#chermedkaloka

[el-presidente-amacna]

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔾𝕖𝕞 𝕚𝕟 𝕀

𝐀𝐧 𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐢𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐊𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐀𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐧𝐚

“A gem is not polished without friction, nor man perfected without trials' ' is a Chinese proverb that are words to perfectly summarize what my journey has been. Hi! My name is Kieve Paulo. I was born on June 3rd of 2004 while the twins of Gemini dwindled in the night sky. I was named after the capital city of Ukraine, which is currently under attack by Russia right now, Kiev. My mother saw the name of the city in a Mabuhay magazine months prior to my birth. I suppose my mother wanted my name and I to stand out. She added an extra “e” at the end to make it her own. My second name is Paulo, the same as my father in his honor. I was born in Veterans Hospital here in Quezon City, Philippines and since then have lived here. I guess you could say I have always been a city boy. My parents were quite young when they had me in their lives. But I was never neglected, nor did I ever feel like we were less of any family. 

At five months old, I was already bringing home awards. As a baby with quite the charm, my mother submitted my photo on a talk show called “Sis!” on GMA-7 and I won first place in a photo contest called “Cutest Baby Photo Contest — Sponsored by Tikitiki.” I have been told numerous times that I was such a spontaneous child. That I could be running for hours on end and be dripping in sweat but regardless of the sun beaming its rays high up in the sky, I would not care. I was fortunate enough to experience life outdoors as a kid should. I would play and sprint from dusk to dawn with my cousins in the streets mindless of time and our safety. My parents did tell me that I would repeatedly get in accidents. There was even a time where a bike rider offered my parents financial compensation for accidentally running me over. I do not exactly recall that, but it’s a fun story to think about.

I started attending school in the year of 2008 at four years old. I first attended a little pre-school in the picturesque premises of the University of the Philippines. I started my first ever school experience in Parish of the Holy Sacrifice Outreach Pre-school. It was my first taste of school life and initially I was always the brightest boy. I moved to Saint Vincent School for kindergarten. That year was quite hilarious. There were only 6 students in class. Eventually for preparatory, I moved back to Parish of the Holy Sacrifice Outreach Pre-school. In 2010, I remember leading the singing of the national anthem for the graduation. Poor little Kieve. He did not know then what the National Anthem was and was battling a fever. Ever since I was little, I knew I was quite the warrior.

At seven years of age, I started entering the Elementary stage of my education. I attended Mayfield Montessori Academy in the year of 2011. When I entered that school I felt lost at first. It was a whole new environment with a whole new different purpose. I was on new turf and it felt like I was in battle. But I was wrong. The school truly helped me. I believe it was at that school I had the closest bond of friendship I had at such an early stage of my life. In this school I started becoming more responsible. I dabbled more into arts such as singing and my love for the English language truly flourished.

Fast forward to 2014, I once again was transferred to a different school. The university which I still call home up to this day: New Era University. This university was my first taste of uttered university life. I was such a small kid thrown into the bustle of NEU. It was overwhelming. The evident Christian culture embedded into every move of the university was the first time I ever saw it. In 2016, I met my closest friends who until now are my rock. That year truly was one of the most momentous for me. I started my last year of elementary school in 2016. Graduating was one of many feats.

I never realized how much I took the year of 2019 for granted. 2019 was such a year of challenge but every second of it was absolutely magical. It was the year I developed further as a man. Bonds were created. And memories were built. In 9th grade my bond with my closest friends became tighter. We were told that third year high school could be the most challenging. We were scared, no doubt. But everything had fallen into place. I've always taken great pride in how I show myself and my ability to talk in public. Public speaking was never a chore for me; rather, it was something I looked forward to. However, when I was picked as a debate speaker for my section in 9th grade, my devotion was put to the test. Debates were a frantic and important series of events. I was surprised at how difficult and demanding being a speaker was for someone who is also quite loud and opinionated, which are qualities I appreciate.

I recall spending countless nights and hours with my scribes and other speakers in sessions. It also tested my ability to portray conviction while giving apparent and statistically analyzed factual data that benefited our side, which was invariably on the negative side. Each speaker would be given five minutes to deliver their remarks. That meant a lot to me. In five minutes, anything might go wrong or south. I recall standing on the podium, my legs trembling and my hands clutching the podium's corners. But I wasn't going down without a fight.

My team and I persevered and made it to the championship round. We unfortunately did not win the last round due to a tight call. But I didn't want to perceive things in such a negative light. I wanted to slap myself on the back for raising the flag of my team and section, and to emphasize that just making it to the finals round is something to be proud of. Now, more than ever, I am a firm believer in public speaking.

In the same year, I was invited to co-host for the Grades 7 and 8’s Miss Millennial. It was pretty interesting because it was my first time hosting such an event. I never really had any hosting experience before. But I was honored to be chosen as one. As a huge pageant fan, it was perplexing to be on the other side of the curtain. The stress and anxiety that goes behind the stage is immense. I remember having countless meetings with event organizers and fellow pageant hosts just on the day before the pageant. Everything seemed last minute. But we all pushed through. It had its bumps, no doubt. But I had such a grand time hosting. I would ask the audience questions, give out a few jokes, a few lighthearted banter, and keep the show going.

My hosting gigs did not end there. Being that I was part of the Young English Communicators’ Club, I was asked to once again co-host the Reading and English Month’s culminating activity. It was one grand event. I had the opportunity to host the Book Character Impersonation Contest, announce winners, and of course also celebrate my triumph for winning The Read Aloud Contest and my team’s Second Place win on the Debates. It was such a fruitful year. We just didn’t know what would come after…

The pandemic struck the world. A simple week long class cancellation was celebrated by every Eranian for we all yearned and thirsted for a break. Little did we know it would be the last we ever stepped foot into the university.

In March of 2020, everything shut down. I was stuck in our house. Alone with my thoughts and my mind endlessly running and craving for release. But I couldn’t. I would spend hours on end without any sense of productivity and honestly be in a slump the entire day. I met someone in the pandemic. What a bliss of circumstances, it’s a relief honestly. It was in 2020 I truly continued to flourish as a man. I started working out to fit into society’s labeled standards, but I was not going to succumb to that any longer. I decided to create my own standard and realize my own self worth. It was a long and hard battle of self love.

I thought about how social media was a tool for us to share and connect through our screens. However, when I walked in, my eyes were graced over thousands upon thousands of people in the virtual environment of numerous social media sites.Thousands upon thousands of picture-perfect people living picture-perfect lives. All I saw every time I swiped were people who have the unmistakable shape of an hourglass. Porcelain-like skin that is soft and radiant.There are no flaws in their complexions. And lifestyles brimming with a plethora of material goods. I surrendered to an abyss of insecurity as an overwhelming feeling overtook my body.

My insecurities were valid, I admit. But I would not rub salt to the wound, I would not add fuel to the inferno of inferiority I had burning by continuously comparing myself to the shallow perfection and toxicity of social media. I know I am enough. I would not limit myself  from improving, that is true. But in that abyss, I will not drown again.

In March of 2021, I officially became a kuya. It was amazing how after 16, almost 17 years I had a baby sister. Growing up everyone thought I was a spoiled brat for being an only child which I was not. I have always been a kuya to younger cousins or friends but I am grateful to have had another bundle of joy for me to spoil and officially call sis.

Now in Senior High School. I have chosen the Humanities and Social Science Strand under the Academic Track. Senior High has been the most challenging. Working online and countless hours in front of a laptop is honestly depressing. I have never been more exhausted sitting. But I always realize how much of a privilege it honestly is to still be studying in a pandemic. I was elected as class president for my section. It was an honor to be nominated and voted by the majority. It truly showed their trust and valor in me and this is something I would uphold.

My life is not the most interesting, nor the most notable. But as I continue to journey within this lifetime, I would always consider myself a gem. A gem filled with flaws . A gem who needs further polishing. I am a gem. A diamond in the rough. But I will continue to shine.

[towfuh]

𝚋𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚟𝚊𝚜; 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐢𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐲

“If, let’s say, you were to write a story with me as the main character, it would certainly be a tragedy. No. Everyone’s the same, in fact. All those that walk this earth. All steal and from all, something is stolen. We can’t help it. That’s who we are. 

Steal and be stolen. Imprison and be imprisoned. Follow and be followed. Do and be done unto. Affirm and negate, over and over. We fight ceaselessly to save ourselves from loss. And yet, the people and places we love will one day surely be lost. We all will surely be forgotten. Life is sad. Empty. But despite knowing we will one day disappear, we still strive in wretched ways. We still wish to be beautiful. 

