Constantly Faltering
“The purpose of your life is far greater than your own personal fulfillment, your peace of mind, or even your happiness. It's far greater than your family, your career, or even your wildest dreams and ambitions. If you want to know why you were placed on this planet, you must begin with God. You were born by his purpose and for his purpose.”
- Day 1: It All Starts with God, “The Purpose Driven Life,” Rick Warren
Ever since I’ve started dreaming and writing down my own list of “What I Want to be When I Grow Up,” I have always been too focused on achieving them. I was so eager to accomplish them and hold them in my hands and never let them go. I told myself that doing so – being successful – would make me happy, would give me this moral boost that I badly needed, and most of all, would make my family proud of me. I’ve grown up insecure and jealous. I was jealous of those little girls with long, braided hair and cute ponytails. I was jealous of those kids who grew up with their parents. I was jealous that they have a normal and complete family. I didn't have those. My hair was very short I almost looked like a boy. My parents were separated even before I was born. I didn't have a complete family. I lived with my father with his other woman and my step siblings. I grew up under the care of my aunt. My mom? She was away, apparently working her ass off to save money for our (me and my older brother's) studies (later, she'd collect us from our aunt and let us study in Metro Manila). I didn’t socialize with people I barely knew. I wasn’t very friendly even in family gatherings. I’ve made some friends, played tag and stayed out all afternoon with them. But that was it. There weren’t any people to whom I could really talk to – you know, family problems and insecurities. I was barely a teenager that time, and I was already thinking of family problems.
Imagine that. So achievements would be good for me – that was what I thought. I wasn’t athletic, artistic and friendly, so I poured all my heart out in excelling in studies and bringing home honor medals every year. I also joined story writing contests, but I guess I lost my medal from that one. I wasn’t even sure that there was any.
My “What I Want to be When I Grow Up” list continued to grow. I didn’t care what my parents would say, what other people would think, as long as I was doing what I loved to do. It was all about what I wanted,
not what others wanted. I was too self-absorbed;
I was selfish. During grade school graduations, advisers would ask their students what their ambitions were and put them in year books together with their hardly pretty photos, names, addresses and birth dates. That was when I really started thinking of what I really wanted to be. When I was very young, I wanted to be a nanny, because our nanny was the best person I knew that time. Then I loved Science, so I wanted to be a scientist. Then a singer – how
absurd, given my cracking voice. They told me I should be a nurse and continue the long line of white-dressed caring nurses in our family. I didn’t like it. I didn’t want to be a nurse. I hated needles and the smell of hospitals – up until now. I thought hard, which wasn’t actually necessary.
It was just a year book – words didn’t matter. I ended up wanting to be a journalist, a writer. And it hasn’t changed since.
I didn’t know what “purpose in life” meant. I thought our purpose –
my purpose was to be what I wanted to be. I had set my own purpose. I wrote what I thought my purposes on this world were. The list was long. It wasn’t particularly what my family wanted. I didn’t consider anything that they had said. Their words hung around buzzing before my shielded ears. They weren’t allowed to enter in, and if they were able to, they would just fly out of the other ear, not affecting my choices, not even influencing my decisions. I was trapped in my own box full of wild dreams and selfish resolutions. I grew up not listening to their advices, so I grew up hard and weird – and, for heaven’s sake,
indecisive. I guess my indecisiveness was my own share of karma.
I wasn’t aware that finding one’s real purpose required only one thing –
knowing and welcoming God in our lives. I’ve done it before – I knew God and welcomed Him. But still, I haven’t really found my true purpose. Maybe I was taking it too fast; I wasn’t giving enough time. I guess it doesn’t come in a single snap. But I’m always open for waiting –
I’ve lived my life waiting: waiting for my birthday, waiting for Mom to come back, waiting for my friends, waiting for my favorite series to come out, waiting for
Teletubbies on TV, waiting for the peaceful rain to pour, waiting for Christmas and summer, waiting for my sarcastic, funny and messy-haired knight in shining armor who can rock an all black outfit without looking like a funeral attendee, waiting for a change,
waiting in vain – because I know it would be worth it.
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a woeful & chaotic diary since 071409
Constantly Faltering
“The purpose of your life is far greater than your own personal fulfillment, your peace of mind, or even your happiness. It's far greater than your family, your career, or even your wildest dreams and ambitions. If you want to know why you were placed on this planet, you must begin with God. You were born by his purpose and for his purpose.”
- Day 1: It All Starts with God, “The Purpose Driven Life,” Rick Warren
Ever since I’ve started dreaming and writing down my own list of “What I Want to be When I Grow Up,” I have always been too focused on achieving them. I was so eager to accomplish them and hold them in my hands and never let them go. I told myself that doing so – being successful – would make me happy, would give me this moral boost that I badly needed, and most of all, would make my family proud of me. I’ve grown up insecure and jealous. I was jealous of those little girls with long, braided hair and cute ponytails. I was jealous of those kids who grew up with their parents. I was jealous that they have a normal and complete family. I didn't have those. My hair was very short I almost looked like a boy. My parents were separated even before I was born. I didn't have a complete family. I lived with my father with his other woman and my step siblings. I grew up under the care of my aunt. My mom? She was away, apparently working her ass off to save money for our (me and my older brother's) studies (later, she'd collect us from our aunt and let us study in Metro Manila). I didn’t socialize with people I barely knew. I wasn’t very friendly even in family gatherings. I’ve made some friends, played tag and stayed out all afternoon with them. But that was it. There weren’t any people to whom I could really talk to – you know, family problems and insecurities. I was barely a teenager that time, and I was already thinking of family problems.
