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Megaphones and Protest Boards For Mother Earth

     November 29, 2019, was the scheduled Global Climate strike. It was a gathering to call the attention of the government and corporations to take action and responsibility to what their ill practices have done to the environment that led to the disastrous Climate Change. But much to the dismay of the Stellan students, they weren’t going to the place where the actual demonstration was to be held. One student chimed in, “I thought we were going to Rizal Park?” The students were instead asked to write what they would like to stand for, in terms of taking care of the environment. “So, what did you write?” “Mine is about illegal mining.” “Oh cool, mine would focus on taking care of our oceans!” After a few minutes, different boards were adorned with chalk writings. “Okay class, since we weren’t able to attend the strike, let’s at least take a group photo to show our participation!” Sister Siony Jomen gleefully said while holding her camera to somewhat lift the disappointed faces of the students. After the photo-taking, the students displayed their boards in the hallways. But one student by the name of Kate Guzman was still in low spirits. “Such a shame that we won’t get to attend, I wish that I would get to experience something like that someday.”

     But little did she know that her wish would be granted.

     It was around lunchtime of the same day when Mr. Alejo Cornel brought about good news, “Instead of regular classes of Culminating, I want you all to go down after lunch to ready yourselves for the Climate Strike.” The grade twelve students were puzzled, “Sir, we thought we weren’t going to attend.” “Well while it is true we will not be able to attend the strike in Rizal Park, we will, however, hold a strike just in front of the Saint Anthony Building.” The grade 12 students were full of enthusiasm and why wouldn’t they be? After all, it was their first time to experience something like this. Students of the Humanities and Social Sciences strand were especially giddy for they will finally know what it feels to be included in such activities, “Isn’t this like what we see on the streets? I've always wanted to be part of those!” “Well, yes but it's for the environment!”

     After some time, the school bell rang, signaling the end of the lunch period. Students of twelfth, eleventh, and ninth grade gathered at the Senior Highschool Lobby. Everyone was buzzing with energy, but before they were let out, a disclaimer was let out by one of the teachers. "Before you go outside, I want to ask if anyone does not want to participate. Itaas ang kamay ng ayaw sumama." The teacher patiently waited, but not one student raised a hand for they knew that this was a serious matter. With great intent, they thought to themselves, “Were they true Stellans if they lacked involvement?” The climate strike is the manifestation of what every Stellan stands for, and that is for the betterment of the Ecology. With everyone being determined to be the voice of Mother Earth they responded, "No sir, we will all go out!" Satisfied, the teacher instructed the students to file into straight lines. Like soldiers, the students marched with such dignity. With their chins held high, they advanced towards the Saint Anthony Building. Positioning themselves, they were about to engage in battle. But who was to lead them?

     With her heels clicking and necktie firmly in place, a grade twelve student emerged from the crowd. Mikaela Ordoveza tightly gripped the megaphone as she stood strong on the gravel road with a fierce expression. She led the protest for change with her voice blaring through the megaphone. “Kalikasan, ipaglaban! Kalikasan, pahalagahan!" It was the battle cry that the warriors were waiting for. Clamoring the same words, both teachers and students held their signboards and vied the attention of bystanders. Some signboards read:

“Let's stand for what we stand on”

“Ang sagot sa kalinisan ay disiplina sa sarili.”

“Kalikasan, ‘wag pagkakitaan.”

     On and on, the warriors chanted out in unison and startled each passing vehicle for it was a surprising scene for them to behold. Some bystanders would even take pictures and videos of the strike. The spirit of bravery of everyone surpassed the atmosphere of the pollution of the boulevard. But of course, as all protests do, critiques will pop up. A man did happen to pass by and questioned if the protesters had the permit to do so. The disgust was evident in his tone when he questioned, “May permit ba kayo para gawin ito?!” But to everyone’s surprise and amazement, Sister Siony barked back at the man, “We have every right to protest for this is our land and this is what we stand for!” The man cowardly walked away after that. The Stellans continued to yell out their pleas, with their lungs exerting every effort. Mother Earth has done so much for them, and this was a way to pay her back.

     The strike lasted for only an hour. But because of their undying love for the environment, it was an hour filled with the camaraderie of the Stellan community.  The Stellan soldiers were exhausted but victorious, even continuing to chant despite already being on school grounds. As they went back to their respective classrooms, every individual knew that this was the start of their long journey towards being the warriors of Mother Earth.

(Photo Credits: Stella Maris College Quezon City Official Facebook Page) 

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Painting the Pain Away

     The paintbrush dances to the rhythm of the beat of the girl’s thoughts, with the hand as its escort. After a few seconds, what was once deafening scratches turned into a mellifluous tune.  The two held one another, locking into a sweet embrace. Together, they create lines both thin and bold while swaying to a waltz-like tempo. Their dance floor, the canvas, is filled with an abundance of hues that are traces of their steps. Towards the end, they make smooth and flowing carmine strokes that seem to extend way beyond the canvas. At the finale of their routine, they are greeted with the applause of the girl’s smile.