And I consider, “Which one?”. I choose, “This one.” Forever choosing, forever being chosen. Nothing more, nothing less.” - 𝐓𝐨𝐤𝐲𝐨 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥:𝐫𝐞, 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟕𝟕

𝐇𝐢. 𝐒𝐨, 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐚𝐦 𝐈?

‘Twas one well-weathered, average fourteenth of April in the year 2004 when I was brought upon this earth, particularly in the wind-swept desert of the country of Bahrain. After nine months curled snug inside the warmth of my mother’s womb, my being had finally experienced the sensation of coldness for the very first time. A foreign chill, blinding lights, a shrieking cry, and soft moans of happiness. Admittedly, I do not remember much of the past, but this, the very first memory of my existence, is one that I shall never forget. 

I’ll be frank, my existence was a result of an affair outside of wedlock. After my mother, the lovely Emelyn O. Cabuhal, had moved to Bahrain in order to find work, she had fallen into a forbidden love; Somehow, she had gotten caved in by my father, Rodrigo D. Gangan’s slick charms and handsome demeanour. A saleswoman falling for an engineer; It was the romance story of a lifetime. In the end despite all austerity, things had eventually worked out, and as a result was me being their happy little accident. 

My mother had originally named me after the Thessalian princess, Cyrene, from the lore of Ancient Greek mythology. However, I doubt that most are savvy of who she is. Although an inferior shadow amongst all the other renowned heroes of Greece, my mother had a deep affinity for this particular character due to her unrelenting courage and strength. Princess Cyrene was known to have been a fierce huntress, wrestling with even the most ferocious lions and slaying them bare-handedly all for the sake of protecting her homeland.

Bravery and strength, back in the day, especially that painted upon a woman were extremely unusual characteristics that were often looked down upon in the past. My mother did not heed this much attention, and had hoped that like Princess Cyrene, her precious baby would grow into resemblance as that of Princess Cyrene’s courageous and indestructible portrait.

Thankfully, I did. As I had interviewed my mother in preparation for writing this biography, her eyes shone up with pride as she foretold how as a baby, I was never one to cause trouble. I was, by her words, very well-behaved, silent, and almost too mature for my age. Every so often, shivers would run down my parent’s spine as my infant eyes would just merely watch them with something akin to defiant astuteness. It was no question to them that I would grow up to be someone remarkable; But, perhaps, in what ways?

In my younger years, I had been brought up with the luxury of a princess; Or at least, that was how it had felt for me. Left to right, I was heavily spoiled by my parents; Almost to the point where I had to never experience getting dirt on even the tips of my pale nails. Back then, my being became sublimely colored in pretty and posh pink - dolls, dresses, desserts. I can recall the sensation of my former desire for everything bright, feminine, and simmering.

My parents would frequent me to join Flores de Mayo, local fashion shows, singing competitions, and many more; Always too keen to have their child work and participate in so much and do so much in order to fill their childish desires that they were given no opportunity in partaking in the past. The line, “You’re lucky you got the chance to do this,” always stuck besides me like a burning birthmark, but I was too prideful to let it eat me away negatively. It’s alright; I’ll shoulder the burden and carry our dreams. 

Due to such persistent coddling, I was not as academically-driven as I am now; As I continued to pursue leisurely activities, I admittedly neglected my studies. Would you have believed me if I said that I had almost failed not one, not two, but almost four subjects in the span of my early elementary days? Unbelievable, right? Instead, most of my time was spent fondly hanging around peers or inside the church, partaking activities hosted by my local congregation. 

Looking back, it honestly leaves me awestruck how social and extroverted my younger proprium was, as it seems that now, my energy has decreased tenfold, and even the simple act of socializing left me flabbergasted and anxious of its impending interaction. I am certainly not the young, lively child as I was in the past. As I shift through the many photographs laying inside our albums to scavenge for materials for this self-indulgent writing, I would be lying if I said that these pictures of my youthful self appearing devoid of misery left a bitter tinge in my tongue. The me in the past certainly did not know what was coming around for her in the years to come. 

It was also during this time that I had come to love animals; How trivial may this piece of information be, but my passion for animals had strongly persisted up until today in the present times. Had it not been for the dog who have stuck to my side like glue during the precedented years, perhaps I would have not been as empathic as I am now.

However, as I look back into my life, I realized that even as a child, I was very superficial. Never had I ever really been a dreamer; I had no real ambition. I dreaded the question poised by adults regarding what I wanted to be in the future, because never could my mind wrack the courage to think far along the tracks. Perhaps it is because of my romantic self who had believed that I was already, currently living the dream, Blinded by the walls of utopia that were plastered by my parents, I did not know what more I could have asked for. 

I was abruptly awoken from this dream after I had lived past a decade into this world. In the beginning of the year 2015, my father and I had to repatriate ourselves back to the Philippines, leaving my mom behind in order to act as the breadwinner of the family. My father was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease, forcibly causing him to retire from his well-paying job as an elevator engineer. I began to miss not only the grainy particles of sand that constantly filled the desertic air of Bahrain, but my mother of all things. 

Indeed, the shift from the Middle Eastern metropolises to the green, overpopulated cities of the Philippines left me feeling alienated beyond my wildest imaginations; However what most impacted me was my separation with my mother. Words cannot put how was suffocating, so terribly suffocating was her absence in my life. Whoever quoted the famous saying, “Distance makes the heart fonder,” is no one to make short of. It’s unbelievably true, and perhaps even more heartwrenching than one thinks it is. 

A year later on July 9, 2016, my father passed away from a heart attack. I never got to see him in his final moments because prior to his passage, as his condition had begun to worsen, he, alone, had moved back with his first family in Isabela. Nights never pass without me wondering if before the last breath had escaped him had he ever thought back about me, even if just a fleeting thought. Admittedly, I was ever the daddy’s girl; And I doubt that up to this day, I have yet come to terms with his passage. There were many things that were unfortunately left unsaid, and many I regretted. 

From a dainty pink, my being was forced to soak itself into a deep, dark hue; And as I had struggled to come out, my skin was already marred in a hue of gloom. Because of the darkness, I could not even identify what were the things that I used to like or love. Everything was covered up with blotches of pressure, pain, and trauma. I had never realized how hard reality truly was nor had I understood what I had done that made me deserve such misery. When I was finally hit with the realization that the world was definitely not as kind as it had looked like inside the comfort of my parents’ embrace, the feeling was unwelcomely sudden. It was as if I was dethroned from my position as princess and was banished from my own kingdom for all of eternity.

Depression began to devour the entirety of my being, and just in a span of two years, I had lost more than 10 kilograms in weight, had forty-three self-inflicted battle scars, and committed several attempts of self-destruction; All but unsuccessful - fortunately and unfortunately. My entire self was thrown around, beaten up, and shattered in several fragments, and up until this day, even as almost a decade has passed, do I believe that I am completely healed.

To be completely honest, I do not remember much of my younger days. It had only struck me one afternoon as I was lying in bed that I could not seem to recall much in my childhood; Have you ever heard of Dissociative Amnesia?  Everything was a blank slate, exactly like the moment when you insert a CD in the DVD player, but all that appears on screen is a noisy, hurtful static. That’s why I am never one who’s fond of reminiscing the past, but for the sake of this activity, I have tried my hardest.

Sometimes, I wonder, if it had not been for my romanticism that had continued its pursuit throughout the years, what else could’ve supplied my hopes? Would I have still continued standing on the face of the earth up until this day? In the end, I chose to continue to walk, and at times when I could no longer walk, I crawled. Life felt so daunting and horrific, and if I had to relive it once again, I doubt that I’d make it through the second time. Once is always enough.

In order to pass time, I had committed to entertaining myself through various modus operandis. I sang; I danced; I read; I drew; I played video games; I joined social groups, virtual groups, and actively tried to participate in the realm of academia. I bet that every activity of leisure that could be found under the sun I had already partaken in one way or another. All of this I had done in order to fill the gaping emptiness within my heart, trying to find the solace that I was obsessively searching for. 

There were days where I talked from morning to night, with or without company; Perhaps afraid that if I let silence even a second of an opportunity to fill the space, my being would’ve been devoured entirely and I’d be stuck lingering inside it forever.

From all the things that I had done, my most favorite would have to be reading. 

If I had to choose between sketching a croquis of the person I loved most, or of a dessin of a preloved book, I would forever choose the latter with no hesitation. Admittedly, these slabs of paper have also been the primary pigment that had made the most profound color in my life. 

It was not until several years later into my late teenage life that I had stumbled upon a particular line from an old book. In the small paper read the lines, “That was the first fissure in the columns that had upheld my childhood, which every individual must destroy before he can become himself. Such fissures and rents grow together again, heal, and are forgotten, but in the most secret recesses they continue to live and bleed.” The fog in my mind had finally risen. These words were what had given my bleak canvas more color.