Imagine that. So achievements would be good for me – that was what I thought. I wasn’t athletic, artistic and friendly, so I poured all my heart out in excelling in studies and bringing home honor medals every year. I also joined story writing contests, but I guess I lost my medal from that one. I wasn’t even sure that there was any.
My “What I Want to be When I Grow Up” list continued to grow. I didn’t care what my parents would say, what other people would think, as long as I was doing what I loved to do. It was all about what I wanted,
not what others wanted. I was too self-absorbed;
I was selfish. During grade school graduations, advisers would ask their students what their ambitions were and put them in year books together with their hardly pretty photos, names, addresses and birth dates. That was when I really started thinking of what I really wanted to be. When I was very young, I wanted to be a nanny, because our nanny was the best person I knew that time. Then I loved Science, so I wanted to be a scientist. Then a singer – how
absurd, given my cracking voice. They told me I should be a nurse and continue the long line of white-dressed caring nurses in our family. I didn’t like it. I didn’t want to be a nurse. I hated needles and the smell of hospitals – up until now. I thought hard, which wasn’t actually necessary.
It was just a year book – words didn’t matter. I ended up wanting to be a journalist, a writer. And it hasn’t changed since.
I didn’t know what “purpose in life” meant. I thought our purpose –
my purpose was to be what I wanted to be. I had set my own purpose. I wrote what I thought my purposes on this world were. The list was long. It wasn’t particularly what my family wanted. I didn’t consider anything that they had said. Their words hung around buzzing before my shielded ears. They weren’t allowed to enter in, and if they were able to, they would just fly out of the other ear, not affecting my choices, not even influencing my decisions. I was trapped in my own box full of wild dreams and selfish resolutions. I grew up not listening to their advices, so I grew up hard and weird – and, for heaven’s sake,
indecisive. I guess my indecisiveness was my own share of karma.
I wasn’t aware that finding one’s real purpose required only one thing –
knowing and welcoming God in our lives. I’ve done it before – I knew God and welcomed Him. But still, I haven’t really found my true purpose. Maybe I was taking it too fast; I wasn’t giving enough time. I guess it doesn’t come in a single snap. But I’m always open for waiting –
I’ve lived my life waiting: waiting for my birthday, waiting for Mom to come back, waiting for my friends, waiting for my favorite series to come out, waiting for
Teletubbies on TV, waiting for the peaceful rain to pour, waiting for Christmas and summer, waiting for my sarcastic, funny and messy-haired knight in shining armor who can rock an all black outfit without looking like a funeral attendee, waiting for a change,
waiting in vain – because I know it would be worth it.
← older / top / newer →
a woeful & chaotic diary since 071409
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Already several months had passed, and I am missing
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry more and more each fleeting day. There are just some things in life that we can never forget – especially that something that had given us knowledge, skills, strong relationships and a second home. I am glad that everything in the magical world is now at peace, since Voldemort (yes, I can now say his name; no need to be afraid) had died. I had secretly admired Tom Marvolo Riddle (Voldemort’s birth name) though, because of his intelligence, passion and love for magic. Wasn’t he very clever to think of and conjure his seven
Horcruxes to preserve his life, or form a clan of
Death Eaters who were very loyal to him and would give up their lives just for him to succeed? Not everybody can acquire that much loyalty from people these days. I do not, however, admire him for the way he had carried out all of his plans. He had a good agenda, his means just weren’t morally right. But he still is one of the darkest wizards of all time… and let’s leave it that way.
Oh, for all those who are baffled of what I’m saying here and who the heck I am, my name is
Christine Faye Ordas, and I am an alumnus of Hogwarts. I came from the bronze-and-blue-clad house of the smart ass witch Rowena Ravenclaw and her dictum
“Wit beyond measure is a man’s greatest treasure.” And yes, I know the wonderful Luna Lovegood (she’s such a darling) and Harry Potter’s first crush Cho Chang. I had just left Hogwarts last May. Right now I am trying to pursue a career in magical researches, literature and writing. It’s my dream to inscribe intellectual books, publish and sell them in
Flourish and Blotts for the future Hogwarts students’ use. I am also planning to credibly write for the
Daily Prophet, the magical world’s primary news bulletin. And of course, I will be very much honored to contribute to Mr. Xenophilius Lovegood’s
Quibbler (hence, my interest in magical researches). I have always found the Lovegoods a fascinating family, and I bet working with and for them will be very exciting. Or maybe, in Merlin’s beard’s time, I can write legends and bedtime stories like the famous – and wickedly brilliant – Beedle the Bard.
And that’s how my life goes these days. I am utterly missing my old school, my friends, the Great Hall, the bronze eagle knocker just outside the Ravenclaw common room, Professor Flitwick (the head of our house), Hogsmeade, the Quidditch matches (although I didn’t actually play for the house), the moving portraits, the castle ghosts, the pumpkins on Halloween, the giant pine trees on Christmas, Rubeus Hagrid’s (Hogwarts’ gamekeeper) tea and treacle fudge – even the crabby Argus Filch (Hogwarts’ caretaker) I miss. Maybe I can visit the school grounds sometimes and see how the magical world’s been doing since Voldemort died (I’ve been spending my months in the muggle world, you see). I’ve heard everybody’s been moving on and starting all over again; the ministry is back on work under Kingsley Shacklebolt; and Harry Potter’s scar haven’t been disturbing him since.
All is well, indeed.
And because of that, we should celebrate and drink firewhisky! Oh, I still don’t drink firewhisky; I can take butterbeer or tea or pumpkin juice – just not firewhisky, please.
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