My Secret Journal of Thoughts

One of my earliest memories from childhood is playing with my favorite Barbie doll. I loved dressing her up and carefully combing her hair, imagining all sorts of adventures for her. It was a simple joy that made me happy.

Another vivid memory is when my parents finally took me to Manila to study. I was in kindergarten at the time, and it was a big change from growing up in the province. That move also brought me closer to my younger sister, who I hadn’t seen much before. Suddenly, she became a big part of my everyday life.

On my very first day of school, I remember feeling incredibly shy. While most of the kids were begging their parents to stay with them, I was doing the opposite, begging my parents to leave me alone. I didn’t like having them watch me during class; it made me nervous and self-conscious. I just wanted to find my own space and figure things out by myself. 

When I was a kid, I used to be very anxious so much so that I refused to speak to any of my classmates. That silence lasted until third grade. Most people thought I was either deaf or mute because of how I acted. I was just painfully shy.

Things started to shift in grade 3 when I was seated next to a group of talkative kids who just wouldn’t leave me alone. They constantly asked questions, trying to get me to say something anything. Eventually, I cracked. I began to speak, just a little at first. I wasn’t exactly a chatterbox I probably said fewer words than a parrot but it was still a step. A small, quiet step toward becoming more social.

Growing up, I didn’t really have friends. The closest thing I had to a friend was my sister and a few of my cousins on my dad’s side. Most of my childhood was spent indoors. Me and my sister? We were classic iPad kids. The internet raised us in many ways especially when our parents had to leave us home alone for work.

At just six years old, I had to become something like a parent to my sister, who was four at the time. I remember making her milk, changing her diaper, doing whatever needed to be done while our parents were gone. I loved her, but we fought a lot biting, pushing, screaming. We were kids trying to figure out how to survive with only each other and the walls around us.

One moment that still sticks with me is the time she locked me out on the balcony. I don’t even remember why we were fighting, but I ended up outside, and she slammed the door shut behind me. I tried everything to get it open searching for tools, pushing with all my strength but nothing worked. So I cried. Loudly. For hours.

Eventually, the neighbors heard me and knocked on our front door. That scared my sister enough that she came over and unlocked the balcony door. I was so furious when I got inside that I pushed her and hit her until she cried. I was still a child, and I didn’t know any other way to express what I felt: fear, betrayal, helplessness. I think we were six and four at the time.

When our parents came home later that day, we didn’t tell them what happened. We both knew we were at fault in some way, and we didn’t want to get each other in trouble. That was how we handled things chaotic but quietly loyal in our own way.