Excerpt from my new project: Me, Myself and I (an autobiographical sketch)
still working on it, full copy will be posted in my WordPress Blog HarleyQueen ~Harold Cuevas de Mesa
My life is like a blank sheet of paper in the hands of a frustrated writer. Although there are a lot of things that I can tell about myself, I really don’t know where to start or how to begin.
My story is like an unfinished novel or an endless saga. Every chapter of my life leads me nowhere.
I have a dream that one day I will become a famous writer. When I was a child, I created stories in my mind. I got bored in reading Hans Christian Andersen fairy tales over and over again. I made up series of books in my mind, I gave names to number of characters and places and they were all part of my childhood memories.
When I learned how to write words and understand their meanings I became restless. At night I can’t sleep if I will not grasp a pen and paper and write a short story or a poem.
I have written a collection of poetry, some of them were published in our campus papers and local and national magazines. I have written more than twenty plays and half of them has been produced on stage. I have a novel with sixty chapters that I started writing when I was still in high school and still working on it until now.
I don’t know why I wrote those stories. Sometimes, I wish I am one of the characters of my own fiction. And one day, it came in to my mind that maybe my life is the story that I need to write.
Who am I? That is a question that I can’t answer too.
Every time I look at the mirror, I see a stranger staring straight in to my eyes. I can see sadness deep within him. Suddenly I can feel tears on my cheeks. The man in the mirror is also crying. He is trying to reach for me and comfort me but the mirror is like a wall between the two us. We are trapped in our own crystal beam. That’s when I realize that the man in the mirror is longing for someone like me.
Enough of my melodramatic intros! I decided to begin this autobiography on the day that my mother and father eloped. It was February 14, 1975 when my parents climbed up the rocky mountain of Sierra Madre in Montalban, Rizal and sheltered by their Aeta friends. I just want to clarify that they don’t belong to the indigenous tribe. My father is from a Hispanic and American descendants as you will see it in his parrot like nose while my mother is a genuine Waray from Maripipi Leyte.
On that night they shared together their most precious love. That was the night when I was conceived.