A Life in Seasons

Photo by Photo By: Kaboompics.com

If I were a plain-looking lady, I would have a good life. A safe one. I remember my eleven-year-old self saying this.

"You'd still be a woman," my sister said.

"Then I wouldn't act like one," I insisted.

"As long as you live and breathe, you will always have a target on your back. That's how life is for all of us."

Photo by SHVETS production

My sister had no idea how that conversation impacted my young brain. That one defining moment taught me what happens to girls even before puberty. I took what she said as a strong suggestion—grow up to be a strong, independent woman. Even now, I softened the memory, but the real conversation was heavier, sharper.

But at eleven, I didn't just hear my sister’s words—I absorbed them as if they were instructions for survival. Even so, it slowly made me give up on many things: dresses, girly accessories, mirrors… goodness knows how hard I tried to avoid them for years.

Looking back now, I think of life as a series of seasons that unfold differently for each of us. It's nothing unique, to say the least. But before I go any further, I want to say that while my seasons may sound familiar to some, each of us is a unique amalgamation of experiences that make up who we are in body and spirit.

Summer

My Summer began in one of the rainiest places in the Philippines. My Summer began not in heat, but in downpours. Yet, the Summer of my life was already brewing on the horizon. I remember growing up a lot during this time.

Photo by Collin Guernsey

At four years old, I knew my name and confidently introduced myself. I learned how to speak, how physics works, and—most importantly—how to get on people’s nerves. If I could revisit my Summer phase, I would, but only as a frequent visitor. Staying too long might mean never growing up, and I don’t want to be thirteen forever, after all.

Some of my best memories were stored in these years—the warmth of the sun on my skin, the scent of the early morning air, and the low-lying fog just before sunrise. I would wake up, go through my little routines, wake up the family, and buy pandesal. Those were the days before I understood deep hate, debt, loss, and heartbreak.

Everything was just... summer.

Winter

Winter arrived at fourteen with a vengeance. According to my religion, we were all born as sinners. So imagine my surprise when I realized just how much there was to learn about personhood. I wanted to just shrink away. At thirteen, I was forced to come to terms with womanhood—learning how each of us is destined to endure pain every month, the sacrifices of motherhood, and how to avoid leering men 101. I also realized that even having an “ugly” face wouldn’t protect me from the dangers that lurked in broad daylight.

Photo by Yaroslav Shuraev

The disgust I carried during this season wasn’t just towards men but also towards certain women. Even now, I still feel fragments of my Winter years resurfacing during traumatic situations. But despite it all, I learned to keep an open mind and acknowledge how lucky I was to be alive in this era. Even though I hated my teenage years, there were always warm spaces to escape when the bitter cold settled in.

Surviving winter was never a choice—it was a necessity. I became a recluse, finding solace in stories from around the world, conversations with strangers, and listening to adults talk about life. Curiosity often got the better of me, but I chalked it up to growing pains. Most of all, I learned about boundaries, forgiveness, and survival.

I hated how I was, simply because I was chosen to be born. I was raised to be a better version of the firstborn and a mirror for my younger sister to model after.

Spring

After a long and grueling Winter, Spring finally arrived. I am a late bloomer in the looks department. Also, my perspectives are more mature and desensitized than those my age. I had more time left alone to study after all. This shift began when I went away to university. Even now, as I juggle a job and a household, I feel like I’m still enjoying my Spring years. I live with the person I love, and sometimes, I wonder how long this season will last.

Photo by Jennifer Murray

I know now that the world isn’t perfect. Yet, I consider myself lucky to have received opportunities that many wouldn't have given to someone like me. I've been learning to set boundaries, value my private space, and share only glimpses of my life with the world—just enough to let people know I’m still alive and kicking.

Spring isn’t always sunny. There are cloudy days and rain showers. Compared to the Winter I endured, I welcome them. I no longer resent my lost teenage years. I understand now—even if I never got the full “teen experience”—that I had my own story, and that’s okay.

If I were a character in a coming-of-age film, I’d be the weird, smartass girl obsessed with academics and holing up in her room. Even now, I return to my old hobbies—not just for nostalgia, but sometimes, as an excuse to put off responsibilities. I act like my mom while swearing I’ll never be like her. But whenever I look in the mirror, I see her. It has been two years since we last saw each other.

I miss my sisters, too. I want to bloom alongside them. I want us to have that classic sister getaway—one acting crazy, one financing the trip, and me being the responsible one. I miss those days.

Fall

I wonder when my Fall years will arrive. Will it be at thirty? Thirty-five? Later? Either way, I want to picture it as something to look forward to while I’m still in my twenties.

Photo by Gustavo Fring

I picture myself as a good mother, raising kids who may or may not be crazy smart and will inevitably talk back just because they can. I see myself as a high-strung but loving wife, a business owner, and a writer who changes lives one story at a time. I imagine coming to terms with aging, sickness, and mortality—not with fear, but with acceptance.

I want to be part of something big. To have a defining moment—like Hamilton’s, in his final moments before he took the bullet. To look back and feel it all at once—the sting of Winter, the warmth of Summer, the renewal of Spring—blending seamlessly into the rich hues of FallI want to have that, too in my final moments.

After all, my Spring was built upon my Summer and Winter, and soon, Fall will follow. And when it does, I will welcome it—just as I have learned to welcome every season. Maybe, one day, no one will have to shape themselves around fear. Maybe, defining moments will be built on something other than survival.