Conversing with God and Traumatizing My Mother, an Autobiography

Here's the second creative writing result.

I’ve always felt that writing an autobiography is a two-edged sword. You have to tell your story and be truthful but not too truthful. We all have skeletons in our closet that we’d rather stay in there. It’s a balancing act, you don’t want to brag about your accomplishments but you don’t want to cover yourself with false modesty either. One thing about autobiographies though, at least the writer can’t say he’s unfamiliar with the subject.

Where to begin? I could say that I was born in Bacolod and while that is factual it doesn’t exactly make for an exciting read. Don’t you just hate those biographies that just list facts down? It’s like a bio-data written in prose. There are only two significant things anyone ought to know about my early life. This is the first: my mother blames me for ending her ballet career. She finally got the lead in a ballet recital at the age of thirty-three, pretty late if you know ballet. This has been a dream of hers for a long time. She was working hard in preparation for it when she got pregnant. This has always puzzled me, how was it my fault? It was my father and her who did the dirty deed! She says that she could’ve continued with the recital except I was such a big baby that she soon got too unwieldy to continue. Again, the blame, if any, should be placed either at my father’s feet for his genes or possibly my mother for her appetite. However, this has been cruelly shot down with the parents’ prerogative of “I’m right, now get me a glass of water.”

The second significant thing is similar in theme to the first. A couple of weeks before I was due my mother felt contractions. She quickly rushed to Our Lady of Mercy Hospital, where to her chagrin; the doctor told her it was a false alarm. False alarms are common to first-time mothers; however, I’m child number four. The day of tribulation wasn’t over yet. The hospital’s elevators weren’t working so my mother had to go down the stairs. Her doctor, however, didn’t want her to walk all those steps in her gravid condition. I was born nine pounds and two ounces; you can only imagine the weight she was carrying (actually you don’t need to: the weight was nine pounds and two ounces). So the doctor had her put in a litter to be carried down the steps. The litter was carried on the shoulders of two men: one was elderly and the other was scrawny. My mother held on for dear life, she was so heavy that she was afraid the two gentlemen were going to drop her. To top it all off, my mother has a fear of heights. Just imagine being carried down three flights of stairs on the shoulders of two men who look like they’ll snap in a good breeze while being nine months pregnant and suffering from vertigo; I think he should’ve just let her walk, it couldn’t have been any worse. Needless to say, she puts the blame on me as well. She has to blame me for something; I heard that the actual labor was really short. Anticlimactic, isn’t it?

There’s an Eastern belief that states that you choose who you’re born to, where you’re born and what kind of person you’ll be. You simply forget all this when you’re actually born. So if you were born with buckteeth, you have no one to blame but yourself. I bet you parents, those sneaky little bastards, came up with this one to avoid responsibility when their children come up to whine, “Why wasn’t I born pretty?” “It’s your fault I don’t have long legs!” I actually believe this though (both the Eastern belief and that parents are sneaky little bastards) and I’ve given this a lot of thought.

God: (coming up to my soul) So Jubal, you’re going in tomorrow. Had any thought about the life you’re going to lead? (God, being omniscient, already knows I’m going to be called “Jubal.”)

Jubal: They’re going to call me “Jubal?” I’m going to be Jewish?

God: No, no, no… I’m sorry; I keep forgetting not to do that. (But we know he never forgets; I also believe God has a twisted sense of humor) Let’s see, you believe in reincarnation…hmm (God is checking his PDA) okay, I’ve assessed your karma. Let’s see possible birthing sites…

Jubal: (looking over God’s shoulder and looks at the PDA) The Philippines?! Who was I? Hitler?!

God: Relax. That’s just one of the options. Let’s start from the beginning, male or female?

Jubal: Definitely male. I don’t think I can go through PMS again.

God: Okay, (makes a note in his PDA) now what advantages would you like? However, based on your karmic debt you have to take some large disadvantages.

Jubal: I want to be beautiful, rich, brilliant and born to an aristocratic family, preferably the British Royal Family.

God: (sighs) We have this conversation every time. No no no and no. The whole point of living is to learn the value of things. How can you learn if you get everything?

Jubal: (sulking and mumbles) but I wanna be rich and beautiful and smart and belong to royalty and have everyone love me and be successful and rich and have a nice car and famous and date celebrities but find true love and live happily ever after.

God: No.

Jubal: Well, can’t blame a guy for trying. Okay disadvantages (looks over list at God’s PDA), can I be colorblind? That looks interesting. Let’s see what else – nearsighted! That’s always good. I want to be nearsighted again; it’s something I can live with… Hmmm… enough physical disadvantages let’s go to character
flaws… laziness! That ought to take a big chunk out of the karmic debt.

