Being Seen

I was never like one of those Broadcasting or Tourism majors who turn heads whenever they decide to grace the heights of the main artery of the campus avenues. Nor did I wish to be one of them. In four inch high heels, made-up, and fashionably efficient, you would never find me. A glance from another human being transforms me into a makahiya that closes its tiny leaves when touched. Flattered is what I feel when strangers decide to talk to me, stirring butterflies in my phobic tummy.


I’ve always been someone who fades in the crowd, who desires to say something, but decides not to and lurks in silence. I’m someone who no one notices when I disappear. It’s as if it was my destiny to never to be noticed, as if the colors I see in the world were the own tints of my eyes.








Awkward, fashionably dispossessed, nerdy and always tense, that’s how I come out to the world, but the light reflects misleadingly. This wallflower suffering from crowd-o-phobia for the past fifteen years had grown experienced had grown to have a heart no one can emulate but that doesn’t matter anyway. The only way I can pour my heart and soul is in my writings. It was the only way out there to di-stress, because I know no one else will ever understand. They will just say all the wrong things.


You see, there’s not much in me that will interest boys. In my eighteen years of life, I’ve considered myself not measuring into the concept of physical beauty, an invisible mortal, almost incapable of being seen. I’ve been denying this. I’ve never openly admitted this to myself. In high school, I’ve rummaged around thoughts of being a strange one. Maybe, I was looking down to myself that I succumbed into this tomboy in the past. Or maybe not. I was never insecure and even though I know I was strange I’ve never been bitten by pangs of jealousy. I’ve never been desperate, especially anything as trifling as face value.








In college, the ride made a crazy spin. I am not invisible anymore.


Right here, right now, I am starting to make an image of me. It’s not something like a dramatic physical transformation that took place. What’s happening right now is more of an emotional twist, the heroic weed grew into a superb one, like gossamer floating in the sunlight of a summer breeze capturing light and shadow as it glisten. I am that weed.


I don’t know how long it would take for the weed to finally bloom. I don’t know if the light will stay for long. I don’t know if the heroic weed will keep it up in a concrete. The only thing I know is deep within the weed, she knows there’s no stopping anymore and being seen is such a wonderful feeling she couldn’t just let it go.


I am no longer invisible. I am loved, by this one great person. He picked me.