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jellofalltrades · 7 years

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Green and Yellow in Heart

It’s funny that I have studied in schools that have the same colors. In Laguna, my school’s colors were a dark shade of green. As green as the grass on the golf course where I remember my father teaching us how to play badminton after attending church. As green as the needles of the pine trees that surrounded the golf course. And as green as the paint on my old badminton racket.

When we left Laguna and moved to Taguig, I knew in my heart that I will ache for the school that taught me how to read and write. I knew that I will miss the friends that I made there and I will sorely miss the familiarity that everyone has of each other in such small community.

The school we transferred to in Taguig is located beside an ancient Spanish built church. Naturally, the director of the school is a priest and a lot of the school’s teachings are religious of nature. The school is named after Saint Anne, mother of Mary and its colors are yellow, brown and white. Which I think are very earthly. Yellow and brown like the drying color of leaves after a summer drought. Like the colors of a white fungi, growing on a brown tree that when you crack open is actually a bright yellow.

The transition from the springtime color green to the autumn-like colors of yellow and brown reflected every little girl’s forced adaptation to the new environment after a move. From my lively childhood persona, I had to retract and watch our new village, looking for possible new playmates and trying my best to familiarize myself with the maze-like streets of the Metro. After the initial move, the rest of my elementary life was like a long winter. I drifted from one group to the other, my academic performance was average, my school participation was minimal. I was a wallflower and only when I got to high school did I begin to wake up from my long slumber. Thanks to my new barkada, my Honor student status and of course, Genesis.

Genesis was the bullet that pierced my thick hide and spilled red blood everywhere. She woke up the hibernating bear in me. And that bear wreaked havoc in St. Anne, making sure she will be remembered. High school was my moment of glory.

Anyway, after graduating high school, I moved on to college by entering La Salle. The land of the green and white and home to the Green Archers (or Lady Spikers, if you prefer them). After my accomplishments in the yellow colored St. Anne, I thought moving on to another green school would mean spring time has come for me.

Oh, my sweet summer child...

The first few months were exhilarating but it was short lived because by the end of my first term, I was finally cracking up to the pressure of maintaining my scholarship, my good health and my family’s expectations. When I received my first ever failing grade, it left a permanent crack on me that would eventually open me wide after another term of failure and my father’s eventual demise. I didn’t attend that year’s third term because of my broken heart and my broken ego.

It’s a petty excuse to break, I know. But I returned to uni after a few months of recovery-- and I did a lot better than before. I joined the Animo Squad, regained a portion of my thirst for knowledge and I met Nicole.

My father’s death would be the black era of my life and my return to La Salle was like the grey era. Funny because I think that was one of Nicole’s favorite colors and she was one of the highlights of that year.

But grey isn’t so far from black and halfway through my fifth and last term in La Salle, I was so exhausted by everything in general that I had come to the point that I considered suicide to get out.

So what happened during the second half of 2014 and the first quarter of 2015 that led me to my depression? A lot. But I’ll spare you the details by telling you that I messed up.

And that’s when I decided to stop. To take a break. To breathe some fresh air. And forget everything that I can possibly forget.

I waved the white flag and surrendered. Because I wasn’t okay anymore and if I continued pushing, I’ll be pushing myself six feet below the ground. You probably didn’t hear much from me the rest of 2015 because that year, I took a gap year.

During the white era of my life, I took up a job as a call center agent to finance my plans of travelling and eating and to have a good excuse for sleeping most of the day. But it wasn’t all white because soon after I surrendered, I met Ciel.

Now, Ciel is like a punch in the face after you have made a terrible mistake. She woke up all my senses and told me to “Get a grip”, but not really forcing me to get on with it. She understood that I needed my white era. She knew I needed my rest. But she’s also my personal reminder that after my gap year, I have to pick up from where I left off because I have to finish my studies.

2015 passed and 2016 came. As my non-existent school year is about to end, I have made my decision to transfer out of La Salle as it proved that I was doing no good in the place. I left my work and prepared my papers for my new school. Another yellow school in the guise of TIP-QC.

My gap year and my decision to transfer turned out to be good for me. With Ciel and my family’s continuous support for me, I am now flourishing again. Like a little sunflower blooming to the new summer after an extended winter.

I expect several more winters in my future, but I also do expect more summers after it. It’s the continuous cycle of one’s life.

#personal

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