    The Arts is my passion, with my paintings and illustrations serving as my emotional outlet for as long as I can remember.

    Growing up I was a quiet child and kept to myself. I lacked the excitement to engage with play dates and street games. For the rare events of I joining the neighborhood kids in their play, I was labeled as the “saling pusa” of the group since I would always feel that I never fit in. The other kids never seem to understand why I always chose to color and draw rather than to join them for another game of tag. “There's no fun in that, it’s boring even!” they would exclaim. But they never understood. They never understood the joy and peace I felt whenever I immersed myself with my drawings. Growing up in a household that disregards and invalidates opinions and feelings, drawing was my way of expressing myself. It was my escape from the trauma I have experienced. As I grew older, the feeling of being estranged slowly crept in with moments of betrayal from family and friends.  It rendered me mute to voice my inner feelings and thoughts and unable to form deep connections. But when these moments of grief came, the Arts provided me was the only thing I can turn to, acting as my solace when the light fails to reach me.  It also helped me express how I felt, thus becoming my Hermes to the real world. Words left unsaid were forever immortalized by the illustrations I do.

    But my inner thoughts eventually managed to consume me.

    Soon enough, in the place of the paintbrush was a new mistress. A mistress that was sharp and cold to touch. The hand escorts its new-found love, but instead of the usual slow dance, the two are caught in a struggle with the tango-like beat. With one yearning to break free from the other but fails to let go. The lines they made were alive with the carmine tint screaming with vibrancy and energy, yet blotchy looking for there was no beauty in their creation. The horrendous traces they left were indistinguishable and tender to touch. In exhaustion, the two halted. There was no applause when they finished, only silence.

    As time progressed, the more I had troubles and doubts about my own life. I became more distant with my brushes and paints. Troubles that fogged my mind acquainted me to new confidantes, one that carved lines unto my skin and one that filled my tongue with its bitter taste and helped me drown the sorrows of my mind. I alienated myself from others and chose to be alone in my musty sanctuary with my new companions. The stench of distilled spirits alleviated my mood coupled with the rustic feel of the blade. But I felt lost and stuck, and I was sinking deeper and deeper in the sea of life. I knew from the back of my mind what I was doing would never benefit anyone, especially not I. With this realization, I resurfaced and hoisted myself up, only to see my paintbrush and paints. They were patiently waiting for me. And with this, I set aside my bottles and threw away my blades. I painted. My hand reunited with my paintbrush, and together they danced the night away whilst leaving behind a beautiful painting.

    Life is not only sunshine and rainbows, but it also comes with its rains and storms, it comes with its inconveniences and struggles. And these things would pile up and shatter one’s heart like porcelain. To bottle up all these things are damaging in the long run. One can turn to habits that will bring more harm than good. But there will be always something that will help one cope with the pain. And it varies from person to person. Some find peace in music, playing instruments and singing songs about what's on their mind. Others let out their stress by traveling, choosing to go from one place to another and socializing with people of different walks of life. Others find joy in doing charitable work, for them lending a hand and seeing the smiles of other people is enough to take away negativity. Bear in mind that you don’t have to lean towards destructive habits to be happy because it will only bring you false comfort.

    As for me? From the very start, I already found my solace. The Arts is and will forever remain to be my sanctuary.

(Photo credits: Jasmine Naldo)

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𝐼 𝒲𝒶𝓈 𝐻𝒾𝓈 𝐹𝓁𝑜𝓌𝑒𝓇

    “He loves me, he loves me not, he loves me...” little old me chanted as I plucked off the petals of a daisy, with its pristine white petals falling to the grass beneath my feet.  A silly old chant mothers teach their daughters. As a ritual, I used to recite them daily. But as time goes by, as do childhood activities, I ceased.

     The thought of love never occurred to me when I was young. I was never the type to have crushes and talk about them with my friends. Instead, I was the one who listened to my friends chatter and giggle like a bunch of bees in the school corridors. “Did you see the way he smiled at me? How handsome he is! Nakakakilig!” a friend would pipe up. “My crush even lent me a pen! I want to keep it forever!” “He’s so dreamy! Oh, how I wish he liked me back!” These were the typical conversations of deranged young teenage girls in classroom corridors. But as much as it was exciting to join in those kinds of conversations, I cannot relate. The only reply I can muster up is, “Really?”

     But time eventually did have me wondering, “Does someone like me?”

     I am not afraid to admit I longed for the love and affection of a significant other, the kind of love that my friends and family cannot provide. I wanted someone to hold my hand as we walked. I wanted to go on dates just like the couples I see in movies. I want to feel someone’s warm embrace, so close that we could hear each other’s heart beating. I wanted to gaze at the night sky with him and wish upon falling stars while saying sweet-nothings to one another.

