I am Harold. If you happen to pick this up unmindful of its purpose, then you are in for some twisted ride in my life. I was born the 5th evening of December 1989. But let me tell you about the day before such disaster occurred. My mom and dad were fighting over some illogical matter when my grandfather came in and scolded them. You see, my grandfather then was already half-dead (bless his soul). Half of his body was subject to paralysis after his heart attack. But then again, even though his speech was all groggy and every step he takes is like hell, he always gets mad at my parents for not being considerate of the child they are conceiving. Come the day of my birth, he was so happy he never thought how evil his grandson would become someday. Rather, he always makes sure that I get what I need (since I was a baby then) and have everything under control when I am around. Unfortunately, when I was turning 2 years old, he passed away. Today, my mom always sees my grandfather in me. Him being too picky and maarte, the way he practices Christian living, the free spirited attitude and the ‘can do’ mind-set, every bit of my grandfather is embedded on my being.
I grew up in an environment mature enough for me to handle truths yet oblivious still in the fact that morality and respect is still motivated. This clearly gives a vague picture of who I am. Our family consists of eight members. Our parents are still alive and are together with six lovely wolves. We learn a lot and fast since my dad is a strict disciplinarian. At the age of seven we are already up on our toes with loads of chores. My dad did this probably for us to exercise responsibility and time management. Of the six, I was the one who is the most hard-headed. I talk back when I am scolded. The story was dated back when I was in elementary. My dad called me tanga. I hate being called stupid since I am not. I learn from my mistakes and I grow up but never was I been over the limit. For me the word labels an individual a complete moron and dictates his intellectual capacity. This is also the same reason why I don’t do cuss words. It defiles somebody else’s maturity and dignity. Also, it brings one to become too judgmental and irrational as well as unfair. Besides, how sure are we of our own intellectual quotient that we order other people’s capability? I love cursing people. Saying the things I want to happen to them such as step on poop or slip on mud. But label somebody else just because he made a terrible mistake? The answer is no.
I was a little devil back then. I call to mind the times when I would throw my dad’s golf balls at flying planes overhead us, thinking that they might hit someone unconscious and fall off. My dad would get furious and he would try hitting me with a stick but he wasn’t able to since I can easily outrun him. Other times I would play with ants and kill them with bleach, leaving the container empty and the floor so flooded with suds two of my siblings slipped and cried. I made sibling rivalry in our family a daily routine. I just really hate my little sister. I'm the most jealous kid in the family and everybody hates me for being such. Maybe because that my little sister makes better at school. And to make matters worse, my mom ignores my plea and still continues to pamper little miss big head, making me a walking nightmare to my sister. But as they say, all things come to an end. What, you think I stopped being a curse? Nah. It just lessened. Since now I want to show my mom that I can do the same (even though I am trying to impose the idea since birth). Come to think of it, I did learn a lot from that. And the biggest lesson I acquired was to be steadfast and strong. It challenged me to think deeper, talk clearer walk straighter and improve even better. For it not only showed how imperfect I am, it also gave me the idea that I can do a lot to advance myself.
Elementary life was so funny, I forgot to laugh. This is the era where the kids learn the basics of life and survival: abusive so called ‘friends’ who always let you push them on the swing but never let you experience the thrill, your teachers accusing you of cheating when what you’ve only done was ask a ‘few’ questions, seatmates who impose death threats before the finals, fish ball vendors who try to kill you with e-coli and salmonella, and the lesson that you should ‘trust no one’. I remember the time when I always love being alone. That was in 3rd grade when all the guys in our school fondle with baby grasshoppers and kill them when they’re not anymore happy with it. I, in contrary, would watch them from a corner as I curse them and their children. I didn’t have the nerve to fit myself with my fellow kids since what I enjoy usually bores them. I love reading ever since. And I still love it. I got fond of reading since my mom was an English teacher before. She taught the six of us the right grammar, pronunciation and spelling of words so often that we breathe it everyday. I love reading so much that back then I skip meals in order to finish the book I was reading. This is because our library only allots 2 days for home reading and overdue payment costs 50 bucks. This is another reason why I don’t socialize much. I had a ‘flip flop’ friend who sticks up my underarm wherever I go. ‘Flip flop’ here means untrue/fake/plastic. An instance wherein I can prove such judgment is when he left me when I needed him. This girl I was courting dumped me. And I was sad. The reason I was dumped was because the girl liked my best friend more. A great picture if you might portray. Girl leaves. Friend follows. Me. Forget about me. That’s why I never trusted someone deeper than the hollow of my palm.
The teenage years are the best years and one should never take the time for granted. I remember the time when I was in my first year of high school. Snotty classmates are replaced with decent-looking freaks, pigtailed sissies converted to conventional ladies, and ill-gotten enemies maintaining the brand of their name. High school for them is the training ground for the future generations. For me it’s a lot more. First year is the numb year. My new found ‘friends’ then are so rare to find you’ll probably get tired of finding one and would end up with someone else. They actually hooked me to anime and drawing that’s why I owe them much. One is Joyce, whom I share the exact outlook in life. We love cursing people in three different languages and we both love tea with milk. She taught me a lot about survival of the fittest. She never gives up on anything and always expresses what she really feels. The other one is Joseph. A freak that enjoys being funny. He thinks it is his responsibility. To make people laugh. He doesn’t like to see people sad. It’s because when his grandfather died, he was told to make his family happy. And he considers everybody as his family. I wonder why it never occurred to me to do the same. Well, it wouldn’t be right if I've done the same. Since the same is not me. I’m different.
Military class in high school became my emotional outlet as well my sanctuary for prowess. I was an officer before. I was the second to the highest officer in the whole academe. It gave me the opportunity to maximize my potential as a leader. I remember when I was still a junior boy scout. At a camping trip my friend and I were so fond of helping other students that we forgot to cook our own food. We were scolded by our head master since their lunch was delayed because of us. Yeah right. And he was the one telling us to be helpful and considerate at the first place.
Right now, my life is at the edge. It’s testing all the patience, endurance, strength and courage that I have. College life is slowly biting on my ankles, making its way to my nerves. But then again, it would be dull and lifeless if challenges don’t sink in. life is fun and I should enjoy it. There is more to life than suffering and pain. ‘For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord. ‘plans to prosper you and not to hurt you. ‘plans to give you hope and a future’. –Jeremiah 29:11. Time and time again these pains, flushes and sleepless nights would shake the hell out of us, to bring us all to the point of realization when we aspire too much or claim too many. Besides, it’s the salt that makes the food taste better, the same salt that can hurt our deepest wounds. Our being is subject to all the chances of life. There are so many things we are competent of, that we could be or do. The possibilities are so grand that we never, any of us, are more than one-fourth fulfilled.