Get Out, Get Off.


Dear Journal,

This largely feels like bouncing my thoughts off the wall or desperately seeking comfort by talking to myself even. Here I am, seeking to unload to whoever might care to listen to my tormented whispering voice.

Today, I checked into the Twyford Court (University of Surrey, Guildford, London) and I couldn’t be more overwhelmed. A nick of time was all it took for me to realize I was alone, alone in the most foreign and distant sense.  There are these conflicting emotions tugging within and I am at war with myself…and the rest of the world, me thinks. On the one hand, there’s the exciting fact of independence. On the other, a terrifying and overwhelming feeling of isolation that I’m still quite uncomfortable with.

I entered the room with sheer abandon and a struggling semblance of confidence. Outside, just right down the hall, the girls in my course were swarming like a bunch of bees…or even hovering like ants, with antenna-like senses as they spoke in their own foreign tongue and tone. While I appreciated their enthusiasm and excitement as I penguin-walked (with luggage in tow) towards my room, I was more frightened by it. As a girl, you’re already paranoid about female strangers. As a foreign girl, imagine that paranoia multiplied a hundredfold.

These were the first four people I met and interacted with. I think I’m quite crafty when it comes to public relations. However, I couldn’t help but play the outcast for the simple reason I was older and darker (forgive the lack of a more politically correct term)

Girl 1—Emilie. English. 17

Girl 2—Lucy. English. 17

Girl 3—Rachel. English 17.

Girl 3—Amy. English. 18.

After a tiring session of simulating interest and comfort around these girls, I excused myself to go to the bathroom. (It was a valid excuse. I had my period. Really. Haha.)

After a few minutes of uninterrupted silence, I thought I was safe.

A knock on the door. (Damn it…)

I was being invited to go to the second floor of the court so I could meet the rest of the students. Thus, the polite person I am (or at least try to be), I obliged. I went into the pantry-kitchen where a few other people were. New faces and names to know (and forget seconds after). I remember meeting…

Girl 4—Dania. Swiss. 19.

Girl 5—Lucy. English. 28.

2 Boys who I didn’t really bother with. I wasn’t really in a friendly mood. Besides, I just heard the tall, average-looking one, go “Oh, that’s the girl from the Philippines.”

Whatever. Like he knew where the hell on the map that was. No offense to foreign men but they have such an incredible non-grasp of where the Philippines is. One thought it was in America. Hello??!!! Geography completely out of whack?

This portion seems to be a bit of a rant and rampage. I’m sorry. Let me try to be objective and be upfront about this…

Being alone, distant and foreign confuses me. I don’t know exactly how to feel. Am I…Happy? Lonely? Scared? Excited? Threatened? Challenged? Insecure? Pompous? Mad? You see, there are so many words, too many confusing emotions, and so little a brain.

Or you know what? Maybe, I do know how I feel… Maybe I just refuse to come to terms with it because by acknowledging those feelings… those of fear, loneliness, a sudden sense of separation and isolation, a threatened pride, I feel as if I’m succumbing to it. I’m allowing myself to get sucked into the devil’s pot.

The lingering and perpetually FLASHING thought in my head goes: “I am the only Filipino (Holy) the only Asian in fact. (fucking) Actually, the only non-white person. (Shit).”

I’m 22 and by now, you’d expect me to be have a little more confidence, spirit and openness right? But I’m 22 and still afraid. I’m 22, alone and afraid.

There goes my confession.

A part of me wants to nurse this feeling and wallow in self-pity, insecurity and self-deprecation. Then again, I want to pinch or punch myself because I’m being incredibly stupid. I have been given this wonderful, life-changing albeit difficult experience…and here I am endangering the chance to make something out of it, just because I’ve gotten so ironically secure in my own little INSECURE corner.

Let my penance be to get out of this rut and get off my butt.

So help me God.

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Wanggo Online

portfolio, reviews, blog

The Good Gal Riri

performer / bibliophile / wanderer

Sasha Lim Uy

Eating to Live, Living to Eat, Eating for a Living

L'Oeil du Prince

A blog on theater, arts and culture. Be informed. Be inspired. Be connected.

Wanggo Online

portfolio, reviews, blog

The Good Gal Riri

performer / bibliophile / wanderer

Sasha Lim Uy

Eating to Live, Living to Eat, Eating for a Living

L'Oeil du Prince

A blog on theater, arts and culture. Be informed. Be inspired. Be connected.

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