     And before I knew it, I wanted to find the person on the other end of my red string.

     Boys would come and go, often confessing their love in one way or another. Some would write poems, letters, songs, give gifts, draw portraits of my likeness, while others plainly say, “I like you.”  But they did not interest me, so I dismissed them coldly.  

     As I transitioned from junior to senior high, people started having romantic relationships here and there.  Every midnight, as I scroll down my social media, I’d see posts of couples as sweet as honey flooding my news feed.  On the outside, I appeared indifferent. But on the inside, I was very bitter and envious. I wanted to be in a relationship just like them, I felt I was ready to share my life with someone. And boys did come knocking on my heart. Living in a society where it is frowned upon when women were easy to get, it takes a lot of courage to say I was desperate. So desperate, I let them in. And due to lack of better judgment, it will always end up with my heart shattering into pieces.

     My first heartbreak was when he cheated on me with another girl. I cried rivers of tears every night when that happened and I could not even focus on my tasks at home and school. I remembered how distraught I was, I could not even eat in the places we ate in! In the back of my head, I always thought, “How could someone be that cruel? Believing you are his only one when in reality, there was another?”

     My second love was followed with yet another heartbreak, I guess it was partly my fault because I still haven’t fully recovered from the previous ache. We belonged to different religions, and even if we brushed off that lingering feeling that it wasn’t right, it eventually grew until we no longer can ignore it.  The bridge we built collapsed. The differences we vowed to set aside to make us stronger was the reason we broke apart.

     Like a stubborn child, I still haven’t learned my lesson. My heart, despite my brain’s protests, longed for that special someone. Someone that would mend the pain, fill the hole that was left, and will stitch the pieces back together.

     But not for long, I met him.

     He wasn’t conventionally attractive by at least Filipino society standards. He was shorter than me, has a dark complexion, and a flat nose. Surely not someone that will catch your eye, and definitely not someone you’ll fall into if you’re shallow. But I was never the one to judge the façade of a person. Instead, I was the one to see the inner depths, the soul, and the character. He had a knack at playing the guitar and was an altar server in his church. He was sweet and thoughtful. He made me laugh with his jokes. He made me beam with his words. He was a chatterbox, and I was his listening ear. On and on, he would tell me stories about his day. To the average person, it might sound annoying, but I did not mind. I wanted to hear about his day, just as Salome in Jose Rizal’s Noli Me Tangere has said, “Sabihin mo sa akin kung paano mo pinalipas ang maghapon at nang sa gayon ay parang kasama na rin kita.” In his eyes, I saw the stars that made me wish to spend my whole life with him. He made my heart flutter, my soul weak, and my mind linger with the thoughts of only him.

     I remember the day he confessed to me. I already felt that he liked me, but I did not want to assume.

     It was in a small café with the aroma of pastries filling the air. We giggled as we talked about our day while sipping cold drinks and munching on snacks. But things suddenly took a more serious turn. Amidst the cheerful ambiance of the humble café, he suddenly looked into my eyes. He held my hands and pulled me closer towards him, embracing me. “I like you.” I froze, like a deer caught in the headlights, I stared at him. It was dead silent and I did not know how to react. The voices in my head were all panicking, my heart was threatening to leave my chest anytime soon. He waited for my response. After a few moments of silence, the words “I like you too” escaped my lips.

     I finally found the love of my life and he proclaimed me to be his. Every day, I thanked the heavens that I met someone like him.

     With each day of us being inseparable, I fell deeper and deeper. We often had secret rendezvous after class since we attended different schools and it was the only time we can be together. We would eat at fast-food chains, walk to places while holding hands. He would crack jokes, and I would laugh like there’s no tomorrow. We would look at each other's crinkled eyes. We knew we belonged to one another, the sound of our two hearts beating was too much to bear. I often even broke my curfew of 6 PM just so I could spend a little more time with him and we would sometimes go home late with streetlights already lit above our heads. And when my parents questioned me about my whereabouts, I would lie and make up excuses.

    Whenever things get difficult in his home, I was there to comfort him, cheer him up, and motivate him. I pushed him to excel in his academics. I advised on what to do with the problems he faced. I reminded him of how important he is, and how he mattered. I even wrote him a poem:

“Gaano ba kita kamahal?                                                                              Sobra, nag-mimistula nang hangal.                                                                  Paulit-ulit na sasambiting mahal kita.                                                            Kasing dami ng bituing iyong nakikita.”

     But love stories can never exist without the involvement of parents. When my mother and father knew about our relationship, they ridiculed him and said offensive words. Like the plot of a typical telenovela, they disapproved of him and wanted me to break it off with him, “Hiwalayan mo na.”  I was distraught, and why wouldn’t I be when they judged my love on face value alone? I ran towards him and I told him about my woes, my doubts, and my fears. After listening intently, he reassured me, he told me not to worry and that he’ll do his best to prove he was worthy of me.

