Confession of a Pure Promdi

Confession of a Pure Promdi
February 3rd, 2008

So my Friendster’s “About Me” says “I am a FABULOUS PINAY born with Stilettos.” That wasn’t really true if you knew me like my old friends and classmates in Sta. Cruz, Marinduque. In fact, I have humble beginnings like all of you. I was never fabulous or never born with stilettos (there was no such thing there!). I am writing this blog for one good reason: I want all my friends out there to really understand me from the very beginning. Why I am such the way I am… Guess what? I was a promdi, still a promdi and forever a promdi at heart, and very proud of it. (Promdi is from English words "From The" as from the phrase "From The Province").

Being raised in Sta. Cruz, Marinduque by two strict parents was not an accident at all for me. I can’t blame my parents at all. For them, I was the prettiest of all kids my age, and that I deserve all the comfort in life. I lived in a big house and had my own yaya to clean up after me. Anybody who knew me growing up may have thought that I was one lucky girl… popular, pampered, and had lots of admirers.

But it was not the case for me… I also had my own share of insecurities. I felt I had a lot of limitations socially. I can’t do this and I can’t do that. Living in a small community in our province, people talk about people all the time. So in that given situation, my parents became strict to me because they won’t allow me to be the talk of the town especially in a negative way. So I was prim and proper all the time whenever I was around people, whether at church, birthdays, weddings, funerals and town fiestas. I can’t have suitors or boyfriend. I can’t be seen in any provocative behavior in public. I can’t go to all parties. I have a 10PM curfew when they’d allow me to party a couple of times, or I can’t be home too late for any school activities. I can go on and on for all the things that I can’t do just because I can’t, or because my parents won’t let me.

My parents expected me only to bring honor in our family. I was never the valedictorian or the first honor in my class. In fact, I was compared to them a number of times by my father and it made me even more insecure deep inside. I thought I was never good enough. But that didn’t stop me in trying to please them and give honor to them in any way I can.

I was always part of any Sagala (Mayflower Festival) in Marinduque. You name it, I’ve been one since I was 5 years old, may it be in Sta. Cruz, Boac or Gasan. I was very artistic and competitive. I joined piano recitals, local theater arts presentations & variety shows, choir and dance competitions, a few quiz bees, declamation contests, and beauty pageants. Not to mention, I was a volleyball varsity player in high school. I was “Miss” of all occasions, from Ms. Rizal Day, Ms. SCI, to Ms. Sta Cruz, Ms. Copper Queen Jaycees, etc. I knew I had talent and I was privileged on my way to have a “life of a promdi princess.” My mom dressed me up, brushed up my hair and put on make up. People admired me whether I was on a float or just walking to school or church. Not many girls in my generation had all this kind of exposure and experience. In short, I made my parents somehow proud of me in my own little way. I may not have brought them medals of honor but I brought home some talent awards and somehow, I became the pride and joy of our family. On my 18th birthday, my parents gave me the most fabulous debut party that any girl would ever want.

I do have one thing that I didn’t become when I was growing up in Sta. Cruz. This is really funny and I wish people knew. I didn’t tell anyone about this even my mom, and I should have. I’ve always wanted to be a lead majorette of our school and town parades. I could see my self pulling that off really well. From wearing that mini bloomer skirt to those high thigh boots. When it was time for our school to pick the majorettes, I will always prepare myself. I made sure I was pretty and that my legs were flawless, and that I could lift up my knees up to my waist. All my friends have become one but me. I would ask myself, what was wrong with me or my legs?

So it was time to move on to Manila to pursue my college education. My parents wanted me to go to an exclusive for girls school, St. Scholastica’s College. No boys, no problem. They wanted me to concentrate in school and finish on time. At first, mixing up with all these Manilenias and other promdi intimidated me. I was not in my own comfort zone anymore. There were many girls now who are prettier and more talented than me. I was no longer the popular one that I used to be. I was very conservative and 101% manang na manang and promdi looking from head to toe. There were two kinds of groups that I could hang out with: pretty girls who were liberal and smoke cigarettes after school to hang out with their boyfriends from Benilde and La Salle, or simple girls who were fun but nerds who would hang out in our library. Should I become one of the pretty girls with cute boys in tow and forget my promdi-hood, or should I remain my manang self and be one of the nerds? It was not the hardest decision to make. My chosen friends from St. Scho, you know who you are because you are laughing now while reading this. You all made my exciting college life most fun and memorable. And I thank you that I didn’t have to change my ways at all because you have accepted me as a pure blooded promdi.

In my heart, I was just one normal girl promdi province. I walked to school or took the tricycle, or had jeep service when I was in ICC, or took the jeep when I was in St. Scho. I moved schools many times during my elementary and high school days. Main reason - I was not too friendly especially to some boys in my class. I was a tomboy, mean and suplada to some, and troublesome to others. If you were one of the boys that I had punched or so, I made sure we were good friends at the end of the school year. I had a rough time growing up, too, and just like every other promdi. After all these years, I still my have Marinduque accent. “Ano baga ari? Ngani, baya, mandin.” Actually, even my husband has caught my accent. He’d ask me, “Honey, nandini baga yung kwan ay?” I’d say, “Naryan laang mandin yun ay. Tingni baya maigi!!” (Sorry, that’s hard to translate in English.)