english,
From you,
From Space
April 25, 2021
Literary: From You, From Space
From you,
From Space
April 25, 2021
Dearest past self,
We had always wanted to see outer space. Why? Our childhood was solitary, and so was the outside of planet Earth. We spent our younger years inside the K-2 library, as we never really made friends nor ever spoke a word to our classmates or anyone at all. And so, we were labeled a loner. No one dared to approach us. We didn't take it personally, though. Instead, we took it as a compliment, as we truly enjoyed being alone in the depths of row after row of bookshelves that we called our very own galaxy, with the books serving as the stars.
Our favorite book was the one named The Big Book of Space, containing 132 pages precisely, all about the beauty of the solar system. We read about constellations, that Halley’s Comet from 1986, space equipment, how gravity works, and space probes. Even the layers of our atmosphere and what elements it contained, which would later be useful in our higher-grade-level studies. Because of these wonders, we dreamed of becoming an astronaut—wanting to see, not just read about outer space.
And of course, this was along with wanting to look at one of the most gorgeous and breathtaking formations of gas residing millions of lightyears away—the nebula, which we later discovered cannot be seen by the naked human eye.
Moving on from that disappointment, we took the nebula as an inspiration to start drawing and painting. Our very first piece was a poorly watercoloured nebula. Despite it being crappily drawn, we were finally able to express ourselves. It may not have been with words, but drawing later opened many opportunities and experiences in our lives. The first and most memorable one was when someone decided to join us—our first friend.
They found us humorous when we decided to duck under the bulletin board of the K-2 hallways during an earthquake drill. They then attempted to become our friend by borrowing glue for an activity conducted by our teacher. And when we sat alone on the bus during the K-2 school field trip, they asked if they could sit with us, which we gladly allowed. Though, we didn't know that they wanted to be our friend—with every interaction, we only nodded, no words were spoken, and it wasn't until they asked to be, a year later when we answered with another nod, that we found out.
Eventually, we learned that they, too, enjoyed drawing, making our friendship more exciting. This common interest later became our main bonding activity. Since then, our life expanded and revolved not only around the K-2 library, but even around other beautiful planets like the multi-purpose hall where we ate lunch with our first friend, the new building's corridors where we cried and had someone to pat us back to comfort us, and Aling Norm's old selling spot in UPHS Katipunan where our first friend simply talked and told stories—unknowingly helping us form and speak words out loud. And now, instead of becoming dizzy when a stranger walks our way, or becoming a stuttering mess and just nodding when someone speaks to us, we finally have enough courage to approach and socialize with other individuals. We’ve even expanded our circle with supportive people who are genuinely ecstatic to see our drawings. All of these made us who we currently are: an artistic yet introverted and socially anxious individual.
Which makes me wonder: if given another chance, past self, what would you have done differently? Would you still have painted that piece?
Personally, I like where I am right now. Sometimes I do wish that I could interact with others easily, though I've embraced moving at our own pace.
Past self, I wish you well. Do keep in mind that things won't always turn out the way we expect, as the world works in unpredictable ways. I mean, who knew you'd turn out becoming artistic? That you'd eventually make cherished friends? That you'd finally have the courage to speak even a few words out loud? And that from becoming an unseen nebula, you'd become a brilliant supernova?
You hid in the corners of the kindergarten library, where no one ever found you despite being surrounded by glowing stars. So, keep reading, Nebula, and eventually, you'll find yourself. And when the time comes, Supernova, other stars will find you and shine with your glow.
Millions and millions of lightyears away resides an apprehensive, somehow sociable, and improving form of a human body yet to be known.
— the future you
We had always wanted to see outer space. Why? Our childhood was solitary, and so was the outside of planet Earth. We spent our younger years inside the K-2 library, as we never really made friends nor ever spoke a word to our classmates or anyone at all. And so, we were labeled a loner. No one dared to approach us. We didn't take it personally, though. Instead, we took it as a compliment, as we truly enjoyed being alone in the depths of row after row of bookshelves that we called our very own galaxy, with the books serving as the stars.
Our favorite book was the one named The Big Book of Space, containing 132 pages precisely, all about the beauty of the solar system. We read about constellations, that Halley’s Comet from 1986, space equipment, how gravity works, and space probes. Even the layers of our atmosphere and what elements it contained, which would later be useful in our higher-grade-level studies. Because of these wonders, we dreamed of becoming an astronaut—wanting to see, not just read about outer space.
And of course, this was along with wanting to look at one of the most gorgeous and breathtaking formations of gas residing millions of lightyears away—the nebula, which we later discovered cannot be seen by the naked human eye.
Moving on from that disappointment, we took the nebula as an inspiration to start drawing and painting. Our very first piece was a poorly watercoloured nebula. Despite it being crappily drawn, we were finally able to express ourselves. It may not have been with words, but drawing later opened many opportunities and experiences in our lives. The first and most memorable one was when someone decided to join us—our first friend.
They found us humorous when we decided to duck under the bulletin board of the K-2 hallways during an earthquake drill. They then attempted to become our friend by borrowing glue for an activity conducted by our teacher. And when we sat alone on the bus during the K-2 school field trip, they asked if they could sit with us, which we gladly allowed. Though, we didn't know that they wanted to be our friend—with every interaction, we only nodded, no words were spoken, and it wasn't until they asked to be, a year later when we answered with another nod, that we found out.
Eventually, we learned that they, too, enjoyed drawing, making our friendship more exciting. This common interest later became our main bonding activity. Since then, our life expanded and revolved not only around the K-2 library, but even around other beautiful planets like the multi-purpose hall where we ate lunch with our first friend, the new building's corridors where we cried and had someone to pat us back to comfort us, and Aling Norm's old selling spot in UPHS Katipunan where our first friend simply talked and told stories—unknowingly helping us form and speak words out loud. And now, instead of becoming dizzy when a stranger walks our way, or becoming a stuttering mess and just nodding when someone speaks to us, we finally have enough courage to approach and socialize with other individuals. We’ve even expanded our circle with supportive people who are genuinely ecstatic to see our drawings. All of these made us who we currently are: an artistic yet introverted and socially anxious individual.
Which makes me wonder: if given another chance, past self, what would you have done differently? Would you still have painted that piece?
Personally, I like where I am right now. Sometimes I do wish that I could interact with others easily, though I've embraced moving at our own pace.
Past self, I wish you well. Do keep in mind that things won't always turn out the way we expect, as the world works in unpredictable ways. I mean, who knew you'd turn out becoming artistic? That you'd eventually make cherished friends? That you'd finally have the courage to speak even a few words out loud? And that from becoming an unseen nebula, you'd become a brilliant supernova?
You hid in the corners of the kindergarten library, where no one ever found you despite being surrounded by glowing stars. So, keep reading, Nebula, and eventually, you'll find yourself. And when the time comes, Supernova, other stars will find you and shine with your glow.
Millions and millions of lightyears away resides an apprehensive, somehow sociable, and improving form of a human body yet to be known.
— the future you
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