So What?!

That skin that glimmers in whiteness and smoothness, that body that oozes with sexiness and confidence, and that personality that pleases the people around, look good especially on girls, right? Those characteristics make women proud and glad. They can surely flaunt what they have. But, am I one of these women? Am I really proud and glad of myself? Can I flaunt myself being a negra, baboy, and bipolar?

I have got a lot of issues in life. Insecurities are one, and my skin color is an example. Way back when I was in grade school, I had always been so insecure with my skin color. If at present, a few would say, “Namuti lagi ka, Rhudz?” then, how dark was I before? In grade school, I could remember that some of my classmates would call me “Negra” or any word that would associate with black. It actually didn’t bring me much care at all back then. I just lived as if I didn’t hear them. “Ok ra na!” I assured myself. But, it was and never had been OK.

I thought I could handle my skin color, more than it handled me for years. Then, there was this time when my childishness was being replaced by the maturity that puberty unfortunately brought me. Yes, my high school life brought me back to my senses, that again, my skin color was a big failure in my life.

When I was in high school, I belonged to a certain circle of friends. They’re actually so nice to me. But, when that moment came when courtship became a trend, there I was again. I felt that the whole world betrayed me. No guy liked me! I felt that I was left in darkness literally. It came to a point that I asked my mother if I were beautiful or not? Then, my mother would just guarantee, “Gwapa lagi ka, te!” Wow! How my mom loved me so much!

My issues on my skin color had slowly faded. Thanks to the encouraging words of my mother, and to the help of some whitening products which were not that effective. I started flaunting myself and became proud of who I was. Until…

“Baboy! Tambok! Taba!” Gosh! Why in the world did my weight grow together with my height?! If I used to have 25 inches waistline, I’m afraid that at present, it could have doubled! It didn’t matter much to me actually. But, whenever I meet friends and colleagues, they would say, “Hala! Pirti na nimong panambok, Rhudz, wui!” I would just be taken aback. Sometimes, if I had the guts to respond, I would just say, “Sige lang. Magpapayat lang ko.” And, I have been telling that line over and over and over again! There were instances, too, that whenever I rode a tricycle and stepped inside, I could feel that the gravity was so mad at me that it gave its full force on my foot! Well, I actually tried to lose weight. Before, I used to try slimming products, but my ex-boyfriend, now my husband, would just keep on telling me that these products were not good! L Not only that! I also tried zumba at home, but it just lasted for 5 days. I also had a pack of oatmeal, but I think it would already spend its anniversary in the fridge in a few months time. Depressed and disappointed with such, I would succumb myself to eating. Well, I have already accepted that this is my “disciplinary” problem. I admit I get insecure with sexy ladies out there. I even nudge my husband to them, but he would just ignore. I may be fat now, but who cares?

Some people perhaps. Some are so vain with their physical appearances. Well, I can get away from my physical insecurities. However, apart from my being black and fat, there is this one character that does not only bring me insecurities in life, but also misunderstandings and disputes.

Before, I thought that this personality was just fine. When I used to teach Grade 1 pupils, whenever they became unruly in class, I became mad at them. After a few minutes of telling them to behave and the like, I would go back to normal. I mean, I would continue discussing and eventually would smile at them. For three years, I had been like that. And, I brought that temperament in DCHS, to my fourth year students. I thought that was fine. That it was just normal. However, an instance happened between me and a certain group of students, which led them to tweet on twitter, “Bipolar siya!” Being good at intuitions, I asked these students if they were referring to me. Then, so on. I won’t dwell much on details anymore. I have already been trying to forget what happened. I was, am, and will never be a perfect teacher. Who would be? I may be bipolar, but the only consolation I had was I did not hurt anybody.

These things are just actually few of my insecurities. They have been haunting me from time to time, but I have ignored those most often. These insecurities are just nothing. I may not have that skin that glimmers in whiteness and smoothness, but I have a heart that shines for everyone. I may not have the body that oozes with sexiness and confidence, but my intelligence and talents make me a lot sexier. I may sometimes not have the personality that pleases the people around, but I’m me! I may be this, I may not be that, but I am me, and God created me as me!

Negra? Baboy? Bipolar? So what?!

It’s RUDYLEN! :)

Rudelyn, Rodelyn, or Rhudelyn? Well, NONE of the above.

My name is often misspelled—way back when I was in grade school until now. I don’t know what is with my name that it gets misspelled often. I am Rudylen, so it is R-U-D-Y-L-E-N.

My name is…

To be honest, there were times that I tend to dislike my name. When I was still in my elementary years, whenever I was asked about my name, sometimes, I found it difficult to pronounce my name. I could not even give them my nickname because my nickname was “Lyn-Lyn”, and that was how my neighbors called me. That nickname, too, for me, was not good to listen to. It sounded childish (for me). Going back to my name, I really had a hard time enunciating my name before. I was not sure how it was supposed to be pronounced because even at home, my parents would not call me with such name. They called me (and even still call me) “Ate” because I’m the eldest child and the only daughter. So, I was extremely puzzled with my name and its pronunciation.

Until I reached Grade Six. I could vividly remember how my Grade 6 English teacher had difficulty in saying my name. It was English time when our English teacher called me for an oral recitation. She had a hard time pronouncing my name. After several tries of saying my name, finally, she said “Rudylen” (roo-di-len). By that time, I used that pronunciation for my name. LOL 😀

By the way, you might wonder why I was named Rudylen. Simple. Because my father’s name is Rudy. But, no. My mother’s name is not Len, OK? They only added “Len” to my name, so it would be meant for a girl. I know you might find this funny. Don’t worry. I found it funny, too.

What if I were given the chance to change my name, would I? Before, I would really say a big YES! I even used to scribble down pretty names on a paper or in my notebook before. However, now, despite how peculiar my name is, it is still my name. I was born as Rudylen. I was baptized as Rudylen. I was known as Rudylen. Though I have been known also with my other names—like Ate, LenLyn-Lyn, or Rhudz—these names are above all from my real name: Rudylen.

So, it’s Rudylen. No other else. 🙂

When Writing Wasn’t A Piece of Cake at All!

Ever since I was young, writing had been one of my frustrations. Despite being a school paper staffer and a contestant to several essay writing and article writing contests when I was in grade school and high school, I still ended up having a flash in the pan. I still ended up frustrated.

I remembered when I joined a contest for the very first time on article writing. It was the Division Schools Press Conference in 1999. I was grade six then. I just wrote. Yes, I JUST wrote without having any intention to win. When I was announced as one of the placers in the two events that I joined, I felt blank. Maybe because I wasn’t able to appreciate fully yet the beauty of writing. After a month (I guess), we had our Regional Schools Press Conference in General Santos City in November 1999. That time, I was supposed to write much better to bag a place to represent Region XI in the National Schools Press Conference, which at that time would be held in Iloilo City. But, I messed up! I didn’t take the contest seriously. Consequently, I ended up a zilch! And my frustrations had gone wilder!

There’s another story. When I was in high school (I forgot in what year level I was then), I was chosen to be the school’s representative for an interschool essay writing contest. Though I was already sure by then that I wasn’t good at essay writing, I just gave it a shot. The theme could have been easy, but then again, I ended up a flop and brought no victory to my alma mater.

With all these writing-related-miseries that I had when I was young, I asked myself “Am I this dumb writer? Can’t I be like those famous novelists, article writers and the like? Do I still have the chance?” I kept on asking myself about such things. When would these frustrations curtail? When would I finally say that I am a good writer yet? When?