I used to love being in the arms of my father while my mother would look at us with a gentle smile on her face. I would get that warm and welcoming feeling while I stared back at my mom as I returned the love my father had given me through his embrace. After a moment, my mom would give in and join us. Sometimes, it might be the other way around wherein my mom would start the hugging session, and my dad would be the last one to join.
My happiness existed with them, as well as with silly toys like Barbie dolls, dollhouses, paper dolls, and pretty much any toy that would make me feel like I was in control of the lives of the people I could use as my subject. I was the queen in my own lifeless and tiny kingdom. I was the queen in love with being in control of herself; but with my parents, I would become a princess because the real queen was my mother.
Reality had a different kingdom for me to rule over, though.
Whenever I went to school, I would search for my friends. My friends and I often talked about ridiculous things. We would brag about our toys, clothes, and accessories. But as we grew older, our topics started to involve boys and crushes. We would even guess who was going out with who, as well as who liked who.
I had a crush on a boy back then. I could not help myself from smiling every time I would see him around. Sometimes, my friends would tease me, and I would be annoyed even though I liked being teased about him. But that crush faded along with other girls’ crushes. I would never ever forget the night that I started wishing to be the girl he liked.
There came a day when I went to school and talked to my friends about this girl who was liked by many guys. I was insecure, but I could not admit that. Other girls were insecure, too. A part of us wanted to be liked by guys, as well. Not being liked led us to think that something might be wrong with us.
I started to get aware of my appearance.
My dresses, shirts, and pants became tank tops, skirts, denim shorts, and fit clothes. I started to like showing my curves off even though I got even more insecure when other girls did the same. We were all looking at each other’s bodies. Sometimes, I had a better figure than someone. Sometimes, I was inferior. My body started to crumble under my expectation of being pretty. I was never fit even though I had an okay body. I only felt fit whenever I was around a girl who was inferior of my figure. I just had to be better.
My once powder-kissed face started to get blessed with makeup, too. I liked making myself look beautiful. I would do it for my own satisfaction, but sometimes, I would do it for a guy.
Having a crush was no longer the same. Whenever I had a crush, I got it badly. I knew that having a crush didn’t require me to be on a mission to have to attract the guy, and be in a relationship with him, but it made me feel like that. It was as though I had to be sure that we both belonged to each other.
And because of that feeling, I experienced the joy of being loved back, and the pain of being cheated at. I also experienced being the other girl in the relationship, as well as being the one rejected. I experienced a lot of things. I also got my heart broken.
I started with being happy with meeting someone’s gaze, then that happiness started to get less until I had someone to hold hands with. I started yearning for warm hugs, until I ended up with wanting to be kissed on my lips. But having my lips kissed was the beginning of my yearning for a greater way of being loved. I started liking the feeling that I got whenever someone kissed me on my neck, on the top of my breasts, and in other places of my body. I was once a queen or a princess, but to a man, I would become a land that his lips would want to travel at.
Sex had been a disgusting word for me. But I came to a point where sex was normal, and the phrase “making love” is cheesy and disgusting. That was all until I met another guy.
Time was fast. It danced with me, my father, and my mother; but death took them away, and I was left with him.
I fell in love again, but it was finally a different kind of love. It became one that I could not abandon. I gave birth to a girl, and it reminded me of myself.
This time, I am the queen. I am the queen of my own world, as well as the queen in my own child’s eyes.
But sometimes, I have to remind myself that I am also just a girl who used to love her parents’ arms around her, and is now yearning for them. I was the girl who was confused whether I was a queen or a princess. I was the girl who thought that happiness was with having a prince beside me.
I cannot help but wonder if my mother were the same, and I cannot help but wonder if my child will have the same insecurities I had had. I am afraid because I have met and seen girls who think that men complete their lives, and when they get hurt, it’s as though the universe has played with them.
I want my daughter to be sure of being a queen. I will rather be her servant in her own Kingdom. I do not want her to be unsure of herself. And when I leave this world, I want her to be happy.