Apart from the wisdom adorned in the rigid pages of books, if it had not been for the peers who I had met along the way, most especially my one and only batch of my late elementary days prior to my arrival to the Philippines, as well as those in my high school period, the awning cloth would have had loosen and fallen from the wooden stretcher.

The foundation of what made me today laid in their hands; And I am glad, wholeheartedly filled with gratitude, that I have crossed paths with them for both the better and the worst.

Up until this day, I am still deciding on how to apply the various tones and variations to my canvas’ surface. Currently striving to survive my first year in senior high school; 

Whenever posed with the question of how my day was, I’d always reply, “So-so,” and it’s not pitiful but a fact. Compared to the remnants of my estranged bygone days, I am doing much better; Much healthier to both body and mind, and much convalescent to the many traumas that had used to pinned my being down. 

In the past, I have experienced the notion of being a “horrendous piece of art,” and no longer do I want to commit the same mistakes. In the first place, is there even such a thing as a “horrendous piece of art”? No, there definitely is not. Now, I delicately hold myself with love. 

Every small stroke of my life’s invisible brush I take with time and precision. Now, I allow my own colors to flow freely in any direction. With the emergence of brand-new experiences, sensations, and emotions, I have yet to create a piece that would conclude my most sincere feelings. 

As I continue to live on, I shall continue to ask myself, what am I painting? Is it a figure of Cyrene? Perhaps a palette of fuchsia, or a whirlpool of monochromatic shades? Always, I continue to answer: I am my own canvas. 

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐨𝐭-𝐬𝐨-𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐄𝐧𝐝.

[el-presidente-amacna]

ℂ𝕠𝕟𝕗𝕚𝕕𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕝𝕪 𝔹𝕖𝕒𝕦𝕥𝕚𝕗𝕦𝕝

𝑨 𝑩𝒊𝒐𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒑𝒉𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝑷𝒊𝒂 𝑨𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒛𝒐 𝑾𝒖𝒓𝒕𝒛𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒉

CHAPTER 1:  𝒜 𝒬𝓊𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝐵𝑜𝓇𝓃

“I have to apologize. The first runner up is Colombia…” You might remember these words infamously uttered by Steve Harvey. It was at that moment, that the entire world, the universe rather, was rattled to its core. Our very own Miss Philippines was part of that seemingly infamous moment. A bittersweet moment wherein a woman reigned victorious and brought pride to her country. After that, history was never the same.

Pia Alonzo Wurtzbach, Miss Universe 2015, is a half German, half Filipino model, actress, entrepreneur, ambassador, beauty queen, and international pageant titleholder. Pia was born in Stuttgart, Germany on September 24, 1989.  She has a sister who is two years younger than she is: Sarah Wurtzbach who she referred to in later years as her “go-to person” for she considers herself as impulsive and her younger sister gives better advice. She was born to a Filipino mother, who she got “Alonzo” from, and a German father hence her seemingly foreign last name, “Wurtzbach.” But don’t get it twisted, Pia is truly and without an ounce of a doubt, a Filipina.

What an image of beauty Pia was even in her youth. Even as a baby, it was hard to miss Pia’s eyes. Pia and her family later moved back to the Philippines. It was in Northern Mindanao of the Philippines where they migrated. Initially, they first traveled to Iligan City, but then settled roots in Cagayan de Oro, which is famously dubbed as the “City of Golden Friendship.”

CHAPTER 2:  𝐹𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝒫𝓇𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝓉𝑜 𝐵𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝓌𝒾𝓃𝓃𝑒𝓇

Pia attended kindergarten at Kong Hua School and primary school in Corpus Christi School. Pia revealed in her introduction video for Miss Universe in 2015 that her parents separated when she was only 9 years old. They moved to Manila eventually. Pia became the breadwinner of her beloved family. She began her modeling and acting career as young as 11 years of age. Pia also went by the stage name of Pia Romero.

Pia was in the cover for Candy Magazine, Avon, and in television shows alongside giant names in the Philippine showbiz. She was part of the cast of shows such as Bora, All About Love, and Ariana to name a few. Being as she is in the limelight, she finished her secondary education at ABS-CBN Distance Learning Center in Quezon City of Metro Manila. But this Filipino-German princess turned breadwinner’s academic background does not stop there. She studied culinary arts at the Center for Asian and Culinary Studies in San Juan city of Metro Manila.

CHAPTER 3:  𝒜 𝐵𝒾𝓃𝒾𝒷𝒾𝓃𝒾’𝓈 𝑅𝑜𝒶𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒰𝓃𝒾𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑒

The year was 2013. It was the 50th anniversary of the most prestigious and longest running National Pageant in the Philippines, Binibining Pilipinas. When Pia came in for the delegates’ screening for Binibining Pilipinas, she was 23 years old. Pia gloriously entered the screening room for Binibining Pilipinas that year sparkling. Her fellow delegate Mutya Datul, was entranced by her beauty and regarded her as “perfect.” Bea Santiago, another delegate of the same year, stated that Pia exuded such a queenly aura and saw her as one of the most confident delegates she met. It does not hurt to be nice, and that is something Pia always has been. Everyone’s first impression about Pia was that she had a huge potential to clinch a crown, but in her first catwalk training, she was not the best. Pia was heavily criticized for trying too hard. Her walk was too bouncy. Pia thought it was a good thing, rather it seemed exaggerated. The 50th anniversary of Binibining Pilipinas was Pia’s first ever pageant.

It was scary for Pia. It had been the organization’s 50th anniversary, its golden anniversary. They had 50 delegates, the most the pageant ever had. Pia prepared greatly being that she was a pageant newbie and confessed she was not well versed in this field. Standing out in the pool of 50 candidates was not an easy feat. Regardless of her hurdles, she was quite the queen. Pia finished that year as 1st Runner Up. Pia thought she could get a crown. But she realized it was perfectly fine considering it was her first national pageant. The most painful question she heard as 1st Runner Up was, “How does it feel to be a spare tire?” She did not care. She was always a good sport. Mutya Datul, who clinched the Miss Supranational Philippines crown in 2013, received advice from Pia before leaving for Poland to represent the Philippines. It was the same year wherein the Philippines was struck by typhoon Yolanda. Pia, without hesitation, volunteered in Tacloban for a charity event. This showed how dedicated she was without a crown. And despite being referred to as a “spare tire.”

Pia’s Binibini stint did not end here. She was hungry and determined for a crown. She once again joined Binibining Pilipinas in the year of 2014. Carla Lizardo and Bianca Guidotti were Pia’s closest friends in that year’s competition. Pia made it a point to make all of the candidates comfortable, without the boastful fact that she was last year’s 1st Runner Up. Pia is a sensitive soul. In 2014 she was ready. Pia thought in 2014 that it was finally her year. For Pia, it was the Universe or nothing. But ironically, she was awarded with nothing. It was not Pia’s destiny that year. Pia saw herself in the mirror without a crown and that was her triggering point to let out her tears.

Pia considered not going into the pageant scene anymore. She was undoubtedly hurt with her second loss. But Pia decided that this was not the final chapter. That was not the end of her journey to the Universe. She once again joined Binibining Pilipinas of 2015. Making this her third attempt at a crown. After the past two years of failure, she grew more confident, a fiercer variant of confident. That was her major asset. That year, the stars aligned for her. Pia that night went from being Binibini 10 to Miss Universe Philippines of 2015. She felt as if she had already won internationally. She finally earned the right to be our Miss Philippines. From watching Miss Universe on her television for years, to the woman with the Philippines sash across her chest.

CHAPTER 4:  𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐸𝓃𝒹 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝟦𝟤 𝒴𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝒮𝓁𝓊𝓂𝒷𝑒𝓇  

As Miss Universe Philippines, Pia underwent intensive training for the international pageant of Miss Universe. Dress rehearsals and fittings would go on until the ungodly hour of 2 AM but Pia was determined. She would head to the gym to workout and be in the best physical shape. Slowly she learned and assessed what went wrong and the mistakes she had from losing the first time in 2013 to 2014. What Pia needed was assurance. Her faith became stronger. Her outlook on life became much clearer. Now it makes sense why it took three times of joining to win. Now it makes sense why she struggled in showbiz. It was because she was meant for greater things despite losing twice. But the fight does not end here, rather it’s only getting warmer. Her fight was not only for her, but for the Philippines.

