Tag: thenoviceadult

Unfiltered – February 2021

Elle Ramos1 Comment

In the past year, I have been trying to figure out how I got to this stage of my life. To this state of self where I don’t know who I truly am. It’s like a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle is in front of me and I have no idea where to begin. With the love and support from my family and very close friends, I carefully pieced some parts together. Truthfully though everything still feels so unstable and very fragile.

I can think of so many reasons of how I am the way I am. I grew up in an environment where perfection is a standard. My siblings and I were meant to be achievers and growing up watching my siblings do so well in school, I was pressured to perform very well too. I always thought, “I will never be part of this family unless I do well in school.” I carried that ideal with me throughout my school years until college when I finally let go of the pressure after graduating with honours. It may sound silly and I guess it’s just part of growing up but to me it was such a strong driving force and a basis of so many of life decisions when I was younger. I don’t think that pressure has left my identity, and I still carry it with me subconsciously.

My siblings and I have the best relationship in the world. They took care of me and supported me in my battle against depression and anxiety. But thinking about it, they too had the same burden as mine, heavier even, so I often wonder why I am so weak with handling it? Why do I have anxiety problems and they don’t? Am I just born to be emotionally and psychologically weak? I don’t know.

These questions and a lot more hang loosely in my head. They have a hold on me when I feel so low and confused, and that’s when I start question my capability to ever finding myself. They make me feel so useless and worthless. So, you see I don’t just suffer from anxiety. Although, I have started to heal from depression since 2019, depression comes and visits when things get so overwhelmingly dark.

My depression, I feel, has started a few years before immigrating to Canada. It wasn’t evident to me then, nor to anyone around me. I would have been the happiest, most positive person you’ll ever meet. Tides changed and it hit me that there must be something wrong when I began having this strong need to free myself from pain and sadness. I knew things will all be better if only I cut myself and I bleed all the hurt out. Where the hurt came from, I don’t remember anymore. I did not hurt myself, though. I was too scared, too weak. I guess it’s my weakness that saved me.

In 2017, after arriving in Canada, I ended a ten year relationship with the person I’ve planned my future with. That decision left me falling flat on my face and I couldn’t get up for months on months. The weight of the pain, confusion, guilt, and disgust I have towards myself wouldn’t let me. I was nothing but a heartless, soulless human in a new country that I have worked so hard for to be in. I lived with my sister and brother, and as much as I was happy to finally be with them, I just wanted to die. One day, I cried as I drove twenty five minutes to work, worked the 6-hour shift, clocked out and cried throughout the drive back home. I crumbled in my sister’s embrace when I got home, I told her I did not want to live anymore.

I hate myself. I see myself as nothing worthy of anyone’s love. I had no purpose. I had no plans. If I did, they were insignificant. When I’m gone, my goals will go with me and the lives of the people that surrounded me will not change, not one bit. A lot of this has changed through the years, but see how I used a present tense for “hate”? Yes, I still do.

Whenever I see photos of myself in the years leading to 2017, I look at her and feel so sad and sorry. I lost that person. I don’t know how to bring her back. I look at her and I just want to give her a warm, tight hug. I’ll tell her what’s coming and I’ll tell her to hold on to her true self as hard as she can through all the confusions of joy and pain, of regret and relief that is coming her way. I will not make her change anything but just gather as much as she can of what makes her, her. I know that if I did I would not be as broken as I am today.

Losing oneself was one thing I know for certain has caused my anxiety, or maybe not being my true self has caused it. Growing up, I’ve followed my sibling’s footsteps. It’s as if almost every single decision I made was not out of my own deliberation, you see, I just followed their paths; and I always had help from them. I think that is why I had so much difficulty picking myself up from where I fell. No one can truly help you except yourself in this kind of situation, I couldn’t rely on anyone else but myself… and truthfully, I did not know how to do that. Maybe I did, but I’ve lost all trust I had towards myself, I literally did not know what to do.

I have one memory that I cherish so much. It was the night before I started my freshmen year in college and my brother drew a map of the university, guiding me on where to go. He explained it in detail so I won’t get lost. He was obviously excited for me too.  I always had help. When I started living in Makati City, I stayed with my sister and she showed me how to survive in this urban jungle. She had a home and she welcomed me there. When I got sick, she paid for my medical bills. She was even the reason why I got a job in a first place, and I loved this job. I always had help. So when I got here in Canada, broken and lost, I did not know what to do, where to go. This time, my siblings cannot help me anymore. It was all on me. But I had nothing left in me.

I’ve gained pace through the four years of living in Canada. I got my LPN license. I have a full time job. I ventured in a business and got promoted in less than a year. I enrolled myself in a post-graduate course that I am really passionate about. Everything seems fine except for nights when my own thoughts drown me and mornings when I just can’t get out of bed. There are still those moments, when I look at myself and the life that I’ve lived and think, “What are you even doing? Don’t you just want to end this?”.

I hope there’s nothing wrong with me. I wish it’s all in my head, that it’s part of grieving the years I thought I knew myself, only to realize I’ve shared my entire being with someone for so long that I feel so lost.

