by Joy Louise T. Evidente
“Bata, bata, naligaw ka ata.”
My friends would joke as we were stopped at the LRT Gate of San Beda University, yet again.
Whenever there was a new security guard posted at the gate, I would get stopped and asked why I was not in my uniform. My senior high school uniform. I would smile and explain in my pitchy voice that I was, in fact, a law student, as I showed them my ID, hanging from its gray lanyard.
We would have a good laugh and they would make a mental note for next time.
I have been an adult for five years now and not a week goes by without someone commenting “Ay, akala ko high school ka pa lang.” A professor even nicknamed me “minor”. As flattered as I was to have this one thing that individualized me in a sea of people, I could not help but think that it affected people’s perception of what I was capable of, most especially in my pursuit of becoming a lawyer.
There would be a tiny voice in my head whispering that I would have to work twice as hard as everyone else for half the amount of respect because I looked like the child that was in the wrong classroom, that I was pretending to be something that I could not possibly be.
I was an impostor. A smurf trying to fit into the human world.
A familiar wave of guilt always filled me whenever I was unable to recite the way I wanted. Followed by a tickle of disappointment, it felt like I was not able to prove that I was worthy of where I was, yet again. It was like I had more to prove than my professional-appearing classmates.
From the moment I made it known to friends and seniors that I was going to this well-known school in Mendiola, Manila, I was told that I would not last a year in such a busy world specifically because of what I was. That it was better to stay in Iloilo and continue being a big fish in the little pond than to start over as a small fish in a very, very, very, big sea.
But even with these constant quakes of doubt saying I was not worthy, there were small little ‘joys’ which reminded me that against all odds, I was still here, not thriving, but here, alive, and that this fact alone was worth every inch of respect everyone else had.
Who was I, a hobbit who barely spoke a lick of Tagalog, to think that I could make it in the big, intimidating portion of society that was the law?
I was THAT hobbit.
A small creature that had the strength to take everyone’s perception, crumple it into a ball and throw it out the window. This 4’11” adult was capable, regardless of what the outside looked or sounded like. I was not going to be the poster child of perfectly beating the odds but that was not going to stop me from trying.
There could always be a moment where I would be unworthy of success but what was fun about being small was being closer to the earth, grounded, easily remembering that this was not the end. That with my short legs, I could get back up and try again.
In the end, there’s no possibility of my face or body changing but there is hope that with what I am able to do and achieve, people would be able to look past appearances and towards who I actually am.
THE BARRISTER 