The Labeling Game



Photo by Joanne Wellington

"My feeling is that labels are for canned food. I am what I am--and I know what I am."--Michael Stipe

We all know we can't change the past. The irony though is the predilection of people toward it, and their seemingly insatiable feat to throw labels at you the way they remember you years ago. Oh! Their audacity!

 

In an attempt to curtail my apparent tendency to dwell on the affect of opinion of others, I've opted to put the language on paper--in this case, my blog. As the saying goes, pain is inevitable, sufferring is optional.

 

There's a thin line that separates foolishness from naivety, and that to me is a misguided youth. Parents who don't rebuke or lack the initiative to guide their children other than exasperating them for the responsibilities supposedly their own, create rebels in their own home. I was one of those kids--young and parochial, almost apathetic. I had an obdurate impression of life as a young child that poverty was the root of all evil. 70's and 80's were the most turbulent years in the Philippines economically. My parents impressed on me at a young age to work and labor. And that's all I knew growing up.

 

I have relatives who were born to privilege, and I feel there is something sacrilegious about it because it blindsides them of the sufferring of others. Actually, I'm confused whether their wealth or personal hubris made them feel superior. Nonetheless, they were the object of my envy. Poverty was the source of my rebellion, and yet it became the very source of my awakening, too. 

I struggled a lot in my childhood until early adult years. While I finished college for free through scholarship, the daily provision for transport and food were the main problems. Therefore, I did odd jobs to cover living expenses and school projects in college. In my country, one of the ramifications of being born to a poor family could mean denial of education. I didn't want to be a part of the statistics, so I tried very hard to balance work and school at the same time.

I did the unorthodox in a society where norms and values contradict each other. Coming back home past 10pm from school was anomalous to some. They didn't know I had to work from 6am to 3pm prior to that. I was labeled many names. To their dismay, I graduated with honors 6 years later. My life changed drammatically ever since.

The drudgery of my everyday struggles was seen as culpable to many who wanted to put me in a box. I was always criticized. I was deeply hurt, but the most machiavellian response I could afford was plain silence. As young and as callow as I was, how would I know how to frustrate their ill judgement?

The world offers a generous number of shrewd people who finds pleasure in criticizing and labeling people. Thing is, I hardly would have thought that such labeling has the power to wound a person this long a time. I think people label others to cover their own insecurities. As for me, I can't keep on burying them under the sand because the ground will eventually shake underneath me. They all have to go--for good! Even if it means severing ties.








 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And The Winner Is...

I have a disclosure. I'm 41. Should that depress me? 

Today, all arrows point to the vast array of changes happening in me--physically, emotionally, and spiritually. Let's not forget decrease in intellectual capacity too.

I have fine lines on my face which if I pull both sides of my lower cheeks upwards, I look 20 years younger. Only surgical corrective procedure can keep the gravity at bay but I don't have the massive amount of courage to go through it. Let alone financing! 

Grey hair and hair loss go side by side too. I treat the former with hair colorants. In fact, I don't even remember my natural hair color anymore because of constant color treatment. I wish I could say I'm suffering from malnutrition to defend my hair color but I'm obviously well-fed. Over-fed actually! The latter I can't do much--except pray that it doesn't fall more than it did yesterday. While my hypertensive medication has its side effects, I can't blame it solely for those changes.  It's simply nature at active work there. 

As we pass through life, we inevitably face personal and professional crises. Some are born with self-confidence and "life strategies" that make their battle either brief or dragging. I was not born with much. When I was younger, I was a dim-wit and very insecure. Problems that seemed easy to solve, which were generally self-imposed, proved to be exigent because of my inane abilities. Life was very stressful for me. Fast forward to being a middle-aged woman, life seems better. I have more focus and control now though my physical limitations are discernible. Call me wiser. 

Spiritually, it has been a roller-coaster ride. When I was younger, I was the god. I was stronger, sharper, and had so much potential. But then again, more stupid. As I grew older, the vacuum inside me grew bigger and deeper. I searched the wrong places to fill it in. Had friendships with the wrong people to complete the void. The "I" god bitterly failed me. All those time I couldn't hear Jesus calling because my emotions were so high-strung. I finally heeded His call in 2003 when a professor at La Salle invited me to a Sunday service at CCF, St Francis. My life was never the same! It's good to be born again. Call me redeemed. 

Should middle-age be depressing? I think it's a mistake to even think of it. Plain and simple. Life can be good depending on how you look at it. You may have wrinkles, grey hair, increased body fat and can't run as fast, but you can choose to be happy with all those extras. Thank goodness it will take another 10 years before they call me an alpha-boomer--hopefully with at least some decent "wealth" to carry me through old age. Those age ranges, they don't matter really. Age is just a number. 

The 4th Page

My daughter is joining a memory competition this morning at school. This is the second competition she has joined in a week. The first one was clay crafts. It's more like a rebound of some sort when she missed school last week of January due to flu.

Memory competition as she explained to me is the ability to write more words as much as possible, time-pressured, in their correct spelling. Numerics included except the numbers per se. She had a dry run yesterday. Given 4 pages, she's able to fill 3. That's "good enough but can be better" according to her coach. As if this remark resonates in her young mind, it was obvious she wanted to memorize more words. She tried to beef up her memory by remembering mnemonics she learned from class--rhymes, action words, stories, addition, subtraction, etc--all in the hope of "filling" the 4th page. I had to remind her not to overdo it.

This morning as we were walking towards her bus stop, she confessed feeling not confident she could fill the 4th page. I could sense that she's overwhelmed with pressure. She told me she might not win this time. I paused for a while searching for the right words to say. I remember Vince in Grease saying, "It doesn't matter if you win or lose, it's what you do with your dancin' shoes." I can't tell her that! What about, "it doesn't matter if you win or lose, it's how you play the game." Neither! She will question both those flimsy answers. Finally, I assured her it doesn't matter if she wins or not, it's how she enjoyed sitting with other kids out of the classroom without the prying eyes of her teacher! Almost instantly, she smiled.  

"The most important motive for work in the school and in life is the pleasure in work..." Albert Einstein said that. My daughter comes home from school and tells me she's nominated to compete in a particular contest. That's great! But never will I insist that she enlist in some competition knowing that she will not have fun.