Pia competed in Las Vegas, USA for Miss Universe 2015. At that time she was already a mature and prepared woman at 26 years of age. She would always consult her advisors. Pia knew when to peak. She silently watched and observed her competition and comprehended how she was going to be the absolute standout. Pia made history during her Miss Universe run. Pia was the first Miss Philippines in years to be dressed by a Filipino designer. Years prior, all Miss Universe Philippines delegates wore creations by a Colombian designer. 

Pia made a stamp to showcase to the Universe the Filipino talent. Albert Andrada and Oliver Tolentino, successful Filipino designers, designed Pia’s ensemble for her national costume and evening gowns for the preliminary and final competition. Eighty ladies, including the Philippines' bet, Pia Wutzbach, showed off their outfits that night. Pia donned a capiz terno designed by Filipino designer Albert Andrada as her national costume. It was a head to toe white ensemble adorned with Philippine white pearls, beading, crystal-white seashells accessorized with a glorious headpiece and exquisite hand fan. She was a vision of artistry. She is as glorious as the Philippines, the pearl of the orient seas. 

The 64th Miss Universe, held on December 20 of 2015 in Las Vegas Nevada, was the night of the final competition. All bets were off. All eyes were on the countries with heavy sash factors. The Philippines being one of them. The final night was hosted by Steve Harvey. After an amazing opening with the parade of the national costumes, came the first elimination round. When the Philippines was called, the roar of the crowd was deafening. The Filipino spirit was burning bright that night. After the first elimination came the swimsuit competition. Pia heavily trained for this. She rocked a Yamamay black and white swimsuit with a cute ponytail and hoop earrings. She gets to the end of the runway and Pia places her balled-up fists on her hips reminiscent of the Filipina superhero, Mars Ravelo’s Darna. After the sizzling swimsuit competition came the elimination for top 10. The first eight delegates were called. Every Filipino was waiting anxiously if one of the last two spots was for Pia. Lo and behold, the ninth spot was for the Philippines. The screams of every Filipino in the arena was intense. Then came the evening gown competition. Last year’s Miss Philippines gown received a lot of backlash for not being spectacular. So the pressure to redeem the country’s pride in the evening gown portion was immense. 

Alas! Pia did not disappoint. As the tempo of the song gradually became intense, so did Pia’s presence. Pia walked on stage magnificently in a cobalt blue mermaid cut gown that had an impeccable detail on the back symbolizing the sun rays over the Philippine waters. She stumbled in the middle of her walk but this is nothing to a queen. Pia got to the end of the runway, turned her back to the audience and in a split second looked over her shoulder directly into the camera with her alluring eyes, smizing. Her eyes are tantalizing and jaw-dropping. She broke the sense of intensity in her eyes with her beautiful smile. It was the perfect mix of sultry and charming.

Pia advanced to the top 5 and was first to feel the heat of the Question and Answer round. The questions in the top 5 were specifically tailored questions to each delegate’s country. Pia was asked about the American military presence in the Philippines and if she was open about it. She was calm and collected the entire time she was speaking. She spoke about the beauty of camaraderie between the Filipino-American people. She mentioned that the Filipinos are very welcoming and the American tradition is still very much relevant to the Philippines so she does not see any problem with it at all.

Came the last elimination of the night. The next round would only consist of three women. First to be called was Olivia Jordan of the USA. Then Ariadna Gutiérrez of Colombia was announced second into the top three. The last spot was dreadful. Every second waiting on which country was about to get called was heart stopping. But Pia’s journey is not ending yet. The Philippines was called last into the top three.

For the final round, each lady was asked the same vague yet complex question of, “Why should you be the next Miss Universe?” As one were answering, the other two women would wear soundproof headphones. Pia was last to answer the question to which she answered

“To be a Miss Universe is both an honor and a responsibility. If I were to be Miss Universe, I will use my voice to influence the youth and I would raise awareness to certain causes like HIV awareness that is timely and relevant to my country, which is the Philippines. I want to show the world, the universe rather, that I am confidently beautiful with a heart. Thank you.”

Pia’s answer did not talk about her, but rather what her mission is. She encapsulated within 30 seconds what a Miss Universe is, what a Miss Universe should be, her HIV awareness advocacy while inserting the official tagline of Miss Universe, “confidently beautiful.” It was the perfect mix of heart-felt and branding. 

At the end of the night, the top three were serenaded by Grammy award winning singer, Seal for the final look segment of the competition. Then Steve Harvey announced Olivia Jordan of the USA as Second Runner Up. The top two of the night were Colombia’s Ariadna Gutiérrez and the Philippines’ Pia Wurtzbach. 

They dimmed the lights, the camera circling the two ladies as they held each other’s hand in the top two. Everything seemed to slow down and stop. The entire universe is holding its breath. Steve announced Colombia as the winner. Last year’s winner from the same country of Colombia came to the stage to crown her successor, her fellow Colombian. But something in the air did not feel right.

Minutes after Ariadna of Colombia was crowned, Steve stepped on stage again and uttered the words, “I have to apologize. The first runner up is Colombia. Miss Universe 2015 is Philippines!” After 42 years, the crown is back to the Philippines. The camera focused on Pia, her expression of shock and excitement clearly painted on her eyes as she clutched her bouquet of flowers while standing next to Miss USA. Pia went upfront. Paulina Vega, last year’s winner, officially crowned the rightful winner: Pia. It was one for the history books. From a double defeat to a crowning moment that would be engraved in everyone’s mind for years to come.

A month after being crowned Miss Universe, on January 23 of 2016, Pia finally got to celebrate with her mother. And of course, her country celebrated with her. She had her homecoming on January 25, 2016. Standing on a float designed just like the Miss Universe crown while wearing the Miss Universe crown while she was waving to the hundreds of Filipino people was a sight to behold. Pia at the time of her reign paid a courtesy call to former President Benigno Aquino III at Malacañang Palace. She also fulfilled some bridesmaid duties to celebrity best friend Pauline Luna. Pia became an official #HIV Prevention ambassador for Aid for AIDS being the 6th Miss Universe to receive the title. UNAIDS also appointed the model, actress and Miss Universe 2015 Pia Alonzo Wurtzbach as UNAIDS Goodwill Ambassador for Asia and the Pacific on 3rd of May of 2017. Pia did her final walk before crowning the next Binibining Pilipinas Universe for 2016. On April 17 of 2016, Pia crowned Maxine Medina as Miss Universe Philippines 2016.  Pia assisted relief operations in Peru alongside the Red Cross after the country was hit with a 7.8 magnitude earthquake. She educated people about National Gay Men’s HIV & AIDS Awareness Day as well in her reign.

CHAPTER 5:  𝒲𝓇𝒾𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓃 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒮𝓉𝒶𝓇𝓈

Pia truly had a fruitful year. Her journey was brightly written in the stars and would continue to emanate light of hope and inspiration for years to come. Pia passed on the Miss Universe crown to Iris Mittenaere of France on January 30 of 2017 in her home country while wearing another cobalt blue ball gown by Michael Cinco. The 65th Miss Universe was held in the Philippines for the first time since 1994. Even after Miss Universe, Pia would always stand tall in representing the Philippines. And not just the Philippines but the rest of the universe.

Pia also announced on January 30, 2017 that she has signed a contract with WME/IMG IMG's Universe division, and that she will continue to work with the Miss Universe Organization as an HIV/AIDS awareness champion once her reign ends. On October 9, 2017, she signed a two-year exclusive deal with ABS-CBN after being Miss Universe 2015. She was a guest host on ASAP and co-host with Luis Manzano on World of Dance Philippines.

Despite being a practicing Roman Catholic, Wurtzbach openly supports beliefs that are opposed to the Catholic Church's teachings, such as the full implementation of the Philippines' Reproductive Health Law and the acceptance of LGBT rights in the Philippines. Pope Francis presented her with a personal rosary on December 13, 2016.

Wurtzbach is an outspoken supporter of gender equality. In the aftermath of the 2016 Orlando nightclub shooting, she expressed her support for the LGBT community on Instagram. She urged the Philippine Senate to enact the SOGIE Equality Bill in 2018. She declared her relationship with Scottish entrepreneur Jeremy Jauncey in June 2020.

A month ago, nearly seven years after being crowned Miss Universe, she hosted a Ted Talk entitled, “15 Minutes with Pia: You are Not Alone.” In this Ted Talk she discussed the state her mental health was in during her reign. Despite the glitz and the glam everyone thought being Miss Universe was, she had fallen depressed. For the longest time, Pia never wanted to admit she was sad, out of fear that people would judge her or say that she was being ungrateful. Pia said it was challenging to sum up everything about her mental health in 15 minutes. That it was her most honest sharing yet, and she wanted to be sure that if she spoke about it, it was coming from a place of strength and confidence. She continued that there’s no way she’s 100% okay now as it’s always a work in progress and everyday you just find healthier ways to cope. 

