My Puzzle Pieces

As shown in the picture, my life could be summed up within 10 items. A toy cat, a Spinky toy, a Rubik’s cube, a relic I call Game Boy Advance, an old MP3 player, a cow pencil case, a key chain, a piano, a mike and a can of Gina Mango Juice. These may seem like ordinary items to you, maybe not the juice, but they are the 10 puzzle pieces that make up me.
I'll start off with the toy cat. Nobody actually knows what I first named my cat. It was so long ago when I first received it that nor do I. I've never mentioned this to anyone, but I named my toy cat after a stray cat my family took care of in the Philippines. Ming-Ming. It may sound like a silly name to you but it holds so much to me. Whenever I see my cat, I remember the few fragments of my life in the Philippines. I was a carefree type of kid who loved the phrase “Hakuna Matata”. Yes, I was also an attention seeker but I was the youngest of a family of 6, so attention was never a problem. I was the tender age of 4 when we left my “safe” world to explore the vast land of Australia. Well, we actually just moved to Australia because of my father's job, not for travel, but I was 4 years old. I was still allowed to have dreams that covered up reality. Ming-Ming reminds me that although I'm growing up and starting to change, I'll still be me. I may look different and start speaking differently, but I'll always be Niqui Dizon inside. Who is to decide who I am and what I can do? No one can tell me things as ludicrous as "Niqui wouldn't do that." because I'm Niqui. Whatever I do is what Niqui does. The reason I feel so strongly about my cat and especially around the last 2 years is because since it reminds me of who I was and who I still am, it can pull me away from the pressure of others. I'm a soon to be 13 year old girl. I need something or someone to keep me away from peer pressure and from doing something I know isn't right. That is what Ming-Ming is and always will be.


My second puzzle piece is actually another game. Game Boy Advance or GBA. This was the 3rd model of the Game Boy series after Game Boy and Game Boy Color. It was released in 2001 and 2 came into my family's possession. We've had them for around 8 years now and I hardly play them anymore because compared to the PSP 3000, a Game Boy Advance technology system is like an old Chinese calculator against a Texas Instruments Graphics Calculator. In other words, it's ancient. Although I can hardly see the screen without putting my GBA directly under a lamp, from time to time, I get absorbed in the game all over again. Why would I play an old GBA if I have a PSP? Now that I think of it, it doesn’t make sense at all as to why I even bother playing except for how it makes me feel. It's like spending time with my sisters. One of my few memories of the Philippines was in my sisters' room. I was 3 years old and scared of a video game. To make matters worse, my sister who I grew up to be afraid of for several years was the one playing it. I wasn't actually afraid of the video game but it was more like how you feel when playing Pac-man. It's a game that almost everyone has played in their life, but you can't deny the fact that whenever the monsters are chasing you, your heart starts drumming for dear life and it feels like it stops completely when you get hit. That's how I felt, but with a game that would put older me to shame. I was afraid of a game called "Bugs Bunny". The memory is that Abbie (my sister) and I are watching my other sister play that exact game while I'm cowering under her arm trying to hide from the evil Sylvester chasing Bugs Bunny. All too soon, it's time to go to sleep and I have to go through the house to get to my parents room where I still slept when I was nearly frightened to death. I don't know why or how, but I thought I saw a giant life size Sylvester the Cat. I ran for dear life. That may sound like a ridiculous child horror, but it makes me feel a step closer to my sisters, as though I am still under their protection against the bloodcurdling Sylvester.


Like my life, a Rubik’s Cube is a challenge. I have never been able to solve at least a side not to mention the entire cube. That is where the eldest of my sisters comes in. When he was younger, my father was able to solve them too but when I most needed his guidance and skill, he suddenly forgets everything. A Rubik’s Cube to me signifies my reliance on my sister. Patricia or Trixie is my oldest sister and is the only person I know who currently knows how to solve a Rubik’s Cube. She is also miraculous Sudoku solver and a math geek. She's my sister so I can tease her too. I hardly let anyone touch the Rubik’s cube because for me, keeping it solved is like showing the world that I, too, am capable of being independent. To mess up and ask my sister to fix it for me is like saying that I still need someone to spoon feed my or tell me all the answers. I want to be able to be triumphant over these obstacles without someone doing this for me or solving that for me. I won't learn anything if someone does it for me. The different sides of the Rubik’s Cube are like the obstacles. There will always be another side to finish if you don't think out of the box, you have to focus on all 6 sides or else or you'll ever have is 1 fixed side and 5 scrambled. I'm still trying to fix a Rubik’s Cube and I know that someday, when I have the right knowledge and confidence, I'll be holding a clearly 6 colored Rubik’s Cube.


