Odd They Say

These thoughts led me to stop writing in my journals. I ceased praying and reading my bible because I felt shame and unqualified to talk to him the way I am.

Yet, the Lord, being true to who He is, had reminded me of how much his grace abounds. He is a God of initiative always asking me where I am, seeking me out despite my feelings of unworthiness.

He seeks me and he desires to be with me so he continues to help me out of the pit that I am in. Despite all the falling down in this walk, he always held his hands out in mercy telling me that we'll stand back up together. I was not left on my own devices, He will help me stand back up.

I am an insecure child.

I was never happy with myself.

I couldn’t bear to look at my own reflection in the mirror.

I couldn’t even remember what I looked like, or what kind of faces I made as a kid.

I’ve always looked at the world through a window, yet I’ve always felt that I was never truly part of it. I watched it as a detached observer—something separate, somewhere I couldn’t belong. I often feel alone, though it’s not quite loneliness.

The world is beautiful. I adore everything in creation. I’ve always believed that everything is meant for good, so I choose to see the beauty in others. But I’ve never been able to do the same for myself. As I’ve said, I felt like I wasn’t part of any of it. I couldn’t appreciate who I was. I’ve never been at peace with myself. I couldn’t love myself as easily as I loved others or perhaps that very lack of self-love kept me from ever truly loving others, despite seeing the good in them. There is a disconnect.

I’ve tried to make sense of why I am the way I am, and the answer I keep returning to is this: I am a compared child.

Perhaps that’s why I unconsciously tried to separate myself from the world—to find some kind of grounding outside the constant comparisons I was forced to live with.

I couldn’t see myself outside those comparisons I grew up hearing.

“You need to be like [insert name].”

“You need to do better than [insert name].”

“You should try to learn this because [insert name] can do it.”

“She’s good—you should be like her.”

“She looks pretty, doesn’t she?”

These narratives were like baobab seeds that slowly grew on my own little planet. They seemed harmless at first, but the more they took root, the harder they became to pull out—and in time, they destroyed my world, they destroyed me.

Now that I am an adult, I realize that life is a journey of unbecoming. But the more I think about it, the more I find myself with empty answers. I need to unbecome to become who I truly am. But unbecome what? I realized then that I’ve never truly known who I am. I never tried to look at myself in the mirror as a child. I’ve always worn personas to fit their idea of a “good child,” and so when I’m asked who I am, I am grasping at straws.

All I know is that it’s hard for me to give the same love I so easily give to others—and even harder to accept that same love when it’s freely given.

All these I carried in my Christian journey.

The concept of grace is the hardest one to accept and to learn.

My parents taught me that nothing in this world is free. You need to work hard to earn everything. I feel guilty if I don't work hard enough. I am only deserving of something if I worked hard on it. I need to give my best at everything because it's the only way to live a meaningful and successful life. It isn't a bad thing, that belief.  It actually pushed me to become better.

But what if everything I worked hard for was stripped away? What if I wake up one day and realize that all my hard work is for naught and won't serve me anymore? I woke up despairing when I realized that even if I am the hardest worker, it won't guarantee success and comfort.

Life isn't fair. Society is filled with injustices that serve the wealthy and powerful. Society isn't kind to let those in the lower caste, desperately climbing the pyramid. It is an endless unrewarded struggle and not everyone was fortunate enough to get good opportunities, most of the time we don't get them. The rich get richer. The gap is widening and those at the top never regard those at the bottom. It's always like that. Sometimes I despair because of this meaningless struggle.

This mindset was extended in my journey into Christianity. I couldn't grapple on what grace really means. I cannot even determine it from experience. Is it really okay to be saved like that? I don't need to do anything but to accept him? God already atoned it for me? Is the cross really enough?

I always felt the need to repay God for the salvation he gave. When I realized I couldn't, that I will never be enough to repay such debt, I couldn't help but despair. (Sorry for the excessive use of the word despair I couldn't find a better one.) How can I repay such love? How can I tell him I love him and I am beyond grateful for everything he gave?

I walked away in shame when I couldn't do it. I know it sounded stupid and foolish, that I walked away from the source of life but I've always felt so undeserving of it and I kept on making the same mistakes over and over. All I see is my sinfulness. It hurts. It hurts because I couldn't be with him.

I realized then, even now, that I am overly self-conscious. I always have my eyes on myself. I only find myself in others. I try to see God, the way I see myself. I told you a while ago that I constantly compare myself and that sense of inferiority was amplified by that constant comparison. I don't want to be self-centered but based on the actions I took, I became the person I don't want to be. I only watch out for myself, preserving myself. That's why sometimes I feel like I couldn't connect with people well. I agonized about this thought a while ago.