I have always admired Pia. The mere fact that she lost twice even before becoming Miss Philippines truly spoke volumes about her determination. She fell twice but the universe rewarded her a thousand times over. She was not afraid to be criticized and to continuously improve. She showed us that what is meant for us is meant to be. Who knew someone who was mocked for losing twice would bring back home a victory of a lifetime after 42 years? She continued advocating for the causes near her heart after her reign and It further and endlessly shows that she is a queen even without a crown. Her strength is also her vulnerability. She showed this by speaking up about her personal struggle with mental health. This simply just goes to show that when passion, determination, and perseverance work hand in hand, expect a work of art and to always reach for the universe.

[towfuh]

𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖘 𝖎𝖓 𝖗𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖊 (𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔦𝔦); 𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗺𝗽𝘁

WRITING PROMPT #35. Describe a small personality trait about a person you love, and make the reader love them, too.

We were lovers in reverse; Starting off as strangers, developing as something similar to that of a lover, and parting as strangers. She hid herself under a veil of anonymity, and that’s why I love her.

WORD COUNT: 385 words┊PART 1, PART 2

You had called again the next day, which I found surprising. As I was readying myself to forget the events of the previous night, ashamed of bringing it up, you called my name, easily catching my attention by the velvety roll of my name on your lips, and said with no tinge of hesitation:

“It was my first time crying in front of someone. It’s not as bad as I expected, or maybe it’s just you.”

We continued talking about other things that bothered you, interested you, I commented where I could. You don't know but the box of who I am was overturned and contents scattered, lost to me. I hardly know myself anymore. But listening to you brought me some peace. A human being with wants and desires, resonating with someone in me who I've lost and nearly forgotten. I liked getting to know you which is strange to admit after you've already seen the naked, bare me. I found myself closing my eyes, while my ears endlessly accepted the tone of your voice, feeling your stride and moving in time with you, matching you. I felt like I was sailing. You talked about your health and how you had been spending time concentrating on your studies. You told me last night made you feel normal. My heart chimed and continues to ring at that as I write this.

Our last conversation was exactly this. You stated how you were planning on taking a hiatus from the internet and friends - people in general. I understood and confessed I had feelings about your absence that I would not burden you with, but I wanted you to know I wanted you still. I had much to vent out, my passions, my ambitions, my dreams of getting married and maybe with you… But, alas, reality sucks.

Lovers in reverse. I wanted to tell you how much I missed you as soon as you left. I deleted messages about how I wanted to kiss you, that were softer in contrast than the hard frustrations we had screamed of nights before. And now I sit here reminiscing.

My lips do not know how to call you, but these memories never dampen. As I think of you, my mouth always halts; Tongue curling anew, in a figure resembling you.

[towfuh]

𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖘 𝖎𝖓 𝖗𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖊 (𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔦); 𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗺𝗽𝘁

WRITING PROMPT #35. Describe a small personality trait about a person you love, and make the reader love them, too.

We were lovers in reverse; Starting off as strangers, developing as something similar to that of a lover, and parting as strangers. She hid herself under a veil of anonymity, and that’s why I love her.

WORD COUNT: 519 words ┊ PART 1, PART 2

After we had met on some random website (that I honestly can’t recall the name of due to total indifference), we had unapologetically pounced on each other after a few weeks of exchanging long in-depth messages of 'why dogs were the best animal in the world' and 'why the existence of unicorns are products of capitalism'. I know we didn’t truly enjoy each other’s presence, but the idea of passing time with one another seemed, at that time, much more appealing than doing whatever reality had asked of us.

"Reality sucks!" You would proclaim with earnest.

I’ll never forget that day. It was one rough Wednesday, I was yelled at for something trivial; I do not remember why, but the feeling of my glass heart detaching itself from my chest’s yielding grasp and shattering hard onto the ground is something that I'll never forget. With no one else to run to, my fingers had pressed the green button next to your contact without my brain even processing its movements. You picked up seconds early; Minutes later the dam in my eyes broke, and soon, yours had erupted too.

Even the Philharmonic Orchestra could not overpower the sounds of our weeping. We tired ourselves till our throats had run desert-dry and our eyes swollen like a massive, angry back-pimple. For those brief fifteen or so minutes of unrestricted screaming and crying, I had easily forgotten about the world that had hurt me, feeling impossibly numb with reckless abandon. It was the release I was seeking, but in the matter of mere milliseconds, reality managed to hit me hard like fresh roadkill. The tears had stopped, and the air was filled with suffocating silence. It was like we were moving in reverse, putting our invisible clothes back on, trying to understand who the other was. The veil of anonymity slowly slipped off and left me confused. Never in my life had I felt so naked despite never taking anything off.

When you had finally spoken, I tried to listen but I was mystified by the stranger before me. You were forming into someone I knew, someone who I could tell had been hurt, who had a lot on their shoulders, and was incredibly versed. I gleaned the last bit as much from the brief exchanges we had before things became raunchy, but it drew me in deeper, like a foreign hypnotic sound. We were both lying in our beds, just exchanging pointless small-talk, hoping we’d find the answers to our unspoken questions. It felt like you were holding me and I was holding you, and I was so lovestruck with the sacred act of nakedness that I had almost, almost asked you to kiss me, which I found ironic because you lived on the other side of the continent. It took us approximately four hours before sleep was starting to slowly envelope your lithe figure. You ended the call, and as the invisible doors closed, with you behind it, I lay in my own bed, perplexed until sleep embraced me. However, its embrace will never amount to that night's comfort.

[el-presidente-amacna]

𝕀𝕥 𝕎𝕒𝕤 𝔽𝕦𝕟𝕟𝕪, ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪

𝑨 𝑴𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒊𝒓

It was funny, really. When I met you, I thought the idea was completely dumb. But It was the first time I ever thought, “hey, could this be it?” It was funny, really. I thought nothing of it until it became and felt real. I could never forget the charm you possessed. That night I was nothing but lustful. Yet you were wholesome. That night, there was a certain sense of humanity I saw in you despite me being starry-eyed simply for release. You saw something in me which I didn’t think you would. It was funny, really. We had a conversation that night with sensibility. I initially thought that it was a waste of time. I strayed for a few days from you. For I am not certain of your intentions.

You sent me a picture of a page of a book you were reading and I thought it was bizarre. It was funny, really.  One day I had the inkling to respond. I did not know what came over me to do so but I remember thinking of doing it just to dismiss you once and for all. Little did I know, I would be enchanted. Days turned into weeks. Weeks into months. I sang to you on your birthday. It was weird of me, I admit. But you appreciated me. I told you thank you. Thank you for being adamant. Thank you, you were patient. And thank you for making me feel special. Our birthdays were only days apart. It was funny, really. 

But a week after my 16th birthday, you vanished. No, it was not abrupt as if you completely disappeared out of thin air or turned to smoke. Do you know what made it painful? What was more painful was that it was slow. I never realized how reliant on happiness I was with you until I slowly witnessed you pulling away. Though it did always seem like such a schedule, at the stroke of 11:30 while the sun had been gone for hours and the moon and stars had come out to play, we’d be talking endlessly until the crack of morning. It felt as if I was next to you. Every topic we had, even if I did not have an inch of grasp of the topic, I was entranced. Every minute spent together, I was mindless of time. I guess I missed that when you let go. You were busy, I understood. I have always promised you one thing, to never come in your way. But I did not realize how  deep of a cut it would be. 

We started missing days of us without words. Then days turned into weeks. Then weeks into months. It was funny, really. To think I was so caught up with you despite the fact I initially did not want you. But when you pulled away, I felt incomplete. At that point, was it even funny? What a fool, I was. I drowned in self pity. I was completely missing someone who probably did not feel the same way as I did. It was an abyss of your doing to which I had fallen to. It was an abyss which you had caused and I had decided to wallow in. 

You would occasionally message me. In those 3 months we were apart, that happened twice. You messaged me as if nothing was wrong. How dare you? You left, remember? It was infuriating seeing your name pop-up on my screen. I wanted to erase you completely. Every time you would come back, you acted as if everything was perfect. I was enraged. I am not some boy on your waitlist. I am not just someone you can run to whenever you’re bored. I am not some dog tied to a post patiently waiting for pets on the head. 

Maybe what I needed was someone. Someone completely new. Someone who would fill the void I was feeling. Someone to pull me up from further drowning. I tried. Some people tried. I gave them a chance. People came and went into my life. But it did not feel right. I was covering the fact that I still relied on someone for joy and satisfaction. I was done with you. I was done with anyone who tried to court me. It was time to prioritize someone who absolutely deserved better: myself. I am worthy. I am enough. And I do not need someone else’s reminder for such. 

