As a child, I've always felt like the odd one out. And I still feel like this today. When I was in kindergarten, my teacher told my parents that I can skip kindergarten and move to first grade already. She told them that I was a smart little girl, but that wasn't the main reason why she wanted me to skip kindergarten. It was because I was the worst student she ever had to deal with, and she just could not tolerate me anymore. When I was in first grade, I thought that doing classwork was boring, so I thought that it would be more fun to be a teacher instead. I walked around the class, looked at what my classmates were doing, and as they looked at me, I would give them a thumbs up. Of course, our teacher didn't like this so I was always in time out. In my first day of second grade, I told myself to try to be friends with everyone in the class, and four of them would eventually become my main bullies. When I was in sixth grade, my teacher shouted at me to go out of the classroom because I kept blurting out answers and not raising my hand. When I was in ninth grade, I had convinced myself that I had crippling social anxiety. And then when I was 16, I was at this church activity standing with the other youth group members as they conversed and laughed, and I laughed along with them while I was feeling completely alone. And now, at 21, there are still moments when I tell myself, "It would be a lot easier if I was just like everybody else. Not like this." "Not like me." Growing up, I had an attentive, supportive, loving family, and I will never trade them for the world. My parents love me with all their hearts and souls. I have a very caring younger brother who I always prioritize over myself--the main reason for my dream career. I was the first grandchild, so I was cherished and adored by my grandparents, my aunt, and my uncle. And eventually, I gained younger cousins who love me and admire everything that I do. And besides the questionable ones I had over the years, I actually had more supportive, kind teachers. I've always had a strong support system, literally ever since I was born. But I do wish that at least one of them has asked me, "Do you feel like there's something missing, and you're not sure what it is?" And there's guilt that resides in me because I think about this all the time. My younger brother is autistic, and so therefore, I majored in Psychology because I want to help him and neurodivergent young children like him. But I also feel like I want to help that confused five-year-old little girl who is all of a sudden going to school with first-graders and that sixteen-year-old who decided to sit in a big empty table because she doesn't know how to make friends. I know in my heart that I chose my lifelong passion for my brother--but also, I want to figure myself out. Because I'm still confused, and I still don't know how to make friends. So maybe, I've always had this subconscious of wanting to help others feel less guilty about being the odd one out. And also, once I achieve all my hopes and dreams, I want my younger self to hug me, and whisper in my ear. "Thank you."

"Whenever you feel pain, just forget about it. It'll go away eventually." This is what my grandfather always used to tell my cousins and I. I learned from him that pain is not everlasting, because you are in control of your pain. I learned from him that in life, you cannot afford to obsess about your pain. It is inevitable, fleeting. Therefore, you have to learn to deal with it, by forgetting. My grandfather died at 66 years old due to a heart attack on August 24, 2023. It was eleven in the evening in the Philippines. My grandmother woke up to my grandfather on the floor unconscious. She tried to do CPR on him, because he refused to accept the fact that he was gone, then she gets hospitalized because her blood pressure skyrocketed. My parents heard about the news before I did. I remember, I was cooking our lunch that day when my parents called me. Once I answered the phone, I hear my mom wailing in the background, as my dad tells me, "Your Lolo is gone." When he was still alive, I barely talked to my family in the Philippines. And it's not because I don't want to talk to them, it's just because I feel disconnected to them. I have lived in the U.S. for more than ten years now, and a lot of the memories I have with them disappeared. Over time, I felt like they were slipping and slipping away from my identity. And I never told anyone about this, because what if this means I don't love them as much as I used to? So, after he died, I constantly make the effort to maintain contact with them. My cousins and I made a group chat, and I try to text them as much as I can. And we use Google Meet to talk to each other, which we just had about an hour ago. Whenever my grandmother calls my mom, once I hear my Lola's voice, I say hi immediately. I don't remember the last time I said hi to my Lolo, and I don't remember the last time I said goodbye to him either. My grandfather always told us to forget the pain, and now that he's gone, I now realize that he was wrong. Forgetting the pain is like putting a band-aid on a wound that keeps bleeding. Forgetting only offers momentary relief, but once you remember, it actually hurts a lot more. Losing him made me realize that in life, you need to dwell in your pain--but not in the way you pity yourself, in the way that motivates you to survive. Pain is inevitable, fleeting. So you must accept it, because you feel pain to be stronger. You need that strength to fight the pain; so therefore, you fight that pain by love. On the day of my Lolo's funeral, as my family and I gathered together to mourn as they lowered his coffin into the ground, it was in that moment when I realized that my source of strength is my family, because I love them and they love me. The disconnect that I have always felt was not due to a lack of love, it was just a symptom of growing up. And now that I'm all grown up, I can now tell myself that whatever I dream of or whatever I plan in life, they are a part of it. Whatever I strive for or whatever I achieve, I can tell myself that it is for them--and it is because of them. Dreams come from an achievement of strength, but there cannot be strength without love. In order to achieve strength, you must first focus on achieving love.

