Journeys of A Wandering Mind

             Yeah, I admit it, I’m a half.  It’s what people here call a person who is half Maranao and half outsider.  Others have a more genteel (and just as derogatory) term for that: Mestizo or Mestiza (yeah, as if I had a parent who is white).  To many people outside, it’s not supposed to be a big deal.  To me it shouldn’t be, either.  But to others here, it is.

              One of the first things a half Maranao can expect is DISCRIMINATION.  Yeah, you may have chosen to be a Muslim, but to a lot of Maranaos (poor narrowed minded as a lot of them are) it won’t change a thing.  To them whether you pray five times a day or not, as long as one of your parent’s isn’t Maranao, that’s a different kettle of fish.  When it’s a marriage that’s being talked about, this sort of thing sort of pops up in the conversation.  Half Maranaos sometimes end up marrying their own kind or a Christian because they can’t marry a Maranao for reasons that stem up mainly from the biased views of a prejudiced majority.  I can expect the same to happen to me, because as yet, no Maranao (or any guy for that matter) has yet bothered to get acquainted with me.  But I don’t mind. 

         It seems to me that it’s only the Maranaos that have this mind-set.  My Catholic mother side relatives accept me as I am.  The ice is broken because I am at least a part of them and take part of my ancestry from them.  It’s my father side relatives (at least the more distant ones) still are hostile towards me somehow because of what I am.  But I don’t care.  You can take a look at my mobile phone book and see that most of the relatives there are from my mother’s side.  Simply put, a half Maranao is a novelty to his mother side relatives and a creature that’s equivalent of a mongrel due to mixed blood.  Ah, to be considered like a dog!  Ok, so they think I’m a dog? They better watch out because I might bite them someday, hahahaha!

          Anyway so much for that.  I don’t think myself as a half-Maranao.  Citizen of the world is more like it.  Besides, a person’s ancestry is nothing.  It’s what’s inside that counts.

17 days…..17 days more and I will hit my 25th year.  It’s strange but it seems to me that I was just in college yesterday.  Time does fly so fast. 

Ok so 25,25,25.  Hmmm, which means that it’s about time that I re-evaluate my life and review,  throw away and create new goals and dreams.  It would mean that I would have to really plot my life now…as in now.  It would mean cutting down on chat (T-T) concentrating on graduate studies and be more responsible.  It would mean looking for guys who would be good ….ahhh i guess I’d have to admit that I never really had a boyfriend (which makes some acquaintances give me that creepy "are you lesbian?" look).  Look I may not really be looking but it’s ok if i find myself married in a few years.

25….I’ll be 25 but I feel 52.  25 but tired of living.  25 but finding that the world sometimes doesn’t offer you much of a choice.  25 but finding out that you are getting older.

25.  Oh well.  On that fateful day, I guess I’d just have an ordinary day with no fuss, no frills,just the normal thing.