Instead of the usual happy scenario of being surrounded by cakes, candles, balloons and abundant food in the comfort of one’s home; I’m hooked up to all these wires, various tubes and weird apparatuses in a frantic Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. I find myself celebrating the months leading up to my birthday in some dreary plastic tub called an incubator – trapped, alone, fighting for survival and barely even human.
This is how and why I am.
After just a mere 23-week stay, I was abruptly evicted from my mother’s womb, for reasons only God knows. I weighed a mere 1lb, 13 oz (844 grams); and was measured to be only 12 ¼ inches long. To think, if the average and normal human gestational period lasts around 39 weeks, I came out roughly three months ahead of schedule.
Many a tense, sleepless night did my parents have to endure, hoping for the best but expecting the worst – wishing on a fervent prayer for my fragile life that hung by a thread. Everyone said that it was nothing short of a miracle that I came out of that whole ordeal alive, perfectly normal and healthy, even on to this day.
I do believe that it was a decree of Divine Providence that I live to tell my tale. I mean, if it wasn’t for my dad serving as an enlisted member of the US Navy at the time, and the very generous insurance that the military endowed, most likely, I wouldn’t be here to type this life story of mine right now.
There I was: not even aware yet of the wide world waiting for me, but already a veteran of hospitals and a certified globetrotting Navy Brat.
The stage for my life was set: I was raring and ready to see the world.
That was an excerpt (well, the introduction, actually) of this autobiography I made that was required in one of my college subjects.
So, this is me, folks! Welcome to my blog! I believe this serves just right to be my first official blog-post (My disclaimer came first)
Besides being the machine which saved my life, “incubator” holds a special symbolism and meaning to me. I deemed the term apt enough to be the title of my blog because I believe that “incubating” my thoughts will be what it’s mostly all about. I mean, this page, I hope, will provide me just the right medium and space to express and hone my thoughts into a form intelligible, permanent and appealing to myself, and maybe even to others.
Sometimes I feel like I never left the incubator, like I still spend my life inside of it. I’ve been wanting to write this blog for the longest time, but it’s only now that I mustered enough initiative to start writing. I tell myself that it’s only now that I’ve had enough time to actually sit down, type and tinker with all this blog stuff to assuage my frustration at my supposed-inefficiency.
I’m the kind of person who has so many plans and wants to do so much, but I just don’t know how exactly to carry them to fruition or completion. It’s like I’m in this constant state of developing myself, but I don’t know when, where or how this development will end up.
Take this blog, or even studying for an exam or watching a movie, for example. I’d put it off until I feel that can’t put it off anymore. I’d think of all sorts of justifications or excuses why I didn’t do what I wanted to do in the first place. Procrastination at its best? Maybe. But I remember reading an article entitled “Are you a Procrastinator or an Incubator?” I guess I’m more of an incubator, because I really take the time to process and group my thoughts and assign my own meaning and values to them.
To illustrate: I’d stall doing a writing assignment, not because I’m overconfident or that I don’t want to do it (well, maybe just a little), but because I’d want everything to look, sound and feel just right when it’s done. So I guess my high standards for myself manifest in this situation.
It’s like I always wait for the perfect time, perfect place, perfect person – the perfect circumstance, only to find that when push comes to shove and when it’s really time to get going and when fate catches you off-guard, the only perfect time is right now. There are some things that just can’t wait. When the opportunity comes knocking, kick the door wide open, greet it and embrace it. If a 23-week-old premature baby could do it and hang on for dear life and still manage to make the most of it, I guess we all can. If a 17-year-old guy finally gets asked out on a date, accepts it and witnesses a friendship blossom into a love of a lifetime, then follow suit.
Even though I feel like I’m treading the line between being perpetually “pre-term” and finally “full-term”, I hope this blog will be an effective tool in helping me grow and develop myself. (Yeah, I know, I sound so self-centered and self-absorbed right now. I’m really sorry for that. Try to cut me some slack first, pretty please?)