CHEEN is still bounded by FILIPINO culture

“ Simply, we grew up

in countries that differ in society and culture ”

All I could find was an empty golden box that smelled of the minty chocolate bars it once kept. The egg, still fresh from the fridge, was doodled with our names and other misspelled inscriptions. All the scraps I could lay my hands on came with the little toys inside the box. And under all these, we tucked a photo symbolizing our most treasured childhood before sealing the box and burying it underground forever. It was a sudden urge of summer – and of a sentimental, hopeful, innocent heart. A time capsule crammed with what now seem distant memo-ries of our wonder years.

I grew up watching the teenage show “Lizzie McGuire” – the “Hannah Montana” of my generation. The show follows the life of Lizzie (Hilary Duff), an average middle schooler, during her awkward teenage years. Together with two clueless parents, a rascal little brother, geek and Latina best friends, a bunch of stereotypical school-mates, and one animated alter ego, she gets through the knotty initiation of adolescence.

Following all sixty-five episodes in three years, I basically grew up with the character. But living thousands of miles away, I spent those years rather differently.

Obviously, there is no middle school in our education system. When thirteen year-olds enter the 7th grade in the United States, children that age step into their first year of high school in the Philippines; though that really doesn’t make the difference. Lizzie attended Hillridge Junior High which is a public school. I studied in Lorenzo Ruiz de Manila School which, besides being a private school, is a Catholic school. Her middle school life was the taste of liberty while mine was that of shelter. When she was introduced to the open world, I was protected from it. All my predispositions had been greatly shaped by this kind of upbringing. I loathed vulgarity. I enjoyed tradition.tradition. And it was only after I graduated that I was brought in the open world she knew.

When you’re thirteen, the society you know revolves around only those you know in school. If Hillridge Junior High was populated with the jock, the cheerleader, the geek and the invisible, mine only had boys, girls, teach-ers and the handbook. Stereotypes did not dictate authority. The school did. There were no rules as to who sits where or who you’re allowed to talk to. But there were rules as to what all should wear, how all should act, and when all should speak. It’s as if there was democracy though there really was none. It was hard to know your-self and what you really want when you’re confined in this kind of society. During those years of self-discovery, it was difficult to grow and be an individual. So unlike Lizzie, I wasn’t the invisible kid. I wasn’t the cheerleader either or the geek. I was just “one of them”.

More than the school and society, the family influences our most vulnerable years. Lizzie’s parents might have been clueless as to raising a teenager, but they offered not just comical interludes. Although they were always her last resort when it came to dealing with her teenage dilemmas, she could speak up about it quite openly with them. She trusted their mature ideals and whatever they said always turned out to be true. On the subject of trust, I never had issues with my parents. During those years, however, I could never come up to them and candidly talk about my teenage drama. I was always on guard every time they brought up the topic. It just felt awkward. And even if I knew they’ve been through it too, I still thought it was none of their busi-ness.

Even so, my parents reached out to me the only way they know how. They would randomly recount their sto-ries during their teen years although it took a while for me to understand. And even if these moments were my type of comic relief, I know they shared with me lessons that would be of great help someday. I grew up with Lizzie, but it felt like my time to grow took longer than hers. It’s not because she’s made of fiction and my world is real. Simply, we grew up in countries that differ in society and culture. The way I was brought up by my school, the society I knew, and my parents was unlike hers.

At first I thought she had a better life growing up. She met challenges along the way but at the end of the daAt first I thought she had a better life growing up. She met challenges along the way but at the end of the day, everything worked out for her. That age in my life was mostly a bumpy ride. But when I look back now, I see that all she went through were merely episodes of my early teenage years. And when I compared my life to hers, the better life I believed she had was just the little moments through my potholed journey. These were the little pieces that I’ve always kept in my memory; the little details that made the journey worth taking.

They say growing up takes one to let go. So I kept the memories of my childhood inches below my reach. I They say growing up takes one to let go. So I kept the memories of my childhood inches below my reach. I thought I could always dig it up in case my life needed a dose of nostalgia. But the truth is, believing you can always go back only deters you from moving forward.

It happens every day while I do nothing to fight it back. In fact, I wish to keep it slow. I want to bask in all that is yet unknown. Although I wish to preserve all the memories, it really isn’t growing up that I fear most. It is growing old.

WONDERYEARS