Memories of a forgotten childhood

At the age of nine, I got so excited at the prospect of our family spending summertime abroad. We have always planned to visit relatives who were residing in the United States of America but it was only until March of 2000 that we were all set, holding passports with visas and plane tickets in one hand, and each other in another.

What exactly made me so giddy was that our two-months-long itinerary was practically filled with theme park visits. You see, I have grown to love the pretty sights and rides of Disneyland and Universal Studios, thanks to international magazines my aunts send me. Unfortunately though, I barely have had the chance to have such “magical” experience. Living in the modest city of Iloilo limited me to small-scale rides found in annual events such as school fairs and town fiestas. Sometimes, when I get lucky, there are also the occasional flights to Manila when Enchanted Kingdom and Star City visits are a must. But that was just about it. This was why our US trip was a big thing for me.

You may think I’m much of an adrenaline junkie because of my affinity to theme parks. But, for the life of me, I have never been a fan of one thing: roller coasters.

I hate the wrenching feeling it gives me before, during, and after the ride. It makes me want to throw up, as if organs inside my body are mixing up without me knowing what’s really happening. I keep worrying that my stomach and my brain get jumbled up in the process. If anything, it was that feeling that I hated most about the ride.

Sadly enough, there had been countless times that I experienced these twists and turns even outside the amusement parks; cases in which, like most people, I have a hard time dealing with.

A roller coaster ride is what I instantly think of whenever I hear the word “grief.” It’s when a person extremely sad and in deep and profound sorrow. It’s a response to a great loss or a big regret. I normally equate grief with pain and suffering because that’s what anyone usually feels after losing something so important to them. It doesn’t necessarily have to be a loved one’s death; people can get grief-stricken over missed opportunities or wasted chances.

My childhood revolved around Disney princesses and Barbie dolls and my life was as simple as dressing my toys up with colorful outfits made for every possible occasion. Bedtime stories were told to make me sleep as fast as I could so that my parents too could rest after a day’s work. As I grew older (but not old enough to stop the stories), I managed to question the fairytales my mom kept reading to me every night: What’s a wicked witch or an evil stepmother? Why do they have to be in the story?

Mom said they were the bad guys that don’t want Snow White or Cinderella to be happy. However, no matter how much they try to plot evil schemes to the lovely ladies, the latter always win. In the end, Snow White and Cinderella still get their Prince Charmings and their happy-ever-afters. In this case, I guess I would also see grief as an antagonist. Although most of us see them as a big hindrance from our happy endings, they also challenge us to acquire our fullest potential and become better persons. For some reason, when we think of our enemies, we are able to pull out the sword from the huge rock and victoriously battle with the dragons.

Perhaps grief is inevitable; it’s already a part of life. And with that, it is only impossible to not go through grief after a significant loss. Maybe the person at loss is still in denial and wouldn’t want to accept the fact that a part of them is missing. But it’s a step in the process too, this denial phase.

I remember a year after our US trip, when dad decided to leave our family for another woman, I used to project this strong front when I’m with people. I have always believed that things will be okay for us—that our dad will come to his senses and will be back home eventually. But he never did. No visits, no calls, no letters. It was only then when it dawned on me and every night I would cry myself to sleep with a heavy heart. I realized that I shouldn’t have kept what I felt because it wasn’t good to hold back the tears for a long time. Crying can be good in some instances too: it lessens the weight we feel when we’re sad or frustrated.

What I don’t like though, after a bad experience, is when others tell me to “forget about it” and “move on.” I personally believe that when we lose something significant in our lives (may it be our fault or not), it will always have and remain in a special part in us, even if we don’t admit it. People don’t necessarily understand what we are going through and would tell us otherwise. But for me, it is only human to feel bad about our loss.

Although eventually, we would find ways to make ourselves happy again even if it means doing things people may deem ridiculous (like listening to sad love songs after a break-up) or unreasonable (like locking yourself in your room for the rest of the year after not getting the job you long wanted). We would always aspire to get over that sad feeling. We wouldn’t want to stay inside that hole forever.

The act of resolving grief is relative. It always depends on a person on how they want to go about with it. We go through it alone, but we can also ask for the help of others to make us feel better. Concerned friends and family would remind us that there are greater things in store of us and it’s that promise that we keep holding on to as we eventually learn how to—little by little, piece by piece—not make a big deal out of the whole situation.

We often have this notion that we only have two choices: to dwell on a loss or to forget about it entirely. Even though that always seems to be the case, I believe there is always the option to do neither. Neither do we forget about it not make it the center of our lives altogether. We let it be a guide to us in our grief and life journeys, a hidden scar that strengthens us, that compels us to seek for the good and for the better.

After everything that has happened to me as a kid—with the good and the bad combined—there’s a lesson that I learned and always followed: it’s okay to not be okay. It’s alright to fall down for as long as you’re willing to stand back up again. We obsess ourselves with being too happy all the time and try as much to lessen the sadness. However, it’s through these trying times that we are challenged to step it up a notch, that we are forced to grow as individuals.

I think that’s how I view my life now: I only get what I deserve (and sometimes, even more than I do). If it’s not for me, it’s not for me. For the times that my heart has been broken after being left by people whom I thought cared for me and being rejected by authorities who don’t believe in me, I can’t thank them enough. Without them, I wouldn’t be who I am now—a headstrong nineteen-year-old, who isn’t as scared as before to and is very ready to face life’s problems.

Although I never liked roller coasters, I still go through with it. The queasy pre-, during, and post-ride feeling may still be there but I do feel better after one round. It makes me think I’m unstoppable. Besides, how would I even enjoy a particular theme park if I don’t try all the rides? It’s true that sometimes we’re up, sometimes we’re down. But the ride eventually stops and it only gets better.