I am never able to use the changing of seasons as metaphor for the changes in my life.
For a simple reason really: More than it being a trite cliché, I’ve never been outside the Philippines in my 29 years of being alive.
I have never seen firsthand the leaves switching color palettes every quarter until they wilt and fall to the ground. I have never seen trees go into hibernation, be covered in snow, and then watch them come back to life.
In the Philippines, we go from heat wave to rain deluge in the span of one day—and this, if anything, best describes my temperament more than the changes in my life.
You’d think having cancer and going through chemotherapy would mean bleak and dreary days for the duration of the treatment. Sure, I won’t deny the days when despair would poke my slumbering depression like an annoying poke stick, but Life can be funny in its own way.
One minute it throws you down a hill with a huge boulder barreling down behind you, then the next, you’ll find hot demigod Thor a few meters in front of you. Hot arms, hot bod, hot accent–really, what choice do I have but to run faster?
Often, it is our own stories we find hard to write. Not because we lack the words, but because the words are not enough to describe the intensity of living every second in that situation. But in my attempt to chronicle the hell-paved road I have ahead of me, I will try.