     When my debut came, he was my 17th rose much to the dismay of my parents. We danced along to the lyrics of Mundo, feeling as if we were the only people in the room. Despite the whispers and odd looks people gave, we didn’t mind. We were busy gazing into each other’s eyes and exchanging loving smiles, at the expense of my parents.

     It was clear as day I loved him, despite the circumstances against us. But when one dares to go against the waves of life and push through the currents, it will get tiring. It will hurt.

     He was my fuel, I was his spark, and together we started the flames. But soon enough, those flames of love turned into something malicious, devouring and devastating anything it comes across. He became demanding, asking for things I knew wasn’t right. But I gave in, I knew I was broken, but I didn’t mind. We were in love, right? So, like a fool I was, I let him. He constricted me like a rope and I obeyed his every wish and wants. Fights due to childish and immature reasons became too frequent. When I wanted to break things off, he would always tell me, “Hindi ko kayang mawala ka, mawawala na lang din ako ‘pag ganon.” And with I realizing at what that implies, I would beg for him to not do it and take me back, and we would once again be okay. He was abusive and manipulative, he used my own words against me.

     One day, I woke up and thought, “This isn’t right anymore.”

     Two people fought inside me. One told me that I shouldn’t leave him while the other told me to run as far as I can. The first reminded me of all the memories that were full of happiness. While the other explained that behind all that, he was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. I even asked God, “Why?” After a long time of deliberation and reflection, I cut off my red string. I broke up my relationship with him. I remained strong and firm to not be swayed once again by his words of pleading. I have had enough. After all, the string was already severed, and I was just tying the knots for it to be connected again.

     I would be lying if I said it didn’t hurt. It did hurt and left a wound in my already fragile heart. It hurt that the dreams and future we both built is now a memory. It hurt to remember all the rules I’ve broken thinking it was worth it. It hurt to feel the bitterness of the alcohol mixed with regret and sadness go down my throat as I try to erase his smile, his laugh, and his voice from my mind. It hurt to ignore his messages and calls. Most importantly, it hurt to feel that once again, the mistress of love betrayed me and left me wretched.

     A week after our breakup, while walking home, I picked up another flower, and delicately pulled off its petals while saying the silly chant that was taught to me years ago. “He loves me.” As I plucked off the last petal. I grinned; he did love me. But just like the flower without her petals, I was no more. I am left with nothing to give. The flower, with all her petals plucked off and picked off the soil that gave her life, lost the ability to grow and bloom.

     Our relationship, like the life of a flower when picked, it wasn’t meant to last. Nonetheless, time will come, when the pain subsides, I will blossom once more. Someone will nurture me and someone will not yank me off my soil. But until then, I will grow for myself.

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The Heart and Soul: Cubao Expo and Ali X

     As a child of strict parents, my options on venturing far are very limited. Any place outside Quezon City is a no-no so I thought to myself, “What now?” Luckily, Cubao is a few blocks from my house and off I went, along with Gabriel Gillego and Michael Parocha last January 4.

     If you are a fan of Bita and the Botflies, the indie band, they featured Cubao in one of their music videos, “Tagu-taguan.” The whole song illustrates the vibe the place has to offer, it is a place for the laid-back, the eccentric, and peculiar. Cubao is also the Stellan’s third home, with students frequenting the area after school hours. Even former Stellans still roam around the area.

     Cubao is alive in the hearts of the Quezon City people 24/7. While the sun is up, the neighboring malls give them several choices on where to shop. Famously known for the malls like Gateway, Farmer’s Plaza, Alimall, and SM Cubao. And if you want to go grocery shopping, there’s Puregold, Shopwise, and Isetan! Did you know that Shopwise stands at the former Fiesta Carnival? And what is Cubao without the Araneta Coliseum and the New Frontier Theatre? The former is known for hosting the much-awaited UAAP games while the latter hosts concerts from both local and international artists.

     With Cubao being jam-packed at day, it’s somewhat different at night when the lanterns of Manhattan lights up! In my opinion, that’s when its real beauty comes out, through the music and get-togethers on the areas of bars, restaurants, and many more.Now how would one go to Cubao? Well, if you’re a student from Stella Maris College, just cross the road from the Cambridge street, and you’re golden! But if you’re from another school, take the LRT and get off the Araneta-Cubao station. You can also take the MRT as well as jeepneys to arrive at the place. Since I live near the vicinity, I just walk. It’s my daily exercise.

     While the rest of the city sleeps, Cubao Expo comes to life.

     Formerly known as the Marikina Shoe Expo, Cubao Expo is a go-to for lovers of street and art culture as well as thrift shoppers. Once a place for Marikina made footwear in 1997, though some shoe stops still stand to this day, it saw a revival in the 2000s. The horseshoe-like complex houses shops meant to appeal to a variety of subcultures. There are unique and quirky stores meant to cater to artists, musicians, skaters, surfers, foodies, and party-goers.

