even if I didn’t understand them. I was too shallow to feign depth. He was too young to be cracking chuckle-worthy jokes. So in the end we just met up after school in our respective school uniforms having ice cream in silence.

Why do you think that among the selections of glossies, the youth market is the one with the vastest assortment? It’s because teenagers are the easiest targets for marketing — most of them have no clue. As a teenager, I thought I knew it all. It seemed that life would be so much more fun if I bought a Bonne Bell lipgloss and sprayed on Coty’s Tribu (do you all remember that?). I wondered if shaving my legs would make me mature and if having sex would grant me a one-way ticket to social Siberia. But as time progressed I felt that I was at a complete loss. I had no idea where certain things should be shelved. I was desperate for answers. This is the time wherein one should be allowed to make mistakes without holding judgment. No one is stupid in their teens; just ignorant. Hopefully, through the roundabout of trial and error, ignorance would soon morph into wisdom.

However, after being a teen, you hit your 20s. This is the time you are crowned with a dunce hat if you do the same thing again. A time wherein you smoke not to stay cool but to keep your sanity. As a girl in my 20s I sorta kinda knew what I wanted. I stopped liking boys who drove fast and lived fast. I stopped reading magazines for answers. Now I like questioning their content. I stopped having delusions of grandeur and just focused on making life simply grand.

My exodus from adolescence proved to be an unforgettable turning point. I was the type of girl Pinoy men would cheat on. Stupid, generic dresser due to complacence, submissive and psychotically possessive. I basically reengineered myself to fit my ex-boyfriends’ ideals. All throughout my teenage years I always had a boyfriend. I was so manang. No fun! I basically was a stepford wife. All my decisions were based on what they thought. I was surviving but not living. So just as soon as I ended my last relationship, I was like a rabid dog that was trapped a decade in a crate. I jumped out and tried everything and anything. However, it came to a point wherein the choices get slimmer and slimmer and you are finally left with your definite choice. Now I am happy, living my own life, less insane, a little wounded, a lot spunkier, with a good man by my side who lets me be — but rest assured I will never be a lax dresser ever again. It’s fight all the time. The point of this story is not to make chismis myself but to share the importance of trying out things taboo or not. After all how will you ever learn? Through our mistakes we don’t only learn more stuff about ourselves but it makes us appreciate our individuality as well.

Time has shown to me my weaknesses. I know that I should stop melting the plastic on useless things. I know that drinking 10 martinis on a Sunday is never normal but it is an inevitable part of being me. I know that I will never follow the steps of Diaghilev in terms of being the epitome of grace, or follow the steps of Emily Post in terms of conduct. I will also always be a talented non-talent who will never learn to drive, swim, dance and sing. I have a fondness for all things pink and never eat anything colored green (yup, I hate pistachio, leafy veggies and pesto). I know that talking out line will slacken my credibilty. I know that smiling too much in pictures makes me look like a mamon.

However, time has also shown me my triumphs, miniscule and gargantuan. For every down there is an up. These ups are the merit badges I have earned for every mistake that I have acknowledged and rectified. I have learned that men who play games will always be children. That something too glossily perfect must be questioned. That I will forever not be sure about the genesis of my insanity. That I will always lack knowledge and therefore should be open to answers from others. To never compromise my convictions. To never smoke when I have a cold. To pop an Alka Seltzer after a night not remembered. Or crack a green joke in an uncomfortable situation. To never wear a baby-doll dress with Docs ever again.

Knowing who I am allows me to discern what I should want and, ultimately, what I really need. It’s always different for other people. That’s why having a strong sense of self is really important because you can’t pattern your life after someone else’s. Love yourself for your secret habit of talking to yourself in front of the mirror. Love yourself for preferring a Big Mac over foie gras any day. Love yourself for still loving Wilson Philips. Love yourself for dancing naked to Kylie Minogue. No one is gonna live your life but you... so give them the finger if they dont like it. It’s as simple as that.