I was raised in what some people would call an unconventional environment. I felt alienated from the world around me. I had a "secret" that had to be kept, and I felt abnormal.

My parents were with the "progressive" sector of society, and during the Marcos years, that was something you did not talk about openly. There was an unspoken rule that we should not tell our friends, neighbors or anyone in the community because that could lead to trouble.

When friends asked me where my parents were, since they were often absent from PTA meetings and other parent-child activities, I would just tell them that they were away on a business trip.

I didn't like to tell lies. I wanted to be like my classmates with "normal" parents, living under "normal" circumstances. I felt different.

My first glimpse of the world included barbed wires because my Father was detained when I was barely seven months old. The first songs I learned to sing were protest songs that were banned by the government. I didn't see too many movies; I used to tag along when my aunts went to plays and concerts organized by the local nongovernment organizations. I did not have Barbie dolls like my classmates because my parents said Matell oppressed their workers. Being young and exposed to a materialistic world, I resented being deprived of such luxuries.

When I graduated from elementary School, my father decided that I would transfer to a public high school. I sulked because I was the only one from my group of friends who would make the move. But my father insisted, saying I needed exposure to different kinds of people.

In my first year, was not admitted to the special section because I enrolled late. I had classmates who dropped out during the first month of class because their family did not have enough money to sustain their education. Tuition was free, but there were still other fees that needed to be paid. Anyway, they were thankful that they were able to finish their elementary schooling. Now they needed to work to augment the family income.

Classrooms in a public school can be hard to find. There were times when we had to hold classes under a mango tree. The schoolrooms that were available were dilapidated and the lighting was poor. The buildings were far apart, and we had to walk under the sweltering heat of the sun between classes. Once a month, usually on Fridays, we had to cut the grass in the school oval. I cannot bring myself to describe the state of the toilets in our school.

I was able to adjust, but then I just had to adapt to my new school, I guess. It was an entirely different environment for me, and I felt like a prisoner to the cause that my parents were fighting for.

Don't get me wrong I support them, and I am truly proud of what they do. That's why I want to be honest with myself and with the world. I want to discuss issues of national concern with my friends. I want to share with them the songs I know, not necessarily the hit songs on the airwaves but the songs that have substance.

There is an interesting red book that I want to read with my friends. Maybe I would understand it much better if I would share it with them. But then again, it may be too much for them.

When I was a senior in high school, my father again decided my future for me. I was going to study at the University of the Philippines, he said. If I did not pass the UP-college admission test, then I would have to enroll in some obscure college.

I was horrified by the thought. The only examination I took was the UPCAT. It was sink or swim, as far as I was concerned. If I didn't pass, then I would have one semester to suffer the consequences. Luckily I passed the test. I never expected to make it. I had very little confidence in myself because I felt different from other students I knew.

My father wanted me to study in Diliman like he aids, but I qualified for UP Los Baños. He told me I should work hard so I could transfer to Diliman in the next school year. (My father is like that: he tells you what he wants, and you can argue, but he still has the last word.)

He accompanied me to Los Baños once and that was that. He made me enroll by myself. He told me to take the bus from Quezon City to Los Baños to attend the block encounter.

I lived with a family I knew only vaguely. This was the first time that I was away from home, and I had a difficult time adjusting. I think I "grew up" in a week's time. I had to, or I would have been overwhelmed by the enormous change in my life.

In my freshman history class, I was assigned to discuss martial law. That was the first time I was able to talk openly about my background and the orientation of my family. I felt that my classmates would understand what martial law was all about if I related my own experience. I had so much to say, I needed more than a day's session to finish. When I was done, I felt like a burden had been lifted from my shoulders. I felt exhilarated, and I felt truly accepted for what I am. UP after all is a marketplace of ideas.

I never got to transfer to Diliman, and I shifted to a course I truly liked. which was not what my father wanted for me. This time, he could not do anything after I had made up my mind. I wanted to study the society in which I lived. I suppose this did not come as a surprise to him. I grew up in their mold.

Is this the end of my story? Life is a never-ending struggle to define oneself. There will be other obstacles to hurdle and goals to struggle for.

In retrospect, I feel lucky that I did not have a "normal" childhood, that I grew up "different" from most other children my age. At a young age, I learned that we should at all times look out for the greater good, for justice, for equality, for freedom. The worst thing that could have happened to me was if I grew up indifferent.