     Cubao Expo is just a little walk from SM Savemore. At the first end, one is greeted with WCHA Fashion Haus, an ukay-ukay shop. Shops like these are abundant around Cubao, perfect for people who want to look fashionable without breaking the bank and the environment!

     I went inside to hopefully try on and find new clothes. And upon entering, I paused. Is it me or is it all ukay shops have that distinctive smell?  My nose caught a whiff of the smell of old clothes as if they carried the memories of the people that once worn them or the memories of the department store they came from. While it is true that clothes found here are hand-me-downs, some are new and discarded items. Now thrift shopping is one of my guilty pleasures, I once recalled I spent around 500 pesos at one sitting for clothes. Terrible, I know. The store was kept tidy, it was even air-conditioned! Price tags such as “100 pesos,” “75 pesos,” and “20 pesos” can be found on top of each rack indicating how much that piece of clothing is. There is also an area for “New Arrival” items, but those are too expensive so I avoided them like the plague.

     Ukay stores usually get a bad reputation because of how dirty the clothes are, and how these kinds of shops are for the financially-challenged. But I digress, since textile waste from fast fashion is usually a problem, and clothes usually take time to degrade. So why not give thrift shops a chance? Besides, it’s less likely someone has the same piece of clothing and it also encourages you to be creative with your outfits.

     After paying for the clothes, we walked down the curved street of the Expo.

     Remember Art in Island? How about Bellini’s Italian Restaurant? The Cubao Expo is their home. And as for their neighboring tenants, there were an assortment of shops that can be found. There were shops for shoes, ukeleles and other instruments, organic and eco-friendly products, skateboards, surfboards, streetwear, vinyl records and tapes, books, arts and craft supplies, and one can even get their haircut at a barbershop there!

     At the curved point, one can find the cafes and bars Cubao Expo is famously known for, examples are Tacio’s and Humidor. It was a perfect place for a drinking session with one's barkada, with the chill and cozy ambiance coupled with OPM playing in the background and with lights and lanterns above your head. But of course, we didn’t drink.

     We also went inside to look at the different antiques and a plethora of things can be found. There were old figurines, vintage telephones, old watches, toys, paintings, even newspaper clippings, and advertisements. At one point, I asked the owner if I can film inside her shop. The lady, with a smile, told me, “No.” I was honestly sad because imagine the IG- worthy shots one can take. But that’s the policy, and we have to abide since we did not want to be kicked out by the security guards roaming the area. After leaving the store, there was also a “No Smoking” sign plastered on the wall.

     Our last stop before going to Alimall was the shops offering old cassette tapes and vinyl records. Through the dim lights, I browsed the colorful but worn-out covers of the records. Music artists from across each decade, both local and international, can be found. Most notable were the vinyl records of Elvis Presley, the Beatles, and the Beach Boys. There was even a “The Sound of Music” vinyl!

     Aside from Cubao Expo, Ali X is another go-to place for thrift and antique shoppers.

    Opened last March 2019, the lantern filled lane of Alimall was inaugurated as ALI X and is said to be inspired by the grand bazaars of Europe. It aims to be a haven for casual goers and hobbyists alike. It houses novelty items, antiques, art, music, and memorabilia. “ALI” stands for Art, Lifestyle, and Interest.

    Unlike in Cubao Expo, one can freely film inside the stores. Just make sure you don’t break anything as that is the number one rule here. Once you do, be ready to pay for what you have broken.

     We first went inside GMB Collectibles and Hangout, and as expected, we were greeted with several unique and novelty items. Car plates, dusty bottles, old photographs, newspapers, and even old documents were on display. But what caught my eye was the sign “Paki-ayos lang pagkatapos guluhin!” That sign surely made me return the items that I browsed in perfect order. Also, while inspecting the different old documents, I made sure to delicately handle them since some were on their way to disintegrating. The next store we payed a visit was Jem’s Antiques and they had some old coins and old banknotes. And if you’re familiar with the “Mickey Mouse” money during the Japanese era, they also have those too! They also sell postage stamps at 5 pesos each and vintage postcards ranging from 100-200 pesos per card.

     A place for the different eras of music, the next stop was at Treskul Records. From the name itself, they sell vinyls, cassette tapes, CDs, and music players. While we were there, a customer handed the shop owner a record and he played it using the turntable. Funky music blasted within the store. The vinyl records were arranged into the genres and decades they belonged too. While we were there, I even saw a vinyl record of an album of The 1975, one of my favorite bands. But as much as I wanted it, I sadly could not afford it since it was too expensive. Another music store, but for instruments, was Happy Music. They offer ukuleles, guitars, kazoos, and kalimbas. Ali- X also has a dinner modeled after the 50’s era. Erin’s Artists’ Lounge and Café serves a variety of dishes from sandwiches, chicken, pork, pasta, and nachos. They also have a mini bulletin board where they feature submitted artworks!