The father of my friend died this morning. I extended my condolences but I couldn't feel for her. I believe that I am good with emotions but why can't I genuinely feel for others? I don't know what to say because I know things aren't alright. I know she's still processing the loss; I shouldn't bother her. There are people who can do it better, it doesn't have to be me. I hate this part of myself.

My thoughts would spiral into wild ideas. I think, I am so selfish. I realized that I am only interested in other people because I want to know how to connect to them. It is for personal gain. I am curious about others because I wanted to see how I can learn more from their lives. I find my motivation self-centered. It was always about me not about other. Was my wanting to know God better also the same? Am I only seeking God for myself? Is that a bad thing?

The past me would try to reason it out. But what I wanted to do now is to accept that I am like that but God can make use of my crooked heart for good. Perhaps him making me see how distorted my views are is also an act of transformation.

The more I see these ugly parts of me, the more I'm convinced that I am indeed not ready for what God has for me. There is much to learn and I am being sent to the wilderness to learn trust and obedience. He's helping me change my heart the way I prayed for. He can only do that in times when myself can no longer serve me. I couldn't do it with the things I believe I am good at. It is exactly in these moments that he invites me to rely on him, to train me to have a heart that is quick to trust him even in the face of death. I prayed to him that I wanted to take this journey seriously. He's just answering my prayers, doesn't he? If I want to get serious in my faith, I need to go through this season and trust him for what's to come.

He is deconstructing my mind. He's making me see how much influence the world had in me and he wants me to unlearn every single one so that I could make room for his teaching. He's stripping me of the world and myself so that I can see the bareness of his original design.

Somehow, I came to understand why Jesus said that blessed are the poor in spirit because they already know that they're poor in that aspect and are quick to admit that they need a savior. I belong to those people who think they're rich. That's why I feel for the older brother in the prodigal son story. It's hard to admit that I am not what I thought I was. It's hard to admit that I needed a God to make everything in my life beautiful again.

Will I ever be able to do that?

I dislike the smell of hospitals. It makes me feel sick. That’s the first impression I got when I entered the facility. It’s been a while since the last time I entered one. I continued to walk the silent corridors and caught glimpses of the pediatric wards. We are off to the respiratory ward to help my aunt in processing their release after my uncle had been admitted for the past week.

As I entered the room, I checked every nook and cranny. There were 8 beds in total, five patients, and several caretakers. It’s pretty ironic how the ward was meant to nurse patients with respiratory complications, but the room’s windows are filled with dust and webs. The only sink is unusable and clogged. The faucet where you can wash the used mugs and dishes was beside a large wheeled trash can, and on its opposite side were a stick broom, a mop, used detergents, and bleach. I washed the dishes to help my aunt pack everything they needed, and then cleaned the floor because its condition made me want to puke.

We’ve been here since noon, but it is already 3 pm, and my uncle hasn’t been discharged yet. The reason was that the doctor was still not here, and they couldn't release him if the paper wasn’t signed by the doctor, and some other stuff. The healthcare situation here is pretty dire. There are only three doctors, and they are not usually in the hospital; perhaps they work in shifts.

I’ve heard that a person died last night in the same room where I am now and near the bed where I am currently sitting. The nurses weren’t able to respond quickly, and the person died out of breath. In the morning, another person died because the patient fell out of the bed and sustained a concussion.

People would offer their words of comfort, saying perhaps it was their time already. Life is given and taken away. Perhaps they were right, but I couldn’t shake this thought off.

Weren’t they killed by our system?

Healthcare is not accessible. Hospitals aren’t as conducive. And people are saying it is what it is. It had always been like this.

I couldn’t help but get angry. Things shouldn’t be like this. 

Please hear me out.

I was riding a jeep after meeting a friend, a little relieved that I wouldn’t have classes for the next three days. (Okay, it’s bad news — no work means no pay — but honestly, I’ve been so drained that the idea of resting feels like winning the lottery.)

Then I overheard the jeepney driver talking to another driver. They were worried — long weekend, fewer passengers, less income. Just a few slow days is already a crisis.

Rain or shine, holiday or not, they show up to work. Their daily earnings barely stretch enough for today, and if they get lucky, maybe they earn just a little more than that.

It’s so easy to look at poverty and reduce it to “they just didn’t work hard enough.” But sitting there, listening, I couldn’t think that. They didn’t choose this life. The opportunities I have — education, training, upskilling — were never as accessible to them.

How can someone think about dreams or plan five years ahead when they need to survive today? When every day is a calculation of whether there’ll be enough for food or fuel?

And it just makes me angry. Angry at how deeply unfair our system is. How the gap keeps widening. How those who need support the most are the ones least equipped to fight for it — because they don’t have the time, the access, or even the information to begin with. They learned to be content because the system withholds the rights they deserve.

