I remember writing before about how I’m ever so ready to stoke that rumble deep in me. I am fearless, I am brave, I can take on anything. Well, I kinda lied. See, I now realize that I may have lived in fear half the time. There were so many instances where I tread a foot at time, held my breath, closed my eyes, screamed a silent prayer. And mostly it was because of not being in the know.
When I was little, I had this eternal fear of, literally, losing my mother. If she missed coming home at 6PM as she promptly did, I thought by some weird chance she had already lost her way, and that she’s gone for good. I’d draw silently but furiously on our living room side table, under the glow of an incandescent lamp, all the while muttering under my breath, “Asan na siya? Bakit wala pa siya? Anong oras siya darating?” On and on till I finished off paper after scratch paper from Uncle B’s desk. And as soon as I’d hear the familiar creaking of our gate I am relieved, if only for a while, till the next evening when she unknowingly tortures me again.
I also feared the night and the strange monsters that it brings, so much that sleeping in my own bedroom can be considered as an event by itself. I prepped going to bed by surrounding myself with pillows, making sure there are no breaks between them—because hell don’t you know what kinds of beast could squeeze in if you leave them gaps?—covering myself with care, under Ilocos-made blankets even throughout the summer, thankful for the wonderful invention that is the mosquito net, for surely it had been fashioned to keep those nasty creatures outside, ergo, not in. I’m glad my mother allowed us to sleep with the lights on, because that’s just how I’d wanted it to be—bundled and bright, no unknown shadows deceiving me. Staring at that velvety picture of Jesus the Christ, whose eyes followed you everywhere, hoping he can save me from the nasties.
Soon enough though, my sister E joined me in that pale pink bedroom and while we made such a ruckus then just because we were siblings, I know now I had been so thankful for the company, for someone to nudge awake when something goes awry.
There was always something throughout my existence that I’ve been afraid of. I feared our commandant and our biology teacher in high school because I’ve always thought they picked on me and as with any teenager I’d just rather have the ground gobble me up than be embarrassed in front of schoolmates.
In college, I feared commuting because of pickpockets and rapists—as soon as I get to Cubao for instance, after getting myself drunk silly at the Sunken Garden, I’d be suddenly sober out of sheer fear of being molested by another equally drunk guy. I feared summers because I don’t know how to swim, and did have a faint memory of almost drowning while I was with the girls during high school. I think I still fear flying—sometimes to the point of not enjoying trips because of the thought of the flight back. Oh, but I learned during our last trip out that I can doodle my way to our destination, which had been a huge relief.
Always afraid of jumping into the unknown without a fight plan, without an escape route and provisions and insect repellents and alcogels and my trusty little travel sewing kit and extra pens and everything else. There’s just no sense in these, I know, yet I think by now I’ve got a good grip on how to handle fear, by assuring myself that in the next second, by the x hour, in the following week, a year from now, it’ll pass. That’s how I let my mind rationalize the next lab test or an upcoming doctor’s visit.
Ay, but I won’t let it eat me alive. Surely I will be saved by positivity, which I now let conquer my life. Besides, I like playing grownup and that means nothing but biting the bullet and letting myself be skinned alive. Yes, Dee, we has to be burned and be charred and be a bit wobbly after to know you’ve had a great fight, that you’ve chased fear out of the house, to feast on someone else’s.
Ok, ok, I lied before about being brave, but I’m being truthful now when I say I will learn to dare, to be what I never thought I could be, for I would be on the losing end if I don’t. Ok, here we go, as Tori says: “On the count of three, 1-2-3, whee!”
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Pictured: Altar at my grandma’s house
Finally Dee 