Lopez
People often wonder why I have had a longstanding love affair with the night. As soon as the sun sets and darkness envelops the land, I am immediately more alive, more alert, more awake, and yes, more enthusiastic. A certified night owl, I operate better at night and I never set morning engagements unless otherwise necessary. In fact, if I do not have to be up early, I prefer to retire right before sunrise.
My family and friends often joke that I’m like a vampire, an “ungo,” because ever since I could remember, I’ve been a creature of the night. A number of studies have come out indicating a correlation between a predilection for staying up late and higher IQ, and I’d like to think this is the reason for my sleeping habits, but I have had some recent realizations that point to something more personal and deeply experiential.
I have mild photophobia (a medical symptom characterized by intolerance to visual perception of light, not a morbid fear of light) and this, in large part, explains why my room is always very dark (it’s hard to say what time of day it is when inside) and why I have become a night owl. Then again, beyond my photophobia, I find myself walking outside in the dead of night, throughout every corner of our family compound, in the midst of giant fruit trees, all while bats fly around and crawly critters make creepy noises that’d normally make the hairs on your back stand.
I have a number of quirks and this is one of the ways I relax, reflect, recharge, and regroup. The darkness gives me a rather unique sense of peace, calm, and clarity.
I was in the middle of watching a horror movie at the cinemas a month or so ago when I suddenly realized the reason for this affinity with darkness. I was wondering why I don’t scare easy, why monster don’t frighten me, and so I found myself recalling my childhood in search for answers.
I had a generally happy childhood. I was an only child for nearly seven years and, apart from having most of the toys I wanted, I had more than enough time and freedom to play make-believe. But before Manang Pelang entered my life when I was three years old, I had a yaya (name withheld to respect her privacy) who was not as patient with me. (Manang Pelang is our second mother who has taken care of all of us siblings and who continues to shower us with unconditional love now that my niece Arabella is the princess of the Lopez household.)
This yaya was horrible. From when I was a little over one until I was two years old, this yaya would subject me to what we would now consider as “child abuse.” Of course I was a naughty child, pilosopo to a fault, and I would get why she would lose her patience dealing with me. Still, I was just a child.
She would force me to eat pork (which I never eat unless it’s Cebu lechon; something I discovered only when we moved to Cebu at age seven) and would use a barbecue stick to scare me by pretending to plunge the sharp end into my eyes.
Again, this happened before I turned three, before Manang entered my life — from age one till before I turned three — and I remember everything oh so vividly like it was yesterday.
When she couldn’t put me to sleep in the afternoon, she would lock me up in our downstairs bathroom and make sure she’d seal the windows shut so it’d be pitch black inside. From outside the door, she would then scare me with stories of monsters, vampires, and other creatures of the macabre.
You’d think the experience would scar me for life, but while it did scare me maybe the first two times, I quickly learned to enjoy the exercise. For the toddler that I was, the darkness offered a peaceful and tranquil respite, an escape from the loud and cruel woman outside with whom I had forged mutual enmity.
I embraced the darkness and turned my fear into fantasy, a world where I overcame the demons who did her bidding. Vanquished, they became my friends and allies, and so each punishment became an opportunity for me to take full control of things and transform the darkness into a world I could call my own.
While alone in the dark, I kept the faith that I would soon have a better yaya. And I was right, God is great, for soon enough I would come to know of Manang Pelang, and along with her, pure and genuine kindness and a love so unconditional.
I would adopt the same attitude for people and situations that would antagonize me later on in life — that instead of allowing them to overcome me with feelings of fear, resentment, and bitterness, I would see them as interesting pit stops in my journey through life.
And what of my cruel yaya? She visited us one time when I was around twelve years old and already living in Cebu. She was shocked that I recalled every single detail of what I’ve had to endure under her supposed care. She apologized profusely and I was quick to offer my forgiveness.
After all, if not for her, I wouldn’t have had those amazing adventures in the dark.