    After going to Ali-X, my peers and I were starving. Since they accompanied me, I treated them to a meal at KFC. We were planning to go to COD, an amusement like park that opens during the “-ber” months of the year in Cubao. They have rides such as Vikings and the Ferris Wheel. The place also has a food bazaar perfect for foodies. But alas, my mother called me and told me to go home.

    Truly, places like these are special  for they keep the history and vibe of the city alive. Maybe next time, I can find more hidden and amazing places. Till then, Cubao Expo and Ali-X will remain the as the “Heart and Soul” of Cubao.

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https://drive.google.com/open?id=1sEiTQRjMzShKlTsqKBiDLTL3WNL6Kj88

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Painting Beyond Her Canvas: The Autobiography of Mikaela Ordoveza

     “It’s a baby girl!” the doctor exclaimed as she lifted the six-pound baby. “What would you like to name her?” the doctor asked. “Mikaela Angela.”

     Named after my father, I am Mikaela Angela David Ordoveza and I was born at exactly 6:17 PM on November 16, 2001, at Delgado Hospital Quezon City. Being a child of parents with different religions, I can imagine how my mother and father found it difficult which religion I should belong to. Nevertheless, I was baptized as a Roman Catholic on November 17, 2002.

     My father is an engineer and co-owns the company RMB Retrofit along with his two other friends. Coming from an impoverished background, he strives to work hard to provide for his family. He is quiet and reserved most of the time but can be very scary when you push his buttons. When I was young, I would always ask my father to draw houses so I can color them later on. He was also the one who taught me how to say “po” and “opo” and to make “mano” to elders as a sign of respect. Meanwhile, my mother is currently a housewife, but she used to work at a pawnshop. She is a sophisticated and intelligent woman, having obtained a Bachelor's degree in Nursing. As a mother, she is compassionate and thoughtful towards me and my brother. As a reading advocate, she regularly bought books for me to read because according to her, reading helps develop my comprehension skills.  She would also buy me art materials so I can draw and color with them. And may I tell you how scary my mother is when she blows a fuse? Whenever she gets angry with me, she would often say, “You and your father have the same personality!”

     A month after I was born, I was sent to be raised by my grandparents and other relatives from my mother’s side in Nueva Ecija due to heavy workload from my parents and them being unable to care for me.

     Ruling the household with an iron fist, my grandmother, or Mama as I would call her, was a very stern and tidy woman. I cannot count the times she scolded me for the littlest of things.

     “Clean up your mess!”

     “Don’t come in with your feet wet!”

     “Chew your food properly!”

     I recall one time I played with her cosmetics and did she give me a whipping. But despite this, she still had an affectionate side. She often advises me on the values of life and tells me stories about herself. Mama was even the one who taught me to draw shapes and encourage my drawing skills. She is my role model and inspiration to stay courageous no matter what life throws at you.

     As meek as the ocean, my grandfather was the opposite of Mama. Papa is a quiet man and would rarely speak. I do remember the iconic scent of his pomade and the words “RUDY” tattooed on his arm, green from age. Only once did he scold me.

     My great grandmother and her brother also lived with my grandparents. The mother of my grandmother, Nanay as I would call her, was a religious woman. I would often catch sight of her praying the rosary every night. She was also partially deaf due to old age. I remember how I would whisper to her ear what I want to say. “Nanay, Mama is calling. Let’s go down and eat!” She would put down her playing cards and would reply, “Sige bababa na ako apo.” The brother of Nanay, Itay, from what my mother told me was very strict. I cannot remember his face, sadly. But I was told I was his favorite and would often spoil me.

     My five-year stay in Nueva Ecija was very lively and fun. I remember how I loved it there despite the scorching heat from the sun which in turn made my skin quite tan. My little lungs relished on breathing in the fresh air. And at night, stars filled the sky and twinkled like tiny diamonds, just as the nursery rhyme had said. I vividly recall the days wherein I would play all day long with my grandmother’s cats and how I would play lutu-lutoan with the soil and rocks. I also liked to draw dresses and make paper dolls, putting my heart and soul in every design I create. There were also lots of flowers; ylang-ylang, santan, orchids, and those flowers that had thorns in them. My parents also visited me from time to time in the province and we would all go out to different places, take lots of pictures, and generally bond with one another. Dad even bought me a bike so I could ride down the street.

     In the year 2006, Mama brought me back to my parent’s house. This was also the time my brother was born. I remember asking my mother, “Who is that?” I wasn’t the type of child that was excited to have a younger sibling. Honestly, I was very indifferent when I was told that it was my brother. I remember being annoyed at how noisy he was. As my brother and I grew older, sibling fights were the norm in our household since he and I would constantly argue and fight brutishly. But despite the number of times we almost killed one another, we still grew closer.

