She got out of the car and ran into the house. She greeted her mother with a big smile on her face, kissed her, and walked into their bedroom to do the same with her father. "Did you have fun?" he asked. "Yup! 'Twas great!" she replied automatically.

She ran into her bedroom, slipped out of her clothes and fell flat on her bed, her face buried in her pillow. All it took was one long breath. She sobbed. She didn't even bother holding her tears back nor did she try to stifle the soft wail coming from her throat. It was as though a great wave of sadness washed over her entire being. The rain falling from the heavens above were one with her tears.

I am not of this world. I am not of this world. I am not of this world! She said this in her mind over and again and pleaded for God to bring her comfort. It's true. She was never made for this world.

--

Not that she ever longed to fit in, but it would seem pretty nice to be able to relate to other people. To know what it's like to have done what they have. She has head-knowledge about the things they speak of, but she lacks experience in so many areas. She drifts off, oftentimes, and wonders what it would be like if she had done something totally risky that opposed her values and principles in life. Would it have shattered her or would it have made a great story to share with friends?

I am different. I am different. I am different. She keeps reminding herself that being different is a good thing. That each living creature in the universe is unique. But is it possible for one to be too different? She is the epitome of a deviant. She does not follow the latest fashion trends nor does she drive a car suited for a young lady. She makes friends with taxi drivers, delivery guys, the fish ball vendor in the village (despite not being allowed to eat street foods), the man who sells dirty ice cream, and the old man who pushes his kariton, collecting junk and scraps from home to home. In fact she knows most of them by name: Kuya Chris, Kuya Philipp, Kuya Bobet, Kuya Tino, Kuya Lito, Kuya Ferdie, Kuya Bong, Kuya Arnel, Manong Charlie, Manong Carlos. She can easily joke around with salesladies and bagger boys at the mall and the supermarket, as if she were old friends with them. She occasionally meows in the evening and lets stray kittens in their garage to feed them dinner. She stops dead in her tracks when she sees a cool insect (spiders, included), picks them up with a leaf, a stick, or a piece of paper and brings them to a place where they belong; where they cannot be killed by human hands or feet. She's a million times happier when purchasing a book than she would be if she were out at a club, partying. She would rather stay at home and read, write, or drink tea than to go out and see a movie with friends; she has no qualms saying that she's too lazy to get out either. She finds blissful joy in purchasing new notebooks and pens from the bookstore. She doesn't dance nor sing; instead, she collects words of foreign origin. She listens to music that her friends have never heard of. She falls in love with the idea of love instead of falling in love with men. She's twenty-five, yet she still jumps right in her parents' bed, in between her parents, to cuddle and hug them and to tell them they're the best ever. She seeks to please God in all that she does, but is aware that she fails Him day in and day out. Nothing of her is mainstream. She lives her life in a manner that the constituents of modern society expects her not to.

Yet. Still. There are moments in her life in which she wishes she could be more of the world. She drinks a little too much at times, tries illegal substances, does her best not to choke while properly puffing a cigarette, plays inappropriate games with guys who are wrong for her. She loves hearing of human relationships and the complexities of human experiences. She laughs, she cringes, she frowns; the stories waken her senses. Still, sometimes she just wants to live a little herself, to be part of the world. To live such a carefree life. To satisfy the flesh. To do something foolish yet laugh at it later. To do something people would least expect she would act on. But she reminds herself, You are not of this world. You are different.

--

It was raining and happy music whose lyrics she didn't know played in the car. She gazed outside on the dark street and tried her best to push her tears back. At that moment she wanted nothing more but to get out of the vehicle and flee into her own world where she could be alone. Alone with herself. Alone with her thoughts. Alone with God.

She always feels like a loser, that she isn't good enough for the world. Not good enough for people. Not cool enough to please others. Not pretty enough for the guys she liked. Not smart enough to reach her dreams. She knows she leads a pretty boring life, lacking excitement and wild escapades. But she continues to walk with such poise, so collected. Yet no one knows of her insecurities. She has them all hidden too well. She carries herself so well, but they know nothing of the burdens she carries.

She asks the same question she's been asking herself for years: Where do I belong?