The first time I saw Ligaya (all names have been changed to protect individuals’ privacy) she had just come into the shelter’s common room and gave me a small smile. I remember thinking that she looked worn-out and weak. Another shelter guest told me she just arrived yesterday at midnight. I wondered if she had been fleeing and if so, from whom, at an hour so late.
“What’s it like being a grown-up?”
When we were younger in school, we were told to write poems.
Dear men (and other haters),
Snip-snip. The metallic scissors expertly work through the frame around my face. I stare at myself in the full-length, over-sized mirror. Perfect time to have my face magnified to maximum exposure. Oh, wow. This light is the least flattering thing that has fallen on my face since a girl’s elbow met my cheek as we were wrestling to get the ball during water-polo. Sunken eyes. Dark circles form hoops under them, becoming the focal points that have taken central stage. Skin with an unhealthy, yellowish tinge. I spy that double chin peeking out from under there (Mate, what are you doing?! Please hide). Since when did my cheeks get so full? I have seriously gained bad weight. Since when did they jut out so much (Not cheekbones, mind you)? And wow, where did my jawline go? Nonexistent. It has melted into the hues of my neck. I look at myself, shifty-eyed. I do not like what I see.