     My Pre-school days were very hazy. I was enrolled at Casa De Soleil Child Development Center in 2006. A funny moment I can recall was when the teacher tried to teach me how to write using my right hand, not knowing I was left-handed. Eventually, she did realize I was a lefty and left me on my own. Even at a very young age, my family already expected me to study diligently. Ate Jenny, our housemaid, was the one to teach my lessons since my parents were too busy with their work.

     It was in 2008, first grade when I transferred to Stella Maris College, and to be honest, I do not have the slightest idea on how I passed the entrance exam.

     It was a new place to be in, a place that was so foreign for little old me. I remember how I was in awe with the abundance of plants and trees, it was almost as if the place was all green. And I cannot forget the joy that washed over me when I saw they had a playground! My new school had a wider area than my old one, that's for sure.

     When I first stepped into the classroom, each parent was with their child while I was with Ate Jenny since my parents were too busy with their schedules and were unable to drop me off. My classmates happily chit-chattered with one another, filling the four corners of the classroom with talks about their brand-new toys and the recent cartoons they've watched. I wasn’t interested in mingling with others. Instead, I focused my attention on the different objects found inside the room, letting my eyes catch a glimpse of things around me. There were colorful papers posted on the bulletin board, a huge "Welcome" lettering on the blackboard, bags with designs of cartoon characters, and a crucifix in front with pictures of nuns beside it. After becoming bored, I opened my notebook and doodled. Doodling was one of the past times of my grade-school self, letting myself be immersed in my imaginary world.

     This was also the time I got bullied, they would step on my feet and ridicule me. I think that contributed to me being quiet most of my Elementary years. Although I did have friends, I rarely talked to people. And although having decent grades, I rarely participated actively in class since I was too shy to raise my hand. I remember those thick books we had, and it was a pain to carry them. My classmates did not have to bring their schoolbooks home when it wasn’t required, but I had to bring home at least four regardless if the teacher told us or not. I would spend hours studying and would get a scolding if I didn’t. At the end of the first grade, I received a certificate for being a consistent achiever. This was the start of my academic achievements.

     When I was in third grade, in the year 2010, we were asked to choose our campus club. Of course, I chose Art Club since I loved doing art even if I wasn’t the best artist out there.  This was the starting point of me focusing on doing and committing to the arts even if I rarely received a perfect grade with the artworks I made at that time. I was a consistent Art Club member until the tenth grade.

     March of 2014 was our Elementary graduation day. I remember how elated I was to receive the Scholastic Awardee and Club Awardee medals and to also be the Top 9 of the graduating batch. All my hard work paid off. I was smiling from ear to ear as I was holding my diploma and wearing my two medals, and my parents proudly stood next to me as we posed for the camera.

     Come seventh grade, it was a new environment, granted I was still enrolled in the same school. My high school days were like a rollercoaster. It was full of ups and downs. And with every round, new people would hop in and hop out. But some people did stay. High school was also the time I became active in participating during discussions and would often raise my hand from time to time.

     Eighth grade was when I met the most important people in my life, they made me feel I belonged. They would include me in their activities and would often compliment my artworks. They stood by my side no matter what and I am thankful for having come across such special people.

     During my Junior High School years, I was very active in doing arts. As an Art Club member, I pushed myself to hone my art skills so I could be just as good as the others, maybe even better. I would practice day and night and would watch countless Youtube videos, and not to mention waste so much paper, to learn how to draw better. I did become better and in effect, my classmates would ask me to draw for them.

     Stella Maris College holds its annual SMC Fest, a sports fest, during October. And during those times, the school would ask students to create a design for their batch shirt. The Art club is also assigned to design and paint a backdrop to be used during the three-day event.

     In 2015, I was chosen to paint the batch banner along with three other students.

     In 2016, my classmates urged me to create a design for our batch shirt. I wasn't confident mine will be chosen but to my surprise, almost everyone fancied it. And with that, the grade nine students of that year adorned a helm on their shirts. But my state of exhilaration did not stop there. Our Art Club moderator, Ms. Gariando, showed us the backdrop design we will be painting this year. And as she showed us, I was stunned. Hey, isn't that mine? My moderator piped up, "The chosen concept for this year is by Mikaela Ordoveza!" It is mine! So, that year's SMCFest was also the year my backdrop design was chosen. The following year, my design, along with another member, was again chosen to be SMC Fest 2017’s backdrop.

     2018 was the start of my Senior High School life. Due to my National Career Assessment Examination result, I decided to be a HUMSS student. At the beginning I used to loathe how I wasn’t in the Arts and Design strand, I felt like it was a mistake to choose HUMSS. In line with this, my parents decided, and with I hastily agreeing, that I was to pursue law. This was a very difficult choice since I knew from the back of my mind that a career in the Arts was what I wanted to take.