God: It has to be the major kind of laziness though. You also have to get procrastination, low self-discipline, 11th hour shenanigans, king of the last minute and escapism.

Jubal: Wow, all that?

God: Look at it this way, you pay off some of your bad karma and you might manage to work some of this out and never have to deal with it again.

Jubal: Okay and throw in some wrong-headed pride, but just a minor one. The kind of pride where I’ll do something just because I’m told not to; but I don’t want to be too proud.

God: Okay. Major disadvantages noted. Shall we continue to advantages?

Jubal: I want to be born to a good family this time. Not necessarily perfect, but I want one where I can actually talk to my parents and I have an actual relationship with my siblings.

God: I can arrange that but I’m afraid with your karmic debt you can’t afford to live in a first world country.

Jubal: But I was looking forward to going back to Europe! Come on, what I did wasn’t that bad… (God gives Jubal a look) Okay okay Third World country it is then. But I don’t want to deal with winter if I’m broke so let’s go tropical.

God: Southeast Asia is popular this year. Lots of growth.

Jubal: (looks suspiciously at God) Why do I have the feeling you want me in the Philippines?

God: (looking innocent – he’s very good at this) Now why would I do that? Okay, you got me. It’s part of the Plan. You know, the Ineffable Plan? The one I have for all Humanity? Just trust me on this. Besides the Philippines isn’t that bad. It has great beaches; warm, friendly people and you can have a Western upbringing coupled with the Eastern concern for family. It’s suited to you.

Jubal: Fine, fine I’ll take it if it makes you happy.

God: Good, good. (Tabulating scores on the PDA) Hmm, looks like you still aren’t balanced. You need to take at least two more disadvantages.

Jubal: What? Are you serious? (Looks at the PDA) Goddamn it! (looks at God guiltily) I beg your pardon. Hmm, okay throw in overweight. At least that’ll fall in line with the laziness. I’ve been fat before I can deal with that. And hmm, let’s see… (reads through PDA) okay I got it, make me gay as well.

God: Gay? I said choose a disadvantage.

Jubal: I’ll be overweight, lazy and born in a country where 90% of the population is Christian. I’m colorblind meaning no career in fashion and I’ll be too proud to go through the trouble of dating.

God: You have a point. Okay, log homosexuality as a disadvantage… hey, you actually got some points back. You can spend it on an advantage.

Jubal: Yeah, make me an agnostic.

Well you get the idea. While I’ll agree that maybe this isn’t quite how it happens (but then how do we know for sure), this is one of my strongest beliefs. It feels like a Truth (with a capital “T”) to me. I believe that we are put on Earth to learn a lesson in life and when we learned everything we can (and since we’re human, we don’t always get it right at one go, so we keep coming back until we do), we go to another place to do God-knows-what, literally. This other place may be another world like Earth with another set of lessons, or this place could be what people believe to be Heaven.

Having conversations with God and traumatizing my mother were tough acts to follow; consequently the rest of my childhood was unremarkable. We moved to Manila when I was four and I lived there until I graduated from high school. I did things other children did. I played with my toys, fought my brothers, got thrown out (in one memorable case, literally) of my older brother’s room for being obnoxious, visited my dad in his office – it’s just that my father’s office was a movie set.

People always ask me what it’s like growing up to be the son of Peque Gallaga. My life was different and even as a child I knew it. The awareness started early with me, how can I not know? When forty-year old teachers ask their seven-year old student for movie passes, it clues a person in that his dad is special. It’s not my father being a director that made my life different though. My father, being who he is, would’ve made life different for us anyway. If he had stayed in Bacolod to teach instead of going back to Manila all those years ago, I don’t think I’d have lived a different life. My father would’ve been around more but it wouldn’t have made much of an impact; I never really noticed my father was out a lot. It was simply a matter of fact. Things were definitely more exciting when he was around but one can only have so much excitement.

The reason things would always be different is simply because my father is a reader, he is someone who pursues knowledge. He is constantly getting involved with new things and dragging the rest of us with him.

I have a personal library that I’m not ashamed of. My library is larger than some family’s whole collections (I know, I’ve visited some of my high school classmates’ homes). My father has lost, given away and been robbed of more books than I currently own. He’s always willing to learn. I know people associate food with him because of his size but his appetite for ideas defines him far more than what he eats. With him as a father, I would never have had a “normal” childhood (normal being relative – I know some real weird families out there, most of whom I’m related to).