And here I am, upset by my own powerlessness. Feeling the heaviness, but not knowing how to change any of it. It hurts to care and still feel like you can’t move the world, even a little.

I always had this fear of the unknown and a certain tendency to freeze when making decisions, afraid of making terrible ones. What if I won't be able to get out of the pit I'm in? What if I made too much of a mess? What if things won't fall into place? What if the pieces won't fit? Will I be fine? Can this be restored and renewed? Is it really possible to get the full picture?

If I look at myself I cower in fear. When I look at my patterns I suffer defeat. It's always a dead end. I need to reach the end of myself for God to start His work.

When I look at God I see hope in my obedience despite not knowing how exactly he'll deliver me. He already accounted for all of my misstep didn't he? He always had been. It's just me refusing to see all the time he's been faithful to me.

I need to remind myself over and over of who he is. I can only trust him if I know him. I will truly know him if I can trust him. It isn't about how much I can do but how much he will make use of who I am. He is the only one who could make this nobody into somebody. I couldn't be myself if I couldn't be who he created me to be.

I am still scared of the future. I am frustrated by where I am now. But again, God always delivers. God is always true to his promise. God is always with me even in my stupidest decisions. He can make good of what is bad. He could turn the table around. If I wanted to see how, I must hold on tightly, bracing myself for the extent of how he'll fulfill everything he intends.

If there is one thing Kawayan Camp did for me, it was overturning the self-defeating narratives I had about myself.

I had walked away from leadership, defeated, feeling like an utter failure for not reaching the standard of leadership I had in mind. When I was asked how I saw myself as a leader during the first SR, I broke down in tears because all I could see was a girl still grieving and hurting, whose dreams of leadership had been shattered years ago.

I came into KC hoping to lay down that hurt so I could start believing and listening to a better story—one that is true, one that is redemptive, one that could change the way I see myself and the way I see Him.

God has been so gracious. When I first laid down my hesitations about faith and how I viewed His kingdom, He always took the initiative to meet me in my curiosity. I realized that everything I came to understand about Him was only possible because He made Himself known.

During the camp, He made it clear who He is: a God who is intentional, a God of order. He thoughtfully placed desires and dreams in my heart because they are part of His original plan and design. I am meant to play a role in His kingdom project simply by being myself, patterned after how He created me. He encountered me personally.

What’s even more amazing is how He revealed Himself through the lives of fellow leaders whom He called and convicted to serve Him. Hearing their stories, seeing how He redeemed and restored them, and realizing that we all shared the same burdens made me see His faithfulness more clearly. He has been faithful in their lives, and I came to realize He is also faithful in mine. In KC, I found the family I had long been searching for.

When I looked at all the student leaders, a part of me felt lonely. I wondered, what if I hadn’t walked away back then? Would He have used me the same way He used them?

But that narrative slowly shifted: how can I be someone who journeys with these students, helping them see their stories within God’s bigger story—just as He shifted mine?

However, last month, in a 21-day Christian Camp, I met one of my favorite authors. I was given an opportunity to talk to him. My head was in complete chaos I couldn't even collect myself to have a structured conversation. I wish I had the chance to write down what I want to talk and to ask about. But I'm glad that he's really good at carrying conversations and I was able to yap with him about lots of things (anime, university systems, ai, writing).

I told him my dream. I don't usually share it with anyone because I feel like they wouldn't understand. But I know he would. I told him that there are two things that I feel like God had called me to do: to teach and to write. I told him that eventhough that's my dream, I struggle with getting a story out. I feel like what I wrote is mediocre and isn't as good as I want them to be. I also struggle finishing my writing projects.

He asked me if writing is something that gives life to me. I told him yes. Writing had never been a burden, in fact, I felt like God encounters me the most when I write and journal.

He told me what worked for him. He told me that eventhough it wasn't the best form yet, I need to just keep on getting my ideas and thoughts out until I can connect them into something meaningful. That's why I am doing this blog thing. I actually started an IG account with the same purpose a year ago but I haven't follow through.

I always doubted if I'm really be able to do this. It sounded like a pipe dream for someone who had no training and no involvement in school papers. How can someone who's only writing secretly be an author?

That's why what he told me had shifted how I look at this dream. "Thank you for being an answered prayer." I never once thought of this dream to be an answered prayer from those who were ahead of me and people I aspired to become. Having him said that had made me remember how God answers prayers through people and it made me think that perhaps he thoughtfully placed this desire for his purpose. He said that it's about time to have more Christian Filipino authors. It is a reconfirmation for me that this dream really is from God. I felt heard, seen, and understood. I praise the Lord for that encounter. He did answers my prayers as well through my favorite author's life.

I am writing here the way I usually write in my journals. I decided to start from what's familiar hoping that I can slowly find my voice in writing.