Thank you so much to everyone who follows me, likes my posts, shares my posts, and comments on them. I know I haven’t said it much and my lame excuse is I frequently have so many reactions to my posts that the most I can do is like them. Of course, sometimes I will respond when it is warranted, and sometimes I choose to reserve my comments in order to preserve the peace and friendships!

Thank you to all my new friends in Canada, all elsewhere around the world. Even if I have never met many of you, I feel that I know some of you well enough to call you friends rather than acquaintances. I have looked forward to your support as shown by your likes and the hundreds of greetings I get on my birthday, at Christmas, and even sympathies shared when I express grief. I can never express how much warmth, love, and acceptance I have felt through those little ways of communicating because you affirm my existence and add to the meaning of my life.

I am not good at expressing my emotions and cannot easily post what I am feeling most of the time. I am good at posting what I think, however, and when the feeling is indignation, I am very capable of expressing that. But when it comes to the part of me I hide deep within my heart, my tendency is to be silent and withdraw. It could be the fear of rejection or the fear of seeming weak, no matter how I tell others that being emotional or admitting deeper feelings is not a sign of weakness, but of strength. Sadly, my strengths lie elsewhere.

But because I am celebrating 12 years in Canada today, I figured it would be a good time to open up a little. In two consecutive years, I have lost two women, both very dear to me, both of whom always had my back and always encouraged me. One was a mentor–a lovely woman I first met when I was still a high school student, who always believed in me and continuously challenged me to do better. She always gave me more responsibilities and opportunities to show me how much I could accomplish. And she told me all those things–how much she believed in me, as well as how much she loved me. She had been my role model since I first met her because she exuded confidence, determination, and accomplishment. She inspired me and I have to admit that I seriously considered taking a history major because of her. (It was the thought of memorizing dates and names that convinced me not to do it.) When I started teaching, she was Vice Principal and, later, Principal. Even when I took a hiatus from teaching, she kept in touch, kept me in the loop, and continued to build my confidence by trusting in me. She was instrumental in my return to teaching with her as my Dean. She always wanted the best for me and continued to nurture my fragile ego by inspiring me to achieve even greater accomplishments.

The second woman, I lost just two weeks ago. We met in my second year of teaching and became even closer with each passing year. She became the older sister I had always wished I had and she treated me like her sister. More than just a sister, however, she was a dear friend, a confidante, a staunch supporter, and defender. Despite my reticence and reluctance to share my feelings openly, she could read me and knew exactly how to respond. She was ready to stand up for me and she even tried to stand up to my mother for me when I was unable to. She was more expressive than I am and I would be there for her to confide in, to seek advice, to help out in many different ways whenever I could. Even when I had taken a different path, we were still there for each other stayed in touch, catching up on everything we’d missed sharing whenever we could. Losing her has been a huge blow and I miss her dearly.

There is a third lady, another former teacher who has become one of my very best and dearest friends on earth, although I look to her more as a mother than anything else. I know she isn’t old enough to be my mother, but she saw me through so many emotionally difficult spots without my needing to explain how emotional I was. With her, I learned the simple joys of letting my hair down and enjoying things I had grown up not doing because we were trained not to do those things. She never judged me and, like my history teacher, helped me learn to be kinder to myself, understand myself and the relationships in my life that had always been challenging and often painful, and helped me build up my self worth. She taught me how to love myself, something that still comes to me with difficulty, but that I am able to celebrate every now and then–and even more now than then. I cling to the knowledge that she is still around and is there whenever I need someone to listen to me, someone who knows me inside and out, someone who is proud of me and my accomplishments, and who makes me feel that I can take pride in myself and my accomplishments as well. If, God forbid, something were to happen to her, I would be utterly devastated.

These three women have done so much to help me be who I am today, and I am and will be eternally grateful for their love, support, encouragement, and friendship.

As much as I would like to continue writing about all the people who have meant so much to me, who have touched my life and seared their marks on my soul, I will reserve them for other writing.

In this 12th year of a new life in a new country, I have decided to open up more. I have decided to take definite and positive steps towards living my life on my terms and creating my own opportunities rather than following wherever opportunities took me. All my life, I grabbed opportunities that led me down different paths; I allowed myself to be led along by people I trusted; I shied away from any personal confrontation, even if it meant losing my children; I let my heart and my curiosity lead me even if I knew better; I kept my emotions to myself, always trying to be in control, trying to keep a brave front, because every time I had let go, I ended up being embarrassed, blamed, shamed, bullied, or ridiculed. I always tried to learn as much as I could and always do everything right so I would not call attention to myself and would not need to ask anyone for help; besides, it gave me a bit of satisfaction that I could do so many things well even if other people did not care or only cared when it benefited them. I put up with being bullied if I would only be noticed or accepted by girls who had what I did not have: confidence, talent, and many friends.

In this 12th year of a new life in a new country, I have decided I will follow the path I have wanted all my life. I will immerse myself in what I love doing and make a career of it. I will learn to enjoy little simple pleasures without feeling guilt. I will try to share more of my deeper feelings because I know that doing so will not make people respect me any less. I will try to remember that there is nothing wrong with admitting fears or weakness, and hope you all understand how difficult that is for me and forgive me if I do not easily or quickly admit to pain or grief. I hope you do not think I am seeking attention or approval when I share my joys and triumphs and accomplishments because I trust that you will sincerely share the same feelings with me, just as I will be happy to share your joys and triumphs and accomplishments with me. I hope you do not think me aloof if I sometimes am unable to express how I feel about some things, or if I sometimes forget a birthday or miss greeting you on anniversaries and other celebratory occasions. Sometimes, I am too busy to check in or sometimes I am too emotional and do not want to see all your joyful moments as they remind me of what I never had or might never have. I also hope you do not think me cold and indifferent because I might be afraid to admit that what you are sharing reminds me of painful events in my past, events I cannot talk about easily without opening up old scars.

I can promise that I will be honest if you ask me questions, but I cannot promise I will always be ready to volunteer information. Some people need their privacy more than others and I know I am one of those people. Although my life might be an open book, my heart might not. But I will not lie, and if I cannot tell you openly, I might send you a private message. Because I am writer and an artist, I will be expressing most of my thoughts and feelings in what I create: I wear my heart on my pages and bare my soul on my canvases.

My birth certificate says I am Cynthia Paulina Fabella Lapeña.

I say I am just me, Cindy. Hello, world.