“There’s a misconception that grief only happens when we lose people. This is not true. We can grieve circumstances, relationships, missed opportunities. In fact, sometimes when you find yourself plagued with waves of emotion from sadness to melancholy you may be grieving yourself. The version of yourself that you might have been if things had been different, or if only you had said something, or if someone had stood up for you.” —blooooom.tumblr.com

https://www.instagram.com/p/Cn-a4_DAmua/

The part that says “you may be grieving yourself” cuts deep. That’s true sadness there. When you can’t find a home to rest your soul upon you feel everything and nothing all at once. You can’t find your way back because you’re lost, and how will you ever when you’ve lost yourself. How will you ever, when you’ve had none of that self at all?

Unfiltered – February 2024

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Her heart is crushing in unbearable weight. Days like this go by torturously slow yet time doesn’t ever seem to keep pace. It does what it does best, making her feel out of breath. Like she’s not already gasping for air. Not that anyone could ever notice, her suffering is never overt.

Her heart is doused in acid. She wishes she could vomit all the pain out. Wishes someone cuts her chest open so she bleeds all the dread out. Someone, someone else has to do it. She can never do it herself. If she could this could’ve ended long before. 

Her mind is endlessly filled with fear. Fear that for certain she will fail. She’s never done anything better than fail. Every single day. Every. Single. Day. She’d cast herself a look of disapproval, yet again. “When will you ever change? Almost one year has passed and you haven’t accomplished anything. Nothing has changed. Not your weight, not your hideous, disgusting body. Not your unstable emotions and your pathetic mind.” How is the coming year going to be any different? How is she going to handle all the change that is going to happen in her life? Is she ever going to have enough time? Time slips away like sand from her nervous, shaky hands. Can she ever be the person the people around her need? Is she ever enough to be the mother her son needs? Will she ever be the kind of person she needs to be – for herself?

She lay on the bed crying, back towards the crib. Her son lead himself to sleep as she curled into a ball under the blankets. Her body feels depleted. Her mind is dry and weak. Her heart is just so exhausted. 

The Year of Baking

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I have a ton of baking memories as a child. Auntie Deh was the baker of the family. She comes over almost every weekend to bake and although I was only there to stick a finger into the batter for a quick taste of raw flour, eggs, and vanilla extract, a memory of the delicious aroma of a chiffon cake topped with caramel drizzle after hours of anticipation fills my heart with beautiful nostalgia.

I remember being anxious about making pancakes when I was a kid. In fact, I have never tried making one on my own. I was always with one of my older sisters, and my single role was to mix the batter. They made it look so easy, and it really is, but it wasn’t to the 9-year-old kid. I’d let you in on a little secret, I have not baked pancakes until now.

Then, there was that one summer when my siblings and I would watch The Food Network all day long. Fun times! You know how your head hurts, and your eyes burn from watching too much television, that’s how much time we spent watching, show after show. Well, at least that’s how I remember it. I could be the only one glued to the television while my siblings have gone to doing more productive things, teehee. Anyway, that’s when I started to think baking can be easy! I’d come home from school and watch her show and often wonder, why is the contessa barefoot? And also, how can Ina Garten’s pantry have anything and everything that the world needs? But oh my gosh, did I wish to bake like her! She does it so effortlessly that I believed I can do the same too!

Then maybe eighteen-ish years ago, my Mom enrolled me in a baking class. I enjoyed the course but I was in college, and just like my other hobbies, I set baking aside to focus on my studies and career more. However, even after years, I’ve not lost interest in baking. Although I never really baked after that class, whenever I find myself daydreaming about baking, I am always filled with excitement and convinced that I will be good at it.

All in good time, they say. I guess, it’s true because on March 2020, my year of baking started!

The first bake of the year was Double Chocolate Crinkle Cookies. The idea of baking this came to me while I was at work and thought of doing something with my boyfriend’s daughter. I know she loves baking and I thought it would be a nice way to spend time with her. Everything went well except for the overheated hand mixer! LOL. This did not stop me though.

The next day, we baked Sally’s Seriously Fudgy Homemade Brownies. We did not need a mixer for this one, thank heavens. This recipe yields yummy brownies! Mine came out a little dry and we figured maybe the oven was too hot, so we bought an oven thermometer. Along with it, pans, spatulas, and whisks. One by one, with every visit to Superstore and Walmart’s baking aisle.

Before March ended, in the midst of a lock down, we got ourselves a stand mixer, and the baked goods’ list went on and on. I tried baking the Japanese jiggly lemon cheesecake (which was not as jiggly as we wanted it to be but it tasted so good and it brought us so much joy!), corn bread (baked in a skillet), fudge revel bar (took a little bit of hard work to spread the dough but all worth it!), and waffles! For the waffles, I used Sally’s recipe of her Favourite Buttermilk Waffles. When she said in her blog that it is “light-as-air on the inside”, I promise you it is! Topped with Nutella and berries, this recipe has become part of our breakfast traditions.

I still have so much more to share about my year of baking, for now this will do. I’ve filled my baking binder with recipes and each has its story to tell, memories that bring nostalgia just like how my memories with my Auntie, who is now in heaven, has made me feel.