In those three months we were apart, I learned to be grateful. I would not have been the man of integrity and confidence I currently am if you did not leave me. In those three months I realized I deserve better than what you and other people could have offered romantically. The value of self love and self reliance on contentment and joy had never been more clear to me. It was because of you. For that, I thank you for the pain.

[towfuh]

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬

Click the text to open the desired output.

𝗠𝗲𝗺𝗼𝗶𝗿

🔪 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙲𝚞𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙴𝚍𝚐𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝙰 𝙱𝚛𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚗 𝙱𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 

TRIGGER WARNING: Vivid Descriptions of S*lf-harm

“But when it came right down to it, the skin of my wrist looked so white and defenseless that I couldn’t do it. It was as if what I wanted to kill wasn’t in that skin or the thin blue pulse that jumped under my thumb, but somewhere else, deeper, more secret, and a whole lot harder to get.” - Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

It is said that over the years, your body becomes a kind of historical document, in which certain dramatic moments are memorialized in scar tissue. Trace depthless onto my very own fleshly tissues are my battle scars; Remnants of a war-torn battlefield that was once washed away by gloom and despair.

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈

𝗔𝘂𝘁𝗼𝗯𝗶𝗼𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗽𝗵𝘆

🎨 𝚋𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚟𝚊𝚜

“Steal and be stolen. Imprison and be imprisoned. Follow and be followed. Do and be done unto. Affirm and negate, over and over. We fight ceaselessly to save ourselves from loss. And yet, the people and places we love will one day surely be lost. We all will surely be forgotten. Life is sad. Empty. But despite knowing we will one day disappear, we still strive in wretched ways. We still wish to be beautiful.”

𝗕𝗶𝗼𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗽𝗵𝘆

🌾 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙰𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝙶𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝙵𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝙰𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚘

“Every portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not the sitter. The sitter is merely the accident, the occasion. It is not he who is revealed by the painter; it is rather the painter who on the colored canvas reveals himself.” - 𝐎𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐞, 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐲

One might ask: what exactly is art? Is it an innovation of creative craft and skill? A love letter from the fleeting minds and wandering souls; Or perhaps the fortitude of resilience amongst the many external and internal agonies that man is bound to dance with. Nevertheless, I am convinced that art is something more extravagant and worthwhile than just that.

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 & 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐈: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐈𝐈: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐕: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐄𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

𝗪𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗣𝗿𝗼𝗺𝗽𝘁

💋 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎

WRITING PROMPT #35. Describe a small personality trait about a person you love, and make the reader love them, too.

We were lovers in reverse; Starting off as strangers, developing as something similar to that of a lover, and parting as strangers. She hid herself under a veil of anonymity, and that’s why I love her.

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈

[towfuh]

W.C.: 294┊ᴾʳᵒˡᵒᵍᵘᵉ & ᶜʰᵃᵖᵗᵉʳ ᴵ┊ᶜʰᵃᵖᵗᵉʳ ᴵᴵ┊ᶜʰᵃᵖᵗᵉʳ ᴵᴵᴵ┊ᶜʰᵃᵖᵗᵉʳ ᴵⱽ┊ᴱᵖⁱˡᵒᵍᵘᵉ

It has been decades since Fernando Amorsolo’s passing, yet his art still continues to resonate amongst several of his countrymen and fellow foreign onlookers. His depictions of an ideal and beautiful world earned both impassioned appreciate, and unavoidable bitter condemnation. 

To fully understand the art, one must first appreciate the man behind Amorsolo; To thoroughly enjoy the taste of the cups of rice presented onto our dinner tables, we mut first know where the grains come from, how they were sowed, and what made them thrive despite such calamities that these grains inevitably encounter - Drought, storm, chaos - And despite all these, no Filipino is without a plate of hot, well-washed rice. 

Yes, indeed, Amorsolo has had his fair share of heartbreak and disappointments in his life, but instead of lingering in the abyssal plains of melancholy and giving it a voice through his works of art, he opted to distant himself from them, and instead, focus on the positive aspects of life. Not a shred of wickedness permeated his character, and as a result, his art is the purest manifestation of beauty. 

Amorsolo was bashful, innocent, and above all, pure. These characteristics of such ingenuity bled deep onto his work. From knowing the seed, sowing, budding, and harvesting of such masterpieces, we learn to appreciate the granary of his heart and mind. Undoubtedly, people have innate urge to identify with what is good - something that even plain, ordinary folks have painfully in common with artists. 

Everyone just wishes for the best in life; Everyone wishes to touch, and see, and breathe, and live in only the goodness and tranquil of life; And it is for this legacy alone, his paintings that depict such serenity, that Amorsolo will be most fondly remembered. 

[towfuh]

W.C.: 873┊ᴾʳᵒˡᵒᵍᵘᵉ & ᶜʰᵃᵖᵗᵉʳ ᴵ┊ᶜʰᵃᵖᵗᵉʳ ᴵᴵ┊ ᶜʰᵃᵖᵗᵉʳ ᴵᴵᴵ ┊ ᶜʰᵃᵖᵗᵉʳ ᴵⱽ ┊ ᴱᵖⁱˡᵒᵍᵘᵉ

“Every portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not the sitter. The sitter is merely the accident, the occasion. It is not he who is revealed by the painter; it is rather the painter who on the colored canvas reveals himself.” - 𝐎𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐞, 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐲

Amidst havoc and chaos, men began to seek solace in the brilliance and sensibility of art. The nineteenth century was a period of fluctuation of artistic innovations, dominating the world with works of Western artists such as Claude Monet, Vincent Van Gogh, Pablo Picasso, Henri Matisse, Gustav Klimt, and many more; All of them supplying us various denotations of what art attempts to convey. 

One might ask: what exactly is art? Is it an innovation of creative craft and skill? A love letter from the fleeting minds and wandering souls; Or perhaps the fortitude of resilience amongst the many external and internal agonies that man is bound to dance with. Nevertheless, I am convinced that art is something more extravagant and worthwhile than just that. 

Constantly, the masterpieces of revenant connoisseurs are served on platters for the digestion of human understand and spunk. Feel free to compare art to a singe grain of rice, and the museums that house their framed awning cloths are the granaries. How crucial is rice to the souls of the people who lie dependent on its nutritiousness to thrive; The same goes entirely for art, and the nation’s proclaimed Grand Gentleman, Fernando Amorsolo, was perhaps one of the first who enthusiastically struck through the dirt of conservativeness, and plowed through the field of the art world to plant its harvest.

‘Twas on an unremarkable 30th of May, in the year 1892, when Fernando Cueto Amorsolo had finally parted from the comforts of his mother’s warm womb, and was finally brought upon the world. 

He was born in Paco, Manila on Calle Herran to his loving parents, Pedro Amorsolo and Bonifacia Cueto. Despite his upbringing in the nation’s metropolis, the soon-to-be well-acclaimed painter’s most earliest and most cherished recollections were always the tranquil ambiance of the peaceful existence only savvied in the suburban countryside. 

Due to certain circumstances, Amorsolo’s father was forced to relocate the family from the busy urban center of Manila to the peaceful environs of Daet, Camarines Norte to work as an accountant for two abaca firms when the painter was merely seven months old. It was here that Pedro, the family’s father and ultimate breadwinner, was able to make amends; Enough to guarantee the household some form of contentment and security amidst those particular hectic times in the hands of Spanish occupation. 

As a young child, Amorsolo began to show early signs of artistic talent; While certainly not immediately deemed as a genius or prodigy, Amorsolo was notable for his knack for artistic creations. Not a noob, and not a novice for his age. With the privilege of having lived close to the coasts of Daet, the young man would frequently draw pictures of ships by the wharves, the sandy margins of the coastlines, and the undoubtedly winsome sunsets and sunrises whenever the sky was in a good mood. 

His mother quickly took notice of her son’s enthusiasm and began to send her son’s masterpieces to her cousin, Fabian Dela Rosa, who was, at that time, already an established and prominent figure in the Filipino Art Scene in Manila. At such an early age, Amorsolo managed to display such vigorous affinity for the rural landscape - gently coercing a reflection of his small world through means of both paper and pencil. 

Up until this point, everything may have seemed all happy-go-lucky; However tragedy was none too kind and has never seemed to miss a beat. On one unfaithful evening, Amorsolo was awoken by screams and shouts coming from outside their family’s window. It was then apparent that Amorsolo’s half brother, the eldest son, Perico, was forced to take part in a revolutionary movement against the Spaniards; Despite their declines and refusals to part from one another, Perico relented and went down to join the rebels, never to be seen by Amorsolo and his family again. It was only months after when Amorsolo received news about Perico’s execution at the hands of the Spaniards; Shattered with grief by the news of his son’s unjustified passage, Amorsolo’s father, Pedro, never recovered from the ordeal and died of a heart attack a few years later. 