When I was still in high school, back when I was a junior, my AP English teacher advised the class that in order to write effective, persuasive essays, we need to think outside the box. "I know that not a lot of you do, and that's okay," she mentioned laughing, "Many students think all they have to do is to just stick to a certain formula to write a rhetorical analysis essay. Although there are rules and guidelines that you need to follow in order to have a passing grade, being creative also helps a lot." I discovered my love for writing when I was eleven years old. I tried writing three novels at the same time, and I made sure to email to my friends how much I already wrote, for all three novels. I read again what I wrote for the books just a few days ago, and I now feel bad for my friends because my writing was terribly structured. Also, all three novels were unfortunately discontinued. But still, I loved writing in my spare time during middle school because I was drawn to the idea that I can create my own worlds. I was just so drawn to the idea that I can make my own rules. "Writing a rhetorical analysis involves problem-solving," my teacher said, "So, it helps a lot to think outside the box in order to come up with a thesis." Not only does it fuel my passion for writing, creativity also helps with everyday life by coming up with unconventional ways to solve problems--like finding alternative options to save money, for example. Creativity helps me resolve issues by coming up with my own rules to eventually discover the solution.

When I was six years old, I was an unbearable child. A lot of the neighbors' children I played with would always run up to my mother because I was always up to no good. My mother told me all about these stories as we laughed together, especially since I couldn't remember anything. My mother is too kind, told me she believed that most of the kids were just lying to her. Although I don't remember a lot of the things those kids accused me of, I can accept the fact that I was insufferable. In sixth grade, I would make offensive jokes towards my friends relentlessly. Those jokes I remember and will always regret, especially since I was bullied myself. To this day, I still worry that I might have contributed to their childhood trauma--considering that studies have actually proven that childhood bullying can have a major negative impact on mental health even as victims become adults. I may be too hard on myself, but I am right. Now that I am all grown up, I try to display empathy as much as possible. I refuse to judge people's looks even if they can't hear me; because as a 5'1, underweight girl with acne and a flat chest, I know how it feels like to have body image issues. And when friends told me about their problems, I refrained from recommending logical solutions, because I know from my own experience that it would just make them feel guilty. Kindness is contagious they say, so I always try to live by it. I am grateful for this philosophy I have personally developed over the years, and I sincerely wish I can be a clinical child psychologist to make use of this knowledge.

When I was little, I was loud and I loved to run around. I would approach the other kids and shout at them, tell them that I want to be friends with them. A lot of the kids did not like that, understandably so, but I was a very persistent little girl. I knew that a lot of them thought I was annoying, but that didn't stop me from being the wild burst of personality I once was. Years later, I have become very quiet and reserved. I hate small talk, for some reason it tenses me up. I refuse to open up to anyone, in fear of them judging me. Whenever I see a group of people whispering to each other, I immediately think that they are talking about me; and I have cried myself to sleep so many times, always contemplating about how I am so bad at making friends. My personality now is a collection of subconscious adaptive responses I have developed from those several years of bullying. Sure, I know it's maladaptive, but there is one thing that helps me. When I was little, I dreamed of becoming an artist. Though a career in the arts is not what I plan for myself anymore, my love for art has only grown. I love to paint abstract pieces, cubism art-inspired specifically. I love painting colorful geometric shapes; because they look like fractured pieces, how I view myself. I refuse to stick to a strict routine when painting. I paint whenever I feel like it or whenever I have nothing else to do. Just like all artists, I use and practice art as a means to express myself. I love how my fractured pieces can belong together and look beautiful.

Back when I was in ninth grade, I was very lonely and struggled to talk to other people. I would always sit with the same girls I always sat with during lunch, but I never talked to them, and I always sat at the very end of the table. I also remember when my art teacher told me that he has only seen me smile four times during the whole year. This is an amusing moment I like to recall occasionally, but it always had me thinking about who I truly was when I was younger. Being a cheerful and bright girl was what I always dreamed of when I was fourteen years old. It was a wish I convinced myself I will never achieve. The friendships I have encountered, I have always admired from afar. I have always adored how cheerful and bright these friendships were, and have always watched how their love for each other flourishes. When I was fourteen years old, I have accepted that I will never have this type of love--this simple, beautiful friendship. I will never be who I want to be. Over the past few years, I have made friends, yet I still struggle to commit. I still suffer with low self-esteem. However, I have also learned so much. I now am able to realize everything God has done for me, all of the blessings he has bestowed upon me. I now know that I have everything I need, and that he will grant me so much more than what I hope for. With full gratitude and appreciation, I just simply pray to Him. With His help, I will be everything I ever dreamed of. With God's help, I will be who I want to be. I will be happy.