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"We share the same song/ We know every word and every lyric/ But how come our melodies never meet?"

A Brief History of the Queen of Everything

I am the prodigal son of writing. I did not know I have it until my friend told me I have a natural voice despite the mortifying grammatical pitfalls I had when I was starting up. I was the literary editor of our school paper back in the days of puppy love and Sweet Valley High paperbacks. My first ever piece was a dysfunctional poem written for a crush named Orville. I dexterously entitled my poem, Order of the Villein and as they say it, the rest is history.

I am a product of creative mutation. Jessica Zafra in one of her essays in Twisted revealed that her grandmother fed her with The Manila Times soaked into the porridge; that could be the reason why her mental lexicons are filled to the brimming. My parents, on their part, umbilical tied me to the longitudinal pencil the day I was born. They favored the writing instrument over, say, a needle for embroidery; I couldn’t sew a thing, even the running stitch I messed up, or a ladle for cooking though I can admit to you now that I was once called a domesticated gay by a teacher because I can cook, I can do laundry, the works. The title stuck me for good. I do not have a single night life ever even if I am now accountable for my actions because I have stable job and all. Once, I tried going out to drown myself in vortex of spirits, but when clock struck 10, my feet itched and I have this weird feeling and the next thing I knew, I was flagging for a ride home. So much for my night life.  I slept that night, holding a book and a huge smile on my face.

And instead of asking for the baby’s formula, I asked for the quintessential pencil instead. At once, it was bitten because a baby normally bites but when I grew up; I have come to realize that the item you were born with sticks with you for good. 

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