April 16 2009

I woke up this morning feeling uneasy in the lower part of my abdomen. It’s not pain that I felt but a slight discomfort. Everytime my shirt or undergarment would touch that area the cloth sticks with the skin. Everytime my skin stretches around that spot, part of the black ink moves along with the flesh. Amidst the red blotches on the skin, the black ink stain leftovers and blood marks is an intricate pattern of lines and curves of what I define as an accomplishment: my first tattoo. My left ear then suddenly felt itchy. As I tried to scratch it I noticed that one of my ears has grown heavier than the other. When my hands touched that area I felt something hard touch my skin: round, cold and hard. The weird thing is as I moved my hands higher on my left earlobe I noticed that there are two more round and hard steel earrings on my ear. When I felt all three of them I also felt a tinge of pain, though not the usual pathological unbearable pain that you usually complain about. Instead the pain felt normal and necessary. It felt good.

I suddenly remembered how I used to look like two years ago: tall lanky guy with black, short neatly-combed hair, pseudo-eyeglasses to make him feel more intellectual than he already is; average looking, geeky yet enthusiastic and idealistic with the promises of his future. The guy I see myself in the mirror now I think is the same lanky guy I used to know although he has longer, dishelved brown hair with eyebags the size of pingpong balls. In his face is also a slight indication of his laziness to shave. He has three piercings on his left ear. When he lifts his shirt, an inch below is navel is a black tribal tattoo, not the petty henna ones you get as a remembrance on your beach escapades but a permanent, painful one. His face shows weariness and exhaustion but it also shows maturity and wisdom. Not knowledge but wisdom. His face shows that he is no longer the guy two-years ago who worries if he’s gonna do well or if he’s gonna pass his test or if he has done the required pre-laboratory work next day. He is no longer the guy who envisions himself as wearing a sablay and becoming a successful doctor ten years from now, like everyone expected him to be, like he expected himself to be. Today, when he looks at his face in the mirror he recognizes someone who is working for money, who has obligations to his family, who has to be, by choice and birthright be responsible. His obligations and priorities then are worlds different from what he values now.


I have changed. A lot. I don’t know if it’s better or for worse.


Who cares?

I will forever remember yesterday, April 16 2009 as the date of my emancipation.

Note: Thanks to my bestfriend who shared that day with me. Another story we’ll be telling our kids in the near future. Sabay tayong nagpatuli, sabay din tayong nagpatato. Astig.