Cliche (Candy Stories #5)

Chapter 23 part 2

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How do you start telling someone all of your vulnerabilities, ugliness, and indecisions? How do you tell them of your fears in a way that they would understand? I have never been good at telling anyone anything. Maybe because it's the way that I am. Maybe because it had been easy for some people to dismiss me, I learned to disregard myself, too. Kahit na napakarami ng taong alam kong mahal ako, dahil mas marami 'yong may ayaw sa 'kin, naging mas mabigat 'yong pangit at 'yong masakit kaysa sa masaya.

Kaya nakailang type at bura ako ng message. Mula sa phone, lumipat na ako sa laptop. I don't know how to tell Maxwell my thoughts. But I know I have to try, habang malakas pa ang loob ko. Dahil kapag naduwag ako, baka hindi ko ituloy ang ginagawa ko.

Huminga ako nang malalim at kinagat ang labi ko.

*

Dear Maxwell,

I am writing an email to you to tell you about a lot of things. I might be rumbly, kahit sa email. I might not make sense. But I'll risk being rumbly and being magulo, and trust you.

I have watched the videos you recorded for me sa Time Capsule. At first, I couldn't believe that those really exist. I mean, how? And why? Why would you do it for me?

I cried a lot that night because of you . . . but it's not a bad cry. I cried because I'm happy.

You see, I've been trying to be better lately. Not better as in physically beautiful . . . but better as in mentally strong. Yung lahat ng pagtutulak ko sayo palayo, pina-realize sakin na hindi naman talaga problema yung paglapit mo sakin o yung nararamdaman mo para sakin. Sorry kung sinisi kita sa mga pangit na nararamdaman ko—sa sarili ko, sa mukha ko, sa tuwing kasama kita. I know deep inside na wala kang kasalanan. I know deep inside na ako lang naman talaga ang problema. Hindi kita mapaniwalaan dahil hindi ko kayang maniwala sa sarili ko. Hindi kita matanggap dahil hindi ko matanggap ang sarili ko.

In my head, I always ask why someone as perfect as you would even look my way, when I'm this horrid, ugly creature. And I know you'd argue and would tell me I'm wrong . . . but I'm really horrid and ugly—not really physically but as a person. I'm a horrid and ugly person to myself. I'm a bad and cruel person to myself.

I don't know when the self-hate started. Hindi naman ako ganito sa sarili ko nung bata pa tayo. Siguro nag-start nung laging may nagpo-point out ng mali sakin. Hindi ko sila masisisi kasi kitang-kita naman talaga lahat ng pangit at lahat ng mali. But when people always tell you you're ugly, you start to believe it. You start to become it. You start to dwell on your flaws and imperfections and hate yourself for it. You start to nitpick about everything. You get frustrated. You became wary of how much you don't look like the other pretty girls.

It took me a long time and your heart to break, to realize that I'm the first one upsetting myself. I'm the one who's disappointed because I couldn't uphold the standard of beauty that I wanted for myself. I'm the first one who believes that I am ugly. And because I'm ugly and couldn't do anything to be otherwise, I hated myself.

Even the love I received, I downplayed. Lahat ng pagmamahal, tinatanggap ko sa thought na wala lang kasing choice ang mga tao kundi mahalin ako. Na mahal ako ni Mommy kasi anak niya ako. Na mahal ako ni Calyx, kasi nasanay na siya dahil magkasama kaming lumaki. Kaya lagi akong nagdududa sa sinasabi mo . . . dahil alam ko, may choice ka na hindi ako ang mahalin.

I became this ugly, ungrateful, cowardly girl. I learned to blame everything on the way I look—na hindi ako matanggap ng mga tao at hindi ako maging kaibigan ng kahit na sino dahil sa mukha ko. Na hindi magiliw sakin ang mga tao dahil pangit ako. Na kulang yung opportunities at chances ko dahil sa imperfections ko. Sa ilang mga pagkakataon, nagkatotoo yun. Pero sa maraming pagkakataon, I was wrong.

I had less friends because I learned to cave in. Itinago ko ang sarili ko sa ibang tao para hindi ma-reject at hindi ma-ridicule. Umiwas ako sa mga posibleng kaibigan dahil iniisip ko na agad na hindi ako matatanggap. But I could have tried. I could have shown them my personality—that I'm more than my imperfect face. I could have defended myself better and explained myself to people who misunderstand me, than just trying to be small.

When Mommy said that the things on my face will go away, I should have realized that she meant for me to live and not put anything on hold. Dahil hindi magsisimula ang buhay ko o ang happiness ko, kapag wala na yung pinoproblema ko sa face ko. Hindi magsisimula ang buhay ko kapag maganda na ako o makinis na ako. She must have been really sad to go without seeing me properly celebrating myself. She must have been heartbroken in seeing me loathe myself and deny myself of anything that has to do with happiness.

I'm alive, yet I refused to live happily. Pinaikot ko ang buhay ko sa self-pity at inggit sa iba. Nagpalunod ako sa mga insecurities ko. I consented to deny and hurt and push people away, thinking that it would save me from further unhappiness.

But pushing people away didn't make me happy. It couldn't make me happy, because I'm the one doing myself wrong. Hindi ako masaya at hindi magiging masaya sa kahit na ano, dahil hindi ako masaya sa sarili ko.

Pushing you away didn't make me happy. I have been scared of you because you make me feel. You make me hope. You make me fall. I have been scared because you make me happy—even with all the things I hate about myself, you make me happy.

I'm sorry, Maxwell. For hurting you and denying what you feel for me. For always pushing you away. For blaming you for the bad things people do to me. For saying you make me unhappy. I was blinded by self-hate and disbelief. Nagalit ako sayo dahil mahal mo ako—ako na hindi ko kayang mahalin.

And thank you, Maxwell. Thank you for refusing to give up on me when I have found it easy to give up on you and give up on myself. Thank you for worrying about me and for making sure I'm okay, even when I'm hurting you. Thank you for prying my eyes open. Thank you for loving me.

I know now that I don't have to be perfect or beautiful to love or be loved. I just have to be grateful when love comes. I just have to be brave when I want to love.

My kind and gentle Maxwell, if you still love me this year, can I love you too?

And if I can, tell me how . . .

Your Aurora

*

Sobrang lamig ng kamay ko nang matapos akong mag-type. Binawi ko agad ang kamay ko sa keyboard to resist the urge to delete my message—especially the last part. Pumikit ako nang pindutin ang send, 'tapos, ibinaba ko na ang screen ng laptop.

Now, I will wait. #315h /08202021