Blogging about Jesus is my own way of discipleship. Most of my essays’ sole purpose is to encourage readers to become Christians. I disclose my flaws to testify that God loves even the unworthiest. I write for skeptics, atheists, for Christians like me who understand, for the curious, interested and searching. Passion for writing and for God motivate me to continue blogging throughout the years. But to be able to write a Christ-centered post worth sharing I must listen to preaching, read and savor God’s Word like mouth-watering delicacy and be filled with His spirit. We can’t give something we don’t have. I must fill the void in my heart in order to fill yours too. Sometimes I also don’t feel like writing because I feel empty. Sometimes my doubt is more potent than my faith and I let rage overpowers love. I keep my laptop and Bible shut in those times. But now is a different thing, I would like to write no matter what I feel. For change, I would blog not to encourage, inspire, or explain Christianity. I don’t want others to think that the blogger who writes Godly stuff and this similar person in the real world have different personas and everything written here is a work of fiction, created only to fix my reputation, to delude world into thinking that my life is Godly and holy, to serve as a clean mask to cover a filthy face. I have shortcomings. Christianity doesn’t mean sinlessness. So this time I would write not about God or anything related to holiness. I would write about my inner demons and all non-Christian things.
Since I was as young as six I’ve been writing prose and poems. I’ve always been amazed by the meanings of words and how a piece of writing can change moods, feelings, perceptions and ideas. For me, someone who can write sensibly and effectively is something else. Jose Rizal was my first favorite author after I read the whole El Filibusterismo when I was in grade four. Years back, I was blogging anonymously with a pseudonym. Profanities were my expressions to add spice to my raving. To express yourself without thinking that someone you know will judge and misunderstand you is liberating. And if anyone does, who cares? They don’t even know your real name. Overwhelmed and driven by dark emotions such as hatred, angst and bitterness I put my feelings into written words. I was Alla Francois in Aftertaste, spoke perfect sarcasm and was on the verge of depression.
Long time ago I was existing but I was dead. I was tortured by life’s callousness then murdered by having no purpose to carry on. I remember when I suspected myself suffering from Hypersomnia. I wasn’t feeling lazy or exhausted but I was sleeping for more than an average person can. My body was abnormally urging me to doze off to desperately escape reality and I knew it was getting serious when it started to affect my activities of daily living. I struggled to stay awake to study lessons that eventually led to low marks in class. My dream of graduating with Latin honor vanished like a bubble. Underweight and ugly were the exact adjectives to describe my appearance when I was in college. I was an honor student in my younger years but I always was lacking confidence to entice teachers. Take for example, even if some of my classmates applauded for my speech I personally wrote I received a lower grade than my classmate who stammered. Annoyance and hatred towards dumb, austere and stern professors were the reasons why I often was hiding my face from teachers who were belittling me or never knew I existed. “Nakasimangot ka na naman. Wag mo pasanin ang mundo.” (You always frown. Don’t carry the weight of the world.) My classmates were teasing me for always frowning even though my lips were curving into a smile. What’s inside of us reflects outside. I didn’t know what they saw but I think I had an idea. They saw melancholy and misery. Or perhaps I’m just too negative about myself. Maybe they just saw a scrawny gal with serious facial expression.
Above was written by Alla Francois in 2013. Now I am more comfortable using my real name on cyberspace because the Alla Francois in me eventually died. She killed herself. Her fear of being misunderstood by someone who knows her caused her to conceal her identity. She was enslaved by her emotions and committing suicide was the best decision she made in her life. To perpetuate her existence is to cultivate my inner demons and nurture negativity. I liked to think that she hung herself with a rope under a flourishing tree on wondrous summer day. Birds were chirping as if rejoicing and celebrating the death of an evil antagonist.
I have been fond of books since I started to read. I read all the reading materials kept in our shelves at home when I was a child. I started to collect comics and classic and bestselling books when I grew up. I thought reading the Bible didn’t make sense because only gifted ones were able to comprehend. I tried reading the King James version but my head bled. God didn’t answer prayers because if he did, my father didn’t die when I was 18 and my brother lived a normal life without sickness. Life was no magic. All can be explained by science and logic. Science can explain everything that God can’t. Science explains my sibling’s ailment and why he had to die as young as 24. Science explains why sufferings are endless and why some diseases can’t be cured. God can’t explain why my brother wasn’t healed because it contradicts Himself as a healer. He didn’t heal him. I remember I was holding my white tiny Bible when my mother cried out, “He’s dead!” Betrayal was the first thing I felt at that moment because I was reading God’s Word (though I found it difficult to fully understand some contexts in the Bible that time) and praying for healing when he died.
When I was being sarcastic and harsh I knew there was no love because love is compassionate and understanding and hatred is rude and hurtful. Hatred can be the opposite of love. Long time ago, I was disgusted by so many things I couldn’t count. A hideous girl wearing very short skirt you can glimpse her soiled panty. A snobbish guy full of pimples. Classrooms full of pasikat idiots. I hated everyone. My old sarcastic blog was an evidence.
I can imagine now what the one who wrote this paragraph looks like. She has unpleasant wrinkles on her forehead for excessive frowning and her complexion is gray and pale as if it is always gloomy and no sunshine. Her face is pleasant but her facial expression which is cold and full of contempt ruin it like a beautiful place with a stinking poop.
Believe me, I might be worse than you imagine but certainly all of these had happened in the past and today is a different story. But sure, skepticism, grudge and unhappiness still visit like an old enemy and ravage the peacefulness of my soul and my heart. One thing is for certain, since I’ve changed the theme of my blog I’ve become a new person, a kind of person I like more. I found an antidote for all of these non-Christian things like a cure for all the deadly diseases that plague a weak body.