HEARTSIGHT
CHRISTINA LLANES MABALOT
A Friendly Message for Young Ladies with Special Needs
I advise you not to be desperate for love. Reject the lies that have caused your feelings of inadequacies, get to know yourself and embrace, not just accept, your disability.
The time I was looking for that special someone is a chapter in my life that I would rather skip or delete if I could. It's one of those chapters I'd rather not talk about. However, I'm obliged by a sense of social responsibility to share my stories, hopefully, to deter young ladies from practicing "fake it till you date him." Thus, I give my skeletons in the closet marching orders to come out to the open. What you're about to read may make my mother rise from her grave, but I write this in your best interest.
CONFESSIONS
In my teens, I thought I was ugly. The mirror told me so, and it became my mortal enemy. What's worse, being extremely near-sighted, I had to get my face close to that same mirror, like I was going to kiss it, to see my face clearly.
"Who is that girl whose eyes roll about in their sockets like billiard balls hit by the cue?" I would ask, disgusted at how my eyes looked. My eyes, usually half-shut rest on my (then) small, triangle-shaped face. I had humongous hips and, topped off with that little face, I felt I had the same shape as a snowman.
I wasn't born thinking myself ugly. But people, whenever they saw me, either stared or avoided me altogether. Sometimes they asked questions like, "What's wrong with your eyes?" or "Are you high?" or "Is your eye disease contagious?". Consequently, I developed a negative self-perception that nearly ruined my life.
Being in an all-female convent school from kindergarten through high school did not help. I'd always compare myself to the pretty or popular kids. I identified with the ugly duckling in the song "At Seventeen," in which the 70's-era singer and songwriter Janis Ian expressed how "love was meant for beauty queens." I imagined that because of my disability, my picture would eventually replace that of the "Old Maid" in the card game. This mentality was very much present at the time boys started to invade my consciousness. "Never!" I declared. "There has to be someone out there I can lure, or rather, sweet-talk into my loving arms." But how? I pondered.
One day, a neighbor and close friend who knew my predicament invited me to hang out for the weekend. I remember she was about 10 years my senior, and, ironically, also single.
"I'll show you how to catch a man," she said with authority, as she pulled out several yearbooks of different all-male schools. She flipped through the pages of each, taking note of "cute" guys, as she listed their names. After completing a good-sized inventory of prospects, she searched the phone directory for their numbers. She assigned to me the guys who were in my age range and asked me to call them.
"But how do I tell them about my eyes?" I appealed. "You don't! You make them fall for you first. I'll call someone on my list, and I want you to listen carefully," she instructed.
We spent the entire weekend calling guys. I went home with a handful of prospects with whom I maintained regular phone conversations for some time. Of course, I was determined not to mention my visual impairment, even when discussions were about something relating to sight. I merely fabricated my responses and got away with it, that is, most of the time. Being a proactive communicator and gifted with a seductive voice, I began captivating hearts. I was thrilled, and my hormones validated my actions. Whenever someone in my "collection" would ask if we could meet in person, I'd make up excuses, although I feared the day would come when an alibi would sound exactly like one.
The inevitable happened. On a Saturday afternoon, I scheduled to meet John (not his real name) at my favorite ice cream par lor. I got there ahead of time to position myself and project my best angle.
"Tina?" he asked with a disturbed tone and look. "So nice to meet you, John," I said in a shaky voice.
I discerned from John's limp handshake that I would not stand a chance with him. No conversation ensued, just awkward niceties because he was staring at me the whole time, like I was an organism under a microscope. I didn't dare ask what bothered him. I knew what was wrong, but it was so much easier to be in denial of my disability and make people, well, the boys believe I was like all the other girls.
He finally excused himself to use the restroom. He never came back, and I was left to foot the bill. I couldn't face myself after that. I longed to fly away and disappear from the face of the earth. John never called me again.
