Song Of Myself

The Springtime Cometh

Just living isn't enough, said the butterfly. One must have sunshine, freedom, and a little flower. - Hans Christian Andersen

I used to like myself.

A.LOT.

But in years past, not so much. I've been riddled with self-doubt and lost my confidence.

Although I won't verbalize it, my recurrent dreams attest to it. In those, I cried because I couldn't find my way home. I'd have the wrong cell phone and couldn't call home for help. Or I'd be at a conference where I couldn't locate the meeting site nor go back to my hotel room.

At other times, I wasn't packed in time for a trip. Or very often, I'd be in a play and couldn't remember my lines.

But thanks to spring, I've resolved to stop feeling small. Just when I thought of adding another retinol product for my wrinkles and not speaking ice cream anymore (as if this were the solution to regaining my self-worth), spring bestows on me a present.

A song of myself.

So I'm pressing, Pause, to hum notes of happy thoughts of me before me.

Like these.

I would have been named Amador (lover of God, my Mum said) had I been a boy. For a baby girl (which I turned out to be), her name choice was Adoracion - the most beautiful name ever, according to her. I was my parents' offering of adoration to God.

I was a carefree tomboy dressed in shorts and a t-shirt in my pre-teen years. (Horrors, my Mum would say.) I never had a doll and didn't want one.

My ambition had been set early. I wanted to be a radio announcer and a TV personality. I actually had the naive audacity to audition for a stint when I was in high school. My other passion was writing. Proud to say that I got a call back from the editor of a local mag and was once invited to write for the prestigious Philippine Collegian.

In my teen years, I was muse of the basketball team and (ahem) darling of several male MYF'ers from some choice churches in the Manila District. How could I not be, with a waistline that easily matched the famed 17-inch measurement of Scarlett O'Hara (give or take a few inches)?

My first job was a whopper. Just turned twenty, I became an English instructor in the university I graduated from. Whenever I went on summer vacation at the poultry farm, my relatives, including the farmhand, referred to me as the scholar from the big city. 

My parents and six brothers (with the exception of First and Youngest Brothers after we had quarreled) adored me. The back gate of our home had an arched adornment that displayed my American nickname.

Enough said. I feel better already.

I'm now certain that I can easily find my way home. No need to pack and no intricate transport needed. The only line I have to know and say is, Home is where the heart is.

But wait - just one more thing.

Today, I'm celebrating.

Because... 

(To be continued)