I was meant to be a Christine or a Chloe. But at the last minute, my mom went with Charisse.
Charisse Eryan Pablo Bare.
Charisse meant grace and beauty. Eryan came absolutely out of thin air. Pablo will always be revered. It paints and pains a huge pair of shoes where my late Daddy Lo stood, a father of eight children, a pastor, and a founder of our fellowship. And Bare? There is nothing as soft and vulnerable, which encapsulates the kind heart and patient nature of my dad.
Are we defined by our mundane names? By these compilations of strokes that form a sound? By these letters that resolutely found their way beside one another? They look so close, almost intimate. But under a magnified microscope, you can feel how uncomfortable they are to be squeezed into an intangible box, a suffocating space in time society designed to keep us in line. A label, one among many, perpetuated and conformed to keep the world sane.
If I grew up to be Chloe, would I have embodied a different persona? Would I have pursued a widely, wildly divergent path? If I was named Christine who fell in love with another Christine, would it have been the talk of the ages? If I was conceived in a different womb, grew up on a different continent, and had a name with so many vowels I cannot pronounce, how incomparable would have life approached me? Where would I run from and what would I run to?
I am the classmate who tells tales about the world she wishes was ready to be how she sees it. I am the self-proclaimed empath who feels the excruciating suffering of the masses she cannot help, at least not in any exacting, consequential way. I am the humanista who argues, fights, and, at her lowest, gives in to how out of her control it all really is.
Are we defined by the way we view the world and where we stand on it? Are we defined how early and certain we realize our place in it? A lawyer, a doctor… such noble endeavors. How about the wife who works the same hours, even more so, but is always treated like a human punching bag by her husband who brings home the smell of the whole bar menu and all the cheap perfume? How about the farmers who get up before the sun to break their backs till dusk feeding the whole nation only to go home to their families with barely a portion of what they reaped and sowed? How about the diligent dishwashers on the outskirts of Ermita and all the looks they get for doing a job that puts food on the table of their starving household?
Are we defined by the sacrifices we make in the name of what’s important to us? Are we defined by the values we compromise and the situations we put ourselves in in an attempt at an elevated status quo in a society where our predestined partiality had long been decided by those who gain from what we lose and what we do not know?
I am the daughter who caused my parents a great many disappointments as much as she has brought them pride. I am the overachiever who ranked top 1 in most of her subjects and the talk of the faculty in contexts that are not always ethical. I am the outspoken rebel who fought for the right causes in all the wrong ways.
Are we defined by the chess games we lost, won, tied, and were not ours to play to begin with? Are we defined by our intelligence or the way we use it? Are we defined by these mundane achievements printed on paper slapped behind a fragile glass? When all we are ever going to inevitably be is another name on the grass?
I am the talented middle child who plays the piano for a Savior whose followers detest who she loves, whose dogmas crucify her. I am the conflicted teenager who hides in the closet with her worn-out heart and smiles as she writes in the dark.
Are we defined by our pain? By the stories we tell ourselves and the demons we choose to hide? By the scars and marks that leave no further room for our tomorrows? By the shame and guilt brought about by the mere fact that we exist. By the consoling and hugging ourselves to sleep, for we endlessly endeavor to conceal what makes it real… What makes us real?
What was an experience or an achievement that has helped define me as a person? This series of realizations. That we are not defined by one lapse in judgment or one decision with a gun pointed in our heads. That who we were do not define us and who we will be. That every conscious decision adds up. That every moment is a defining one.
That I am defined by what I choose to do in the present moment, with the right tools in my arsenal, with the wisdom of those who came before me, and with the grace of our Creator.
That I have it in me to choose my path and live deliberately. To go against the conditioning of my genetics, upbringing, and environment. That I am experiencing life, and life is experiencing and expressing itself through me. That life has manifested in billions of ways through every species walking on this planet and in the vast space beyond this floating rock. And that I am lucky to have been one of them. That every circumstance and unknowable force has been working coherently to sustain me and help me thrive. That life is happening for us humans, for me. Upon such realization, how can you not decide there and then to choose differently in every gap between your stimulus and response?
Every moment has defined me. I am a walking account of all the books I have read. I am the personified frequency of all the songs I listen to. I am the sum of the people I treasure, grieve, despise, and look up to.
But answering that question was but a stepping stone. It was not nearly as paramount as answering, “From this moment on, what will I allow to define me as a person?” And my answer is this.
I am defined by the way I feel everything so deeply it pierces through every fiber of my being while healing me. I am defined by all the ways I have loved and have lost and have tried again.
I am defined by all the ways I have touched the hearts of those around me. I am defined by the impact of my words. I am defined by all the ways I have saved people and the ways they have saved me.
Because, at the end of the day, we are but a twinkling dust in this unimaginable infinite. Our life here is but a fleeting glitch in the matrix. Even if all of the human race gathered in the largest city, we would never amount to a dot in the boundless void that is the ineffable sketch of the cosmos, we would not even come close. Yet, here we are right now. We exist. We could have been a chicken or its egg, a free-flowing river, or an inanimate rock. But we live, breathe, feel, and die as humans. What could be more priceless than to be human? We could have been anything or anyone, anyone at all. Yet we find ourselves in the arms of those we love with the privilege of knowing and being known.
I stand before the great unknown humbled and bewildered.
The least we can do is make one another’s stay a little bit bearable, a teensy tiny bit better than it would have been had we not existed. And pray that our attempt to make a difference is enough and find peace in that.
This is what I wish to do with my transient stay. This is what I wish to define me by. And I know my pursuit of degrees in Philosophy, Psychology, and eventually, Law shall enable me to help more people and touch more hearts.
“Charisse had a kind soul. One that the world so desperately needed.”
“Charisse, she was always there when I needed her.”
“Charisse? She saved me.”