Present-day critics never fail to regard Amorsolo’s tendency for painting an idyllic world as the work of someone who has never encountered suffering in his life. Although, through discovering the very seedling of his upbringing, it becomes explicitly clear that the painter’s artistic preference was not a result of a lack of exposure to society’s fault, but rather of a purposeful attempt to hold on to what is pure and good before the harsh realities of the world wrecked his quiet life in the countryside. 

Amorsolo’s father had met his end when the painter was merely eleven years old. Before his passed, Pedro made his wife vow to give Amorsolo proper art education, for he had wished his children to follow their dreams and live ambitiously as the future was aspiringly uncertain. Upon her late husband’s request, the widowed Bonifacia gathered her family and relocated once again to Manila in search of better opportunities to support her family. Don Fabian Dela Rosa, her cousin, welcomed the family with open arms. Hence, this became the beginning of Amorsolo’s meaningful encounter with the art world. 

[towfuh]

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙲𝚞𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙴𝚍𝚐𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝙰 𝙱𝚛𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚗 𝙱𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 (𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔦𝔦); 𝐚 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐢𝐫

TRIGGER WARNING: Vivid Descriptions of S*lf-harm

“But when it came right down to it, the skin of my wrist looked so white and defenseless that I couldn’t do it. It was as if what I wanted to kill wasn’t in that skin or the thin blue pulse that jumped under my thumb, but somewhere else, deeper, more secret, and a whole lot harder to get.” - Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

It is said that over the years, your body becomes a kind of historical document, in which certain dramatic moments are memorialized in scar tissue. Trace depthless onto my very own fleshly tissues are my battle scars; Remnants of a war-torn battlefield that was once washed away by gloom and despair.

WORD COUNT: 790┊ PART I, PART II

It was as if it were just yesterday; I can still vividly remember both the memory and the burning sensation of when I had first held onto the surprisingly sharp wedge of the pencil sharpener's blade, dancing it around my left wrist. My grip was light, yet my vision darkened. In a rightward motion, the blade slowly pirouetted through the first layer of epidermis; Imagine a scratch of a cat whose claws had unintentionally ravaged the hand that fed them due to fright.

I tried again, once more, and then a pause. Once more, and then a pause; Followed by a sting on my third attempt - I had finally broken through skin - but up until now, I have yet to discover whether this twinge of pain came from the outside or from somewhere deep within.

During this time, I was boarding in the not-so-comfortable comforts of my aunt's abode. I abhor the restraints of its four-cornered walls. Its blank, pale walls forever continue to fuel my being with rage, and never had I not thought of painting deary red coloring its bleakness.I began to hate everything that reflected its walls; Despite the mindless affirmations my mother constantly voiced in an attempt to soothe through my doubts, never had I ever felt any ounce of home in that house.

Don't get me wrong, I was never mistreated or abused; But when will I ever be able to convince the onlookers staring intently at play of my life that it never feels the same when you're not with people you love. I never loved them, and they in turn, during one past heated argument, had also proclaimed that they had never loved me.

The piercing tinge of the small wedge gliding coarsely through my pale wrist brought me nothing less but comfort. Some may even call it love or others who share my deranged perception might even embody it as something of cheer. The first time turned into the second; The second time turned into the third; The third into the fourth, and so on.

This habit of mine, which had begun to adapt itself into something of a routinely ceremony to my being, continued for more than two years before I had finally grown afraid; Afraid of constantly having to hide such a masterpiece with the lingering notion of being incapacitated with something even more hurtful than what I had been doing to myself; Afraid of its crippling sensuality which had slowly began to devour my being whole and start to feel much like an addiction; I was afraid I could never stop.

If I had continued without ever stopping and looking back, I wonder what would have happened to me. If I had continued to cut and slash, cut and slash, cut and slash, what else would have been left behind in the end other than bones and empty skin? I did not desire to be an empty wooden figure of a Russian Matryoshka doll; Ironically, this was why I used to cut.

Despite the smoothness of the flesh of my youth, the blade never seemed to run itself smoothly or any deeper than I expected. It never ran only once, but took time completing laps and relays, like a deranged, yet goal-stricken marathoner; And in its race left markers to indicate what path it had taken, and how far it went.

I fell in love with its race, even though each time the referee would blow his whistle, I would trip and stumble and roll until the entirety of my muscles would burn something fierce, and my knee caps would bleed harder than Niagara's cascades.

Perhaps love is not the correct word to describe this feeling. Perhaps it was more of a spurting addiction; A pleasurable guilt that, at the time, grounded my sanity and numbed my despair. This embodiment of my pain quintessentially gave my life meaning in so many more ways than any quotation of wisdom or fleets of words could apprehend.

Most often than not, people misunderstand the fondness that comes from such an act; It is never always about the lingering melancholy or the teeth-gritting anger that makes one plaster such masterpieces onto flesh and bones, and not onto rigid paper. It is never just because of the inanimate character named Mister Suffering nor of the anxious wait of Charon's ghastly ferry that sets one ablaze and breaks the commandments of holy covenants to perform blasphemous spectacles for an unseen audience that hide in the darkness of the auditorium.

It is something more sinister in nature, and something more dreadfully meaningful to the thespian of life's tragicomedy drama. The sculpture of my broken soul was molded with the dull cutting edge of life's vigor.

[towfuh]

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙲𝚞𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙴𝚍𝚐𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝙰 𝙱𝚛𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚗 𝙱𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 (𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔦); 𝐚 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐢𝐫

TRIGGER WARNING: Vivid Descriptions of S*lf-harm

“But when it came right down to it, the skin of my wrist looked so white and defenseless that I couldn’t do it. It was as if what I wanted to kill wasn’t in that skin or the thin blue pulse that jumped under my thumb, but somewhere else, deeper, more secret, and a whole lot harder to get.” - Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

It is said that over the years, your body becomes a kind of historical document, in which certain dramatic moments are memorialized in scar tissue. Trace depthless onto my very own fleshly tissues are my battle scars; Remnants of a war-torn battlefield that was once washed away by gloom and despair. WORD COUNT: 453┊ PART I, PART II

Forty-three lines.

In total, forty-three lines had been etched into the tawniness of my scarred skin. It may seem bizarre to many as if one were to proclaim the utterance to destroy the world; Many had ridiculed and scoffed at what they referred to as my "pettiness" and exhibitionism of such taboo, but never in the short-spanned seventeen years in my life have I ever regretted nor addressed the cicatrix of my body's bark with anything short of malice or contempt.

It is said that over the years, your body becomes a kind of historical document, in which certain dramatic moments are memorialized in scar tissue. Traced depthless onto my very own fleshly tissues are my battle scars; Remnants of a war-torn battlefield that was once washed away by gloom and despair.

But my skin was not always marred by such an illumination. Every individual. at some point into their routinely lives, comes forcefully subjected face-to-face with the dreadful being we know as "Suffering". Everyone loathes this being, and as much as possible, we always try to avoid having to deal with him as if he embodied the plague. Suffering never fails to overwhelm our surroundings in such a destructive and godforsaken manner; And I, too, have reluctantly been deceived time and time again by his excessively sweet and alluring words that constantly manages to seep into the cervices of both heart and mind like sticky poison.

Some form of twisted, yet noxiously addictive love began to bloom between the two of us; Me and Mister Suffering - His endearment amongst the contemptuousness of others began to serve as my fortitude; But little did I know that this so-called "fortitude" was not fortitude at all, but instead, a death sentence; My very own guillotine. I was merely counting the days upon which my last breath would have escaped from my being, and my last thoughts slowly dispersing in the suffocating air.

Throughout the time of my mid-adolescence, things did not get better. When I was in my twelfth year amidst this earth, I had lost both friend and foe. One of my closest companions and my father had met their ends. The occurrence of woeful passage felt so common that I, too, began to believe that the next to ride Charon's ferry would be me.

One might ask, perhaps in both the conservativeness and narrowness of mind, what could possibly be the source of such a state of horrendous sorrow? I am not quite sure; Whether these overpowering feelings were brought on by puberty's dangerous candelesance or by something even more sinister, I do not know. However, one thing was certain: I began to have a debilitating, unhealthy obsession of slashing my very own skin.

