I Found Something: Introduction (Part 1)

"I knew that I was going through something and it was important that I let it flow."

It all began with a question: What is the purpose of being here?

It’s not a very unique or out-of-this-world question. In fact, it’s a very worldly question. I began to confuse myself when I was 20 years old. That was when I became an atheist. Then, the next 10 years resulted mostly in havoc. But, so as not to confuse you with the story, let me begin from childhood.

In my early years, I wasn’t really a kid caught up in a very special situation. But I was in a situation wherein a kid like me could not fathom what was going on. I will tell you my story of what did not make sense happening to me as a kid, but I do not intend to embarrass the people involved. I love them unconditionally that I do not want these people to be identified here and feel humiliated. But I am sure that they know who they are. And if you’re reading this now, you know that I love you so much. I just felt that the story is very important in completing this writing and in making sense out of everything. Again, nothing is special about my story simply because we all have a unique story to tell, but at an early age I thought mine was peculiar. When I was 4 years old, I was told that I was adopted. My foster parents, I believe, decided to keep it a secret first until I get older to understand. But unfortunately, one fine day, my biological sister, who visited me often and was introduced to me as my cousin, broke the news. At first, I did not want to believe her until a member of my foster family began to name me “Ampon”, which means adopted child. Therefore, my sister was right after all. I began to question at 4 years old. Doubting was fine, but not knowing what to doubt about was hard. My foster parents sheltered me and provided for my needs. I could not doubt their love for me. Then I realized I doubted because, growing up, I was comparing myself with other kids. They were treated differently at home while I was always getting punches on my arms. I always get lashed with a leather belt. I sometimes get spitted on the face or whipped with a stiff broom. I got locked up in a totally dark room. I was tossed from the top of a 5-ledged stairs to the front door, around 4-meter distance. I got slapped, could not hear anything for a while, and carried marks of the fingers on my face for days. I was made to believe that touching my tiny breasts in the middle of the night was just normal and that I should not be scared when I am being touched. And if I want something or when asking for something, I have to offer my boobs first. And I was only 10 years old then. The hardest part was that no one was ready to believe me. So, I already knew I was alone in this. Then I started to plot my escape, which took me long years to plan because I was studying and intended to finish. Without so much of guidance, I finished college for only two reasons: First, a degree was required by this stupid society. Second, I wanted to finally escape and go as far away as I could from home.

As a child, I was sickly. I had asthma. It was really hard going to school with colds and flu everyday. I get better for at least 10 days or, if lucky, a month, then caught colds and flu again. I always get episodes of headaches but my eyesight’s totally perfect. I never had the chance to concentrate in class for two reasons: Either I was sick or my mind would choose to think of non-taxing thoughts like, what would be the next Sweet Valley High edition. Thinking hard was to be done at home, plotting my escape. Often times I was sick until high school, that’s age 16. In college, I was 500 kms. away from home, my health have gotten better and so I began to excel in academics. But that did not make me forget. Despite the distance, I’ve already grown to be who I am. My actions always had some bitterness attached to it. Sometimes I was aware, but most of the time it went spontaneously. It was hard watching people get hurt by my decisions. I also never learned how to take my actions back. Pride and ego were my best friends. I thought, this time, I had to think highly of myself. I was tired of being pushed to the ground, or at least that’s how I felt. And so pride and ego favored my decision and stuck by. It was also in these years of crises that I began to question the existence of a God. I doubted Jesus the Christ. Honestly, I don’t want to own the idea of questioning. I read them in books, so I felt that I had to ask, too. They all saw that Christianity fed us with nonsense: Dostoevsky, Rand, Gaarder, just to name three out of plenty, and my favorite novelists, too, who guided me in asking the right questions through their brilliant works. Well, I thought I was being guided without realizing that I was alone in this. I was too naïve and vulnerable. After all, I was only 19 when I read them. When I decided that I, too, would no longer accept the existence of a God, I began to walk in the dark. Or at least I thought I was in the dark waiting for the light to come out. And no light came. I was lost. I graduated from college and for 10 long years I almost tagged myself as “The Wanderer”, a certified one for that matter. I did not know what to believe anymore. I started differentiating good from bad in a very confusing manner. I had the urge of giving myself a chance to learn more about my biological family, which did not end up nicely. I noticed that people are hurting because of my actions. I literally was a wanderer with no place to stay. I began to lose connection with my foster family and some friends. I came to a point of literally not having a single centavo in my pocket, no food, and had only a small bag with nothing but clothes and some other stuff that I needed. I almost lost it but I realized I’m not the type who would lose my mind, unfortunately. I could have had a reason to be locked up and at least have a home for nothing. I’ve been disturbing the peace of a lot of kindhearted people just to get by each day. I tried applying for a job here and there but to no luck. I was in a whirlwind of activities dragging people who are unwilling to be involved with me, but had no choice, just because I was helpless. Yes, it got to that point. I was a total mess. I have been continuously finding myself in places, meeting people who does nothing but worsen my situation. It seemed endless, the confusion. I didn’t want my family to see me in that state and altogether disappoint them more than they already were. I contacted them only after 8 years, when the pieces began to fit in. I just had a taste of a truly challenging world.

But one thing’s for sure, which helped me get myself back together, I did not really care about what people might say or think. And yes, I did get myself back together otherwise you wouldn’t be reading this now. I knew that I was going through something and it was important that I let it flow. And so I didn’t care about the rest. It went on for the first five years then subsided one decision at a time on the next five years. Well, five years was enough for me to find out that there’s no good in taking one’s thoughts seriously, and another five years to pick up the pieces. The most important thing is that it takes the present moment to realize that questioning the existence of a God must not make God your enemy. Ask, but ask without anger in your heart. Ask but be prepared to understand and accept. And most of all, ask but be kind to yourself if you do not find answers. I should be proud, I guess, that I got to this conclusion the hard way.

Well, for one, I was angry because I could no longer find any sense in being here. People hurt each other, nothing goes well permanently, everything crumbles at the same time, and so what is life for? It came to a point when I began to observe that life is going nowhere and that an “end” to suffering is all nothing but a cliché. Life is equal to suffering and that’s the whole truth. This world is meant to disappoint us. So, I was angry. And as a 20-year-old naïve girl who’s been seeing more than her brain could understand at that time, I don’t blame myself for being angry. I was infuriated by life.

Life went on for me. If I did not find any sense in life, I did not find any sense in rebelling against God either. So, I moved on. But moving on meant I had to accept the imperfections. I needed to forgive myself. And forgiving myself did not only mean accepting the last 10 years of chaos but also the root of my actions. My childhood. Click here for the continuation.