     In replacement of campus clubs, the Senior High School unit had organizations instead. I, along with Elliot Victor Osit, Kate Guzman and Angeline De Guzman, founded the Mithiin Organization, an organization that is concerned with socio-political, cultural, and ecological issues. The reason we came up with the idea of creating the organization was because of an event we attended earlier that year. GenFest 2018 was about the different issues we face at our current time. When we were there, Ms. Concepcion, one of the teachers that accompanied us, piped up, “Hey, why not create an organization that is focused on societal issues?” “Yes, that’s a great idea!” replied Mr. Nhervhin, another teacher. That suggestion sparked within us the desire to be involved in such issues. Thus, the Mithiin Organization was born.

     After some time, the Humanities and Social Sciences strand finally did grow on to me. I discovered my fascination and keenness in studying our society and its injustices. I adored reading books about sociology and the different proponents behind the discipline. I relished on debates and perspectives, finding it thought-provoking, such as the debate regarding Federalism. Finally, I thought and felt like a true HUMSS student. I was considering to whole-heartedly take on Law as my career. But then again, a little voice still told me otherwise.

     Also, in the same school year, we were asked to create a short film for our MIL subject about us youth becoming the bridge of tomorrow. Not wasting a moment, I quickly pitched in my idea and my groupmates were in favor. Hence, I was one of the co-directors of “Pangitain”, the other director being Allen De Guzman. Pangitain is a movie incorporating the essence of being a HUMSS student. It targeted issues found at a school setting and how the lead protagonist solved these problems. After our group’s hard work for the film, Mr. Dismaya surprisingly was amazed at our film, praised us and even exclaimed, “Ang galing! I want to see this movie someday on the big screen!”

     Fast forward to June 2019, I am now a Grade 12. For me to reach my academic goals, I started to study more diligently, often enduring grueling hours of school work so I can get excellent grades. To push myself further, I applied as an Editor-in-Chief for the Stellan’s Journal, the school’s magazine publication. Thankfully, I was given the position.

     On November 20th, we had our three-day retreat in Tagaytay. Fr. Chris, our retreat lecturer, was the key person that helped me realize it was not too late to change my path. He helped me realize that I should be brave and to rise above the adversity I often faced in choosing my vocation. He said that vocation is a calling of God, it was not necessarily a calling for the religious life, but it was a calling on one’s true purpose given one’s specialties and abilities. For three days, I reflected on my chosen career path. I reflected on what I truly want to take on college and what I truly wanted for myself.

     On the days after the retreat, I thought long and hard on what I would say to my parents because I cannot simply blurt out that I did not want to take Law. Eventually, I gathered enough courage to speak with them. At first, there were objections and questions, “Anong mapapala mo sa ganyang mga kurso?” But in the end, they understood and gave their support, “Oh basta pagbutihan mo.” I smiled and said, “Opo. Magiging proud din po kayo sa akin.”

     I am currently running for honors and I am hoping that I will graduate with flying colors! I am also planning on taking an art college program, preferably in film or advertisement. I am wishing on a star that I would pass the entrance examinations I took. If not, I’ll try sending in reconsideration letters. In the meantime, I’ll anxiously wait for the results and pray for a miracle. 

     I have no clue what my life will be in the future, but despite uncertainties, I am still looking forward to what will happen, who I will meet, and places where I will end up. I might direct humankind's most controversial film or even sell paintings at outrageous prices! But whatever happens, I hope I will be content and happy.

[mikascnfportfolio]

My Autobiography Timeline!

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An Introduction

A warrior and creator with a brush and pen for weapons, I am Mikaela Angela Ordoveza. I am an artist and a writer at night and a senior high school student at day.

Now, let me tell you something, senior high school was definitely a “u-turn” for me, the one wherein you can hear the car wheels skid. Who knew that a quiet girl like me could be a HUMSS student and become very outspoken? I definitely didn’t!

Two of my favorite hobbies include staying up late and locking myself up in my bedroom from sundown till sunrise. Also, although tone-deaf, I play the ukulele and sing. If you ever find my singing voice beautiful, then I’m sorry to say this my friend — you are tone deaf as well. In addition, I believe I have a very bright future of becoming a cat lady. I have a great affinity towards cats, often petting and meowing back at them with every chance I get.

They say we have two homes. The first is our family and the second is our school. However, I have four homes. To add to the ones I mentioned, I have my friends as my third and the National Bookstore as my fourth.

If there is one dream I would love to come true, it would definitely be having my own art gallery show. I want to show my artistic capabilities and to also inspire and bewilder people with my artworks.

I have mentioned that I am an aspiring writer, this is because I write poetry whenever I feel inspired from the feelings that hit too hard. Moving on from that sad statement, did you know I adore watching animated films and reading Archie comics? I used to watch and read on a daily, that is until my school works took over my schedule.

I think that’s enough for now so allow me to say goodbye with a quote by yours truly, “Paint beyond your canvas.”