Letter to a John (or Jane)

The body is made up of parts; parts that are supposed to work together and complement each other. And half of what's mine is defective.

When I was 8, I got the mumps. Unlike most ears which share the burden of the pain and swelling, my right ear heroically (and later, I would think, foolishly) assumed the brunt of the load. I recovered from it unscathed, or so I thought, until I found myself listening to music with an earphone only in my right ear and not hearing a thing. Cranking up the volume didn't help, all I heard (and felt) was the muffled thump of bass vibrating against my ear.

When I was around 11 or so, I had to have my eyes corrected for myopia and astigmatism. I wore (thick, soda-bottle-like) glasses until mid-high school, until I was able to convince my parents to get me contact lenses. Then in college, I got an infection in my eye from the contacts. It was so bad, I had to undergo operation to clean up the mess and to remove my chewed-up lens. After that, my eye pretty much useless; and this time, it was the left one.

My whole life, I have been left-handed, in writing, baseball, chopsticks, bowling, table tennis, and pretty much everything else. My left hand is pretty much five times more dexterous than my right. And although I strongly suspect being left-footed, too (soccer, dancing, kickball and kick-butt), my right foot seems to be just a tad bigger than my left.

This gives you an impression that I look quite horrible, maybe something out of a Picasso portrait. Not true. I actually look pretty normal. If normal means two sets of ears, eyes, nostrils (all the same size), complete set of teeth, limbs, digits, and internal organs working as they should, then yes, I am normal.

Actually, there is nothing wrong with me that you can see.

My close friends know that when I insist on walking with them at my left, it's not because "I feel more comfortable that way" (something I might tell a stranger), it's necessary so I can hold a conversation without having them repeat every word at 5-minute intervals.

For a time after my eye operation, I would pour water and have it spill down about two inches away from the mouth of the glass. This used to irritate my dad, and baffle the hell out of me, until we realized it was caused by my unbalanced vision, which, good thing, I was able to correct with practice.

Being left handed is nothing problematic, except when I came to Japan and noticed that nobody held their chopsticks with their left hand. I worried that this may seem rude, until I met a Japanese guy who was also left handed and held his chopsticks the same way.

So you see, I found my rhythm. Which is not to say I didn't have problems with it. For my college yearbook, I had to put in something weird about myself. First thing that came to mind of course, was my deaf right ear and my near-blind right eye. I was sure nobody could top that one. But I do have some vanity, and instead, I put in some shit about being more afraid of ferris wheels than rollercoasters. This was true enough, though far from, you know, being the weirdest thing about me.

Still I learned to come to terms with it and its consequences. I will probably never get to be a pilot, much less fly an F-16, but then I could try hangliding, or bungee jumping. I will always wear both earphones when listening to music, because wearing just one gives people an impression I have an ear out for conversation. I will never be the best candidate for archery or shooting, but then again these are not my best sports. I will forever play pingpong left-handed, but I do have a mean backhand.

But I will always cringe at having to undergo full medical examination, physical inspection, or just having to explain all these over again, whether to a nosy acquaintance, a potential friend, a new boss, or a kindly professor.

So please, stop telling me I have beautiful eyes. That's flattering, but in a way, false. It seems to me having them sitting pretty on my face, when only one is truly functional, is like a trick I pull on you. I am roughly three-quarters Filipino, one-quarter Spanish, but this makes you think I look Indian, Iranian, or Turkish. Another misdirection I don't intend. You see me wearing skinny tanktops, dangling earrings, slippers and a tattoo, and you seem to think I am not serious about my life and the things I do. And just because I have a nice appearance, a body I'm happy with, and a healthy attitude towards sex, do you think I'm easy?

And my getting worked up about all these is unreasonable, given that most of the time, you don't know me beyond what I want you to see and learn. Now that's unfair, because in this case, I fully intend it to be so.

I sometimes wonder if it would be better if I had a glass eyeball (a possible consequence of that eye infection), or if I go through with that threat to cut off my ear (you know which one), should it stop my vertigo. Or if my left arm was twice as big as the right, and my head larger than my breasts and ass put together. Then, maybe, you'll look at me and see me as I am. No tricks, no wool over your eyes. Then, maybe, I wouldn't feel as if I were fooling you into something I'm not. Or worse, giving off vibes that I'm less than I really am.

Not to mention I'd have one less thing to be angsty about.

And now, shit, I'm being a hypocrite. Of course I'm happy to have both eyes and ears on my face, pretty or not. Of course I'm grateful that my arms and legs are (more or less) of the same size. I don't want to think about how my neck would suffer if my head grew to the size of a watermelon. And I can't even imagine what would happen if my breasts were to become smaller than they already are. (Though I honestly wouldn't mind if my ass shrank a little bit.)

So where am I going with all these? I'm not sure. I suppose what I would really like to do is to issue a warning. A disclaimer of sorts, I guess you could call it. And I'm taking the initiative, making the fine print a little easier to read.