[towfuh]

W.C.: 402┊ᴾʳᵒˡᵒᵍᵘᵉ & ᶜʰᵃᵖᵗᵉʳ ᴵ┊ᶜʰᵃᵖᵗᵉʳ ᴵᴵ┊ᶜʰᵃᵖᵗᵉʳ ᴵᴵᴵ┊ᶜʰᵃᵖᵗᵉʳ ᴵⱽ┊ᴱᵖⁱˡᵒᵍᵘᵉ

Following the period after the war, Amorsolo continued his abruptly halted career. It is beyond the shadow of doubt to proclaim that the painter’s art flourished tremendously during the following decades, as Amorsolo returned, once again, to painting the brilliant student-drenched pastoral settings for which he was best known. 

He was at the height of his career at the onset of the late 1940s and early 1950s, becoming a recipient of several prizes and citations along the way. Amorsolo was largely acknowledged as the most influential artist of his generation, garnering him to acquire the title of the very first National Artist of his beloved homeland, the Philippines. 

Fernando Amorsolo continued to work until the last years of his life. A painter true to his paintbrush and the awning cloth of his canvas never once relented his love for the art. However, age had notably begun to manifest his being, and it was catching up quite quickly. In addition to his cardiac problems, the painter was also diagnosed early on with diabetes and arthritis. 

His eyesight was also slowly failing him, and Amorsolo was in need to undergo a cataract operation. In his later paintings, his blurred eyesight resulted in errant brushstrokes of red and blue lines where the mounds of earth and soil should have been; Organic beige and earthy brown replaced the vivid azure of the skies. But despite these obstacles, the quality of Amorsolo’s works remained excellent, and the popularity of his works never dwindled. 

In his final years, Amorsolo experience what were most likely the most devastating catastrophes in life that had ultimately lead to his downfall. Not even the onset of the past World War could amount to the death of Amorsolo’s eldest son, Fernando, Jr., who had passed away due to asthma and severe tuberculosis in 1964. The artist became so distraught that he couldn’t even face attending his own son’s funeral.

A few years after this unfortunate incident, in 1971, Amorsolo’s youngest child, Milo, died in an unforeseen vehicle accident. Asides from being a painter, Amorsolo was a loving and devoted father, and the death of two of his most precious children was merely too much for the man to bear. He could not face the agony of having to bury two of his children. Ultimately, Amorsolo had met his end only five days after Milo’s death, on April 24, 1972, due to heart failure. 

[towfuh]

Just as Amorsolo’s career was nearing its pinnacle, the Philippine was engulfed in the ravenous flames of World War II. At that time, the artist and his family were living in the heart of the Japanese-occupied metropolis of Manila, and they were certainly not immune to the harsh, rigid realities of the war. To ensure the safety of his family, Amorsolo rented another property near Raon Street for the ladies and children to remain, while the men worked at the Azcarraga residence, which was near a Japanese military garrison. Despite the prevailing privations, Amorsolo continued to paint during the conflict, but his works noticeably took a drastic change. 

Difficult times during the war undoubtedly did not leave the artist nor his family; The strenuous circumstances throughout the war had certainly taken a huge toll on Amorsolo. Amid the difficult economic environment in the Philippines, Amorsolo’s customer base dwindled. It became excruciatingly difficult to obtain painting supplies; And more crucially, Amorsolo was denied regular visits to the rural districts and outskirts of Manila which embodied the painter’s atelier and solace for painting his most well-known masterpieces. Because the painter was unable to use his usual surroundings and was ultimately deprived of creative inspiration, his paintings took a darker and much more cataclysmic tone. 

His canvases were dominated by dark depictions of ghastly human sorrow and tragedy. The idyllic sceneries to which the reclusive artist had once chosen to restrict him and his canvases were shattered; Leaving a space to be filled with only the superfluous contents of Pandora’s box. It is without a doubt that Amorsolo’s work genuinely expressed the artist’s inner personality and worldview of this period of conflict and bloodshed; Not only that, but not an ounce of superficiality seeped out of Amorsolo’s war-inspired canvic masterpieces. 

These painting were not created in response to a client’s wishes, but rather as a representation of the contradictory emotions racing from within the Filipino people at the hands of angst. As Amorsolo witnessed his surroundings be ravaged with havoc, Amorsolo was tremendously moved. 

He depicted burning structures and mothers fleeing the scene with their children. Instead of attractive, porcelain-pigmented luxurious women were the faces of women filled with so much horror and sadness as they were surrounded by the grimness of death and destruction. The effervescent smiles had vanished, replaced by expressions of subtle agony. 

Rather than the midday sun lighting the major subjects, only flames and embers from smoldering ruins served as the dominant light source, producing an eerie, foreboding flow amongst the sitters in the paintings. 

However, despite the tragedy of the war, Amorsolo still placed an inexplicable ray of hope in the form of his work’s fictional personas, suggesting resistance to the then occupying Japanese soldiers. His wartime paintings are heavily regarded to be among his best masterpieces, and up until this day, they are still displayed in the Malacañang Palace ever since 1948. 

[towfuh]

W.C.: 688┊ᴾʳᵒˡᵒᵍᵘᵉ & ᶜʰᵃᵖᵗᵉʳ ᴵ┊ᶜʰᵃᵖᵗᵉʳ ᴵᴵ┊ᶜʰᵃᵖᵗᵉʳ ᴵᴵᴵ┊ ᶜʰᵃᵖᵗᵉʳ ᴵⱽ ┊ ᴱᵖⁱˡᵒᵍᵘᵉ

Amorsolo’s stay in the metropolis was certainly anything but easy. To make ends meet, Bonifacia, his mother, worked as an embroiderer and seamstress. Amorsolo, on the other hand, made himself useful by assisting his uncle, Done Fabian, in his studio. It was during these times that Don Fabian began to take the lad under his wing and teach him about art. Due to Amorsolo’s family’s poor financial situation, he was unable to acquire formal art education in his early years, thus, having sufficed for an apprenticeship under his uncle. 

With his talent and skill, which during the early years have yet to be fully recognize, Amorsolo made a living the only way he know how: By doing art. The young man would produce sketches and sell them for about ten to fifteen centavos each to support his family, as well as to pay for his general education. Despite the prevailing financial troubles, Amorsolo was able to graduate with honors as a member of the Philippines School of Fine Arts’ inaugural graduating class in 1914. 

His professors where always left awestruck by the young man’s raw talent and skill; Never failing to leave them quite impressed with the works of the painter. Some of them even believed that Amorsolo’s brushworks surpassed their very own, and it was without doubt that the man’s asphalt road was something more radiant and scintillating than most. 

Amorsolo was then given a position as a professor at this alma mater in his early 20s, and at the same time, the young painter already establishing his name in the local art scene. One of the painter’s most renowned work during his 20s was the creation of the Ginebra San Miguel logo, which is still in use today in its original form depicting Sant Michael defeating a devil. 

Don Enrique Zobel, the beverage’s then company owner and an avid partisan of the arts, was so taken aback by Amorsolo’s work that he offered to send him to the Academia de San Fernando in Madrid for additional art studies, all with a handsome stipend for not only the young painter, but also to his wife and kids. But of course, Amorsolo had to first pass the academia’s evaluation and entry test; Amorsolo did not relent. 

Months went by, and after thoroughly analyzing Amorsolo’s entry work, the academic notified through a letter that based on the results, Amorsolo was wholeheartedly accepted into the school, but not as a student, instead of  as a professor in the institution. Amorsolo took the opportunity and sailed straight to Madrid, Spain where he finally settled and spent a total of seven months observing the works of Western art masters. 

During the young painter’s free time, Amorsolo would study the works of Diego Velasquez, El Greco, Goya, Monet, Manet, Van Dyck, and many more at art galleries and museums. Through presently witnessing each artist’s magnificent emblems, he had sharpened and improved his overall artistic method. Ultimately, Diego Velasquez was the man’s chief inspiration, and Amorsolo’s major influence was induced by the Spaniard’s craftmanship and superb brush technique, painterly style, and mastery of color. 

But despite the young painter’s exposure to Western influences, Amorsolo still stood with a strong sense of Filipino identity. Rather than the cosmopolitan milieu of the Western world, Amorsolo was still more drawn towards the verdant rice fields and the gently rolling hills of green of his very own home country. Even his illustrations of human beings still retained his sensuality and tenderness as that of the small-lithe bodies of the Filipino people. 

After seven months, Amorsolo returned home to his country, ready and as determined as ever to apply what he had learned. Various American military, businesspeople, and even politicians began to seek out his paintings to send back to the United States as a memento of their time in the Philippines. Undoubtedly, the young painter had successfully managed to create a name for himself and carved out a niche in not only the local, but also international art scene. The popularity of his masterpieces was at an all-time high, and the demand for Amorsolo’s delicate brushstrokes was undeniable.