The other thing I’m always asked growing up is if I was going to be a director like my father or an actor. I used to get irritated by that question. It’s as if I have no individuality; that I have no dreams or aspirations separate from my father. I’m not simply an extension of his DNA! Things changed though when I hit twenty but I’m getting ahead of myself. I still have puberty to breeze through.

Puberty was a breeze. Okay that’s done; now on to my twenties.

I’m not kidding.

Okay I am. Puberty was a breeze though. I have to thank the Christians for that. I used to watch this show that came on before my Saturday cartoons. It was a news program that wore its Christian heart on its sleeve. I didn’t care, I was eleven. Saturday, however, was the only day of the week that I would wake up before seven on my own to catch the cartoons and since it came right before I’d give it a go. I don’t remember anything about it except that it gave away a free magazine subscription to anyone who wrote in. So I did.

I got, aside from the magazine, another magazine by the same people but written for teenagers. I was excited. Not for anything but because I got something for free! And it wasn’t a plastic army figurine in one color that was the consolation prize for not being able to pin the tail on the donkey! The magazine I originally subscribed to bored me to tears (I was eleven) but the teen magazine intrigued me. I read one issue that detailed what happened to children when they hit puberty. It was written in a way that didn’t insult my intelligence, engaged my interest and gave me all the details. It warned me about physical changes and loss of emotional control, etc. Almost literally the next day I hit puberty. I couldn’t have been better prepared.

In high school I was a geek and a nerd. However I was a tall and hefty one. My older brother was also one of the popular kids in school, who the gangs around our school actually respected and feared, so I was left alone. My best friend then (and now) was one of the most beautiful girls in my school; everyone assumed that we were going steady so they thought I couldn’t be a sissy (evidence to the contrary) if I was dating her (we didn’t know that at the time, though, and she’s blamed me ever since for not getting dates in high school – I seem to have gone through life being blamed for something I couldn’t help). Since I had these things in my favor I was saved from being harassed by bullies. I wasn’t in the cool crowd but I was definitely not one of the “losers.” I was also a Junior Police (like a hall monitor but with more responsibilities and powers) and the right-hand man of the Head Teacher, who was in charge of discipline. I was a Nazi in school and the lower years loathed me. They couldn’t complain, though, because I always followed the rules myself and made no exceptions: not for myself, my friends, or even for my younger brother.

I didn’t go out. I would go to school and go home. If I went to the mall, it was because I was buying something. I never “hung out.” I loved being at home. My parents made it very comfortable. I actually was forced to go out and socialize because I would spend most of the time in my room reading in bed.

It was a small school so I knew everybody and everyone knew me. My personal circle of friends, though, was small and stayed pretty constant. My three best friends in grade school are still my friends now although we don’t see each other very often.

I went to university in Cebu after I graduated. This is when I really started to grow up. You can’t grow up when you are safe and comfortable. Growing up is testing your limits and seeing how strong you are and you can’t do that when you get breakfast in bed and have a car at your beck and call. I was by myself and I thought I could handle it. For the most part I did but it also served me one of the most painful and humiliating lessons about life I ever received. It would not be the last. This is one of those skeletons in the closet I’d rather not air so I’ll just gloss over that bit and get to the one I’m willing to air.

In Cebu I also made a lasting friendship. It was here, a couple of months shy of my twentieth birthday, that I realized just how popular my father was. My friend is a huge fan of my father and he actually went out of his way to meet me. He was a super senior (someone who’s been in university for longer than four years) and he actually hunted me down to talk to me, a freshman.

I started to get an inkling about how big my dad was. You must understand that I grew up in Manila. The conceit of the Manileño is that Manila is the Philippines. If it’s happening in Manila it’s happening throughout the whole country. When I arrived in Cebu I realized that there’s a whole other country out there that isn’t in tune with Manila. There are things happening out here that Manila isn’t even aware of. And they knew who my father was. That’s when it hit me. It hasn’t failed yet. I’ve been to a lot of places and I’ve yet to meet a Filipino who hasn’t heard of my father. It’s mind-boggling. I’ve always felt lucky and proud to have my dad be my dad; but it was in Cebu when I felt privileged to have him as my father. I don’t feel privileged because he’s famous, I feel privileged because everyone who I met is proud of my father, of his accomplishments.

The rest is boring recent history. I dropped out (honorable dismissal!) of UP Cebu, bummed for a semester and then went to La Salle Bacolod. I expanded my circle of friends, fell in love with theater, and, only after graduating from college, discovered what it was I wanted to do with my life.

Since graduating I’ve been arranging my life so I can teach. I joined the LCC graduate school so I could get the credentials I need to become a working teacher. It is a goal that I’ve managed to keep for five years now. That’s a record for me. Perhaps I’m beating that laziness after all.