When I recovered and managed to get back to my groove, I continued playing my devious game. However, every "eyeball" (a term from my teenage years that described when one met a phone–pal in person) experience turned into disaster. One guy whom I sensed was checking me out from a distance didn't approach me at all. Another prospect rudely waved his hand right in front of my face, the way people do to test vision and said blatantly, "I wanted a blind date, not one who is blind."
Oh, but I have to tell you about Eric (not his real name), an empathetic and sensible guy. We met up at a movie theater. While buying drinks, he observed how I was nearsighted and asked, "Do you need help?" "No," I said. "I'm fine." Eric handed me a cup of hot chocolate and even offered his arm to guide me. "Thanks," I said. "I can manage."
As we were walking and talking on the way to the theater, I didn't see the step down and fell, spilling hot chocolate all over my clothes. To this day, I cannot forget his words.
"You shouldn't be ashamed to ask people for assistance that you need," Eric said. "You're a beautiful person, but your pretentious attitude makes you unattractive. Call me when you learn to accept yourself for who you are." He pulled me back on my feet, helped me clean up, and hailed a cab.
Guess what? I was "It is during the teenage years when most of us feel the pressure to look like other girls, so that a pimple, a slightly bigger waistline, or eyes that can't focus, may seem like huge defects to us. Comparing oneself with peers has a way of feeding one's insecurities." too embarrassed to call Eric! My pride trumped my heart. I permit you to call me anything but smart. What a double whammy! I lost the privilege of what could have been a real relationship with a person ready to accept me for who I was! That was also my chance to embrace the reality of my disability. I concealed my real condition behind the lie that people would readily overlook my special needs. Moreover, because it was easier to mask my disability than explain it, I unconsciously chose to live a lie, so that eventually, I became fake news.
My dear girls, the truth is, we may be different, but we are in no way defective. Everybody has some form of deficiency. Better yet, remember that everyone is beautiful in their unique way.
It is during the teenage years when most of us feel the pressure to look like other girls, so that a pimple, a slightly bigger waistline, or eyes that can't focus, may seem like huge defects to us. And, with social media being front and center in the lives of younger generations, comparing oneself with peers has a way of feeding one's insecurities. Plus, when you have a visible disability, clueless people may stare and react like they've seen a freak. Some may avoid you like you have a contagious disease. Others may make you feel uncomfortable or even offend you with tactless questions. These damaging reactions have the danger of replacing the truth of who we are with other people's negative perceptions of us. Perceptions become more powerful than reality, so our insecurities become the soundtrack of our lives.
Because of my insecurities, I didn't like myself then, and it's hard for someone to love a person who doesn't like herself. I've known girls who, because of insecurities, jumped at the first man who showed some interest in them. They ended up being treated like a doormat. It was as if they owed the man for wanting them.
I advise you not to be desperate for love. Reject the lies that have caused your feelings of inadequacies, get to know yourself and embrace, not just accept, your disability. Remember, you are a precious lady, and your beauty could shine because of a positive attitude. Despite all the obstacles, you will end up being stronger as a result of your perseverance.
Don't go around looking for that special someone. True love will find you as it finally found me. You may find him at 16, maybe at 32 but, rest assured, real love will embrace you for who you are.•
HEARTSIGHT
Christina Llanes Mabalot is physically blind from aniridia, but has a vision. She enjoys touching people's lives to bring out the best in them. "Heartsight" explains her ability to see with her heart. Christina earned her B.A. degree and Masters in Education from the University of the Philippines, Diliman, specializing in Early Intervention for the Blind. She later received Educational Leadership training through the Hilton-Perkins International Program in Massachusetts, then worked as consultant for programs for the VI Helen Keller International. She has championed Inclusive Education, Early Intervention, Capability Building and Disability Sensitivity programs. She was twice a winner in the International Speech contests of the Toastmasters International (District 75) and has been a professional inspirational and motivational speaker. Christina is blissfully married to Silver Mabalot, also physically impaired, her partner in advancing noble causes. Their children are Paulo and Jem, who has aniridia. Visit leadershiptovision.com