I was “famous” during my elementary years. There wasn’t a single student or teacher who did not know my name. Every time I walked along our school’s corridor, I would always feel the weight of people’s stares. But it was never because I was pretty or talented: I was a source of ridicule, the favorite of bullies.
How unlucky I was to be born with a bright-red birthmark right in the middle of my face.
People made fun of me, saying I would never get lost because I bore with me the map of the Philippines in my face. Crying was an everyday routine for me.
Striving to prove to people my worth, I struggled to excel in my studies and eventually graduated valedictorian, much to the dismay of my detractors but to the pride of my family.
I carried that passionate drive to succeed throughout high school. I joined the school paper, sang for the parish chorale, and joined any other organization I could fit myself into despite my already busy schedule. Under bed covers, I read books and studied class lessons secretly every night, with only a dim flashlight to guide me.
I was really making headway, but I overdid it. During my last year in high school, I collapsed twice in class due to extreme fatigue. My grades, in effect, were compromised. Thankfully, I was still able to graduate with honors.
College came and I felt like a blank canvas when I entered UST. I didn’t want to experience the cruel bullying I experienced during my childhood, and I vowed to do anything to prevent just that. I was eager to have my bland life filled with bursts of varying hues.
And then I met my first love.
I remember that moment as if it were yesterday. It was a hot summer day, and I was in UST for the very first time to pay my reservation fee. Someone approached me and handed something what appeared like a daily broadsheet. I took it and walked away, completely mesmerized by what I held in my hands.
It was my very first copy of the Varsitarian.
I will be a part of this publication, I remember promising myself. Sure enough, I passed the rigorous written exams and interview a year later. The next three years proved to be the most life-changing so far. ‘V’ reminded me of family.
My father abandoned me shortly after I was born. To make things worse, he lived somewhere the neighborhood but never bothered to cross the few meters that separated his house from ours to explain why he left. My mom, meanwhile, has to deal with personal issues, along with ailing health. I could write a book and it wouldn’t be enough to explain our family’s problems. Simply put, my family is a mess.
I always dreamed of one day becoming a lawyer, but I was suddenly left with the responsibility of raising and providing for my siblings. It broke my heart. But my sisters mean the world to me; they always help lessen the burden I feel.
For the past three years, I’ve written and edited articles, spent nights finishing the layout of the Varsitarian’s Circle section and attending countless editorial meetings among many others. It certainly made me feel spent and exhausted. I initially thought of those activities as obligations that must be fulfilled. I thought I could give a huge sigh of relief once I let ‘V’ go.
I was wrong.
What I did not expect was a family that did not bully me or made me feel any less than my actual worth. Whenever I couldn’t bear the pain, I would just go to the Varsitarian office and its warm welcome always made things bearable, even for just a little while. I had shoulders to lean unto when I couldn’t hold back tears. I had reassuring words and hugs when I felt like giving up.
I may be leaving sleepless presswork nights and deadline struggles behind, but in their place is a group of people who I know will be there for me for life.
Leaving the Varsitarian will surely be one of my biggest heartbreaks. It must be true then, what they say about first love never dying. For the first time, I was given a family that is not broken. And this one’s a keeper.