All people have their faults and what symbolizes one of mine is my Spinky Toy. I first got it from my godfather while I was still living in Australia. The purpose of a Spinky is to give kids a chance to know what it’s like to take care of a baby and have a friend. It’s very alike to another game called Tamagotchi. I quite sure that the true reason my godfather wanted me to have a Spinky was to tease me. He got more than he bargained for. It tormented me. At first, I was so eager to test it out and the moment that toy started asking for food was the moment my hell began. It was crying endlessly, whining for food or water or milk or juice or forcing me to play games over and over again. It drove me to such desperation that I used my hair clip as a screw driver and yanked the batteries out as though they contained a deadly disease. This toy that screams “Dissect me and throw the pieces into different bins so you can never be reminded of me again!” is actually important because it shows my incapability to take care of a simple toy. When I pulled out the batteries, I gave up. It reminds me to never give up and to always try harder the next time because what if I did that to a real baby? That action would have been like my abandoning of an innocent child and becoming someone who I fear. I never want to be someone you can’t rely on and this demon of a toy makes sure that I remember.


One of the first things people learn about me is that I love cows. What I never tell them is the real reason as to why I love animals that are helping humans destroy the atmosphere with their constant flatulence. The reason my email is something as childish as cowsrock4ever or that I have a cow key chain, a cow pencil case, a cow not-so-piggy-bank, a cow toy that says “Got Milk?” and a strange love for dairy products for someone lactose intolerant is because a cows signifies a caribou. I can imagine that not many people would think someone who had an email like caribousrock4ever or a toy caribou would be easy to have a conversation with. I say I like cows because they are similar to a caribous and more well-known. Why do I love caribous? They remind me of my family in the Philippines. I remember the joy of being around my cousins, the thrill of having rivals in video games (I must admit, my sisters aren’t much of a challenge) and most of all, the comfort of being around people who were able to live the life that I always wonder about. How would my life be if I never moved? In what ways would I be different? Being in their presence comforts me and brought me to the resolution that I was just simply meant to travel. I’ve lived an international life for a reason even though I haven’t a clue as to why. You would not believe how relieved I was to know I was put into Kerbau when I first got to middle school. It was like a sign that has unexpectedly changed my life.


My Mp3 is a survivor. It’s my only electronic that hasn’t been lost, broken, stolen or “stored away” besides my Game Boy Advance (If I lose the GBA, I won’t be the only one upset). It’s been through the washing machine, fallen from my top bunk bed several times, lived through my sister for 2 years, being crushed inside one too many backpacks, and has gone with me to many countries. I also have an iPod but sometimes, I prefer to listen to my old friend for nostalgia’s sake. All 106 of the songs on my mp3 are links to my past. I remember being in a van on the way to my cousins’ house while listening to “I Could Get Used to This” by The Veronicas. I was listening to “Night-Drive (acoustic)” by Simple Plan while trying to fall asleep. Each and every song holds a specific memory and my mp3 is like a part of my mind that way. On my own, I wouldn’t be able to remember most of these memories. Even now, I’m still listening and adding to my music collection.


A piano has been part of my life ever since the day I first heard my father play the piano. My mother used to tell me stories about my baby years and how whenever I heard the piano, I’d start to dance. As a baby, it’s not really considered dancing. I used to bob my head to the music before I was able to speak, which I admit was very early in my life since I started talking when I was 9 months old. Strangely enough, the main reason I started playing piano when I was six years old wasn’t because I wanted to be like my dad, it was because I was a very annoying little sister. I used to love hearing my sister, Abbie, play the piano. It felt nice knowing that even she wasn’t perfect at everything and although this might be hard for her to believe, I asked to have lessons because I admired her. I loved being like my sisters. It made me feel special to play the piano, especially when I played my first real piece, In the Hall of the Mountain King by Edvard Greig. I was 7 at the time and ravished the piece from the moment I laid my eyes on it. I used to test the limits of my fingers’ endurance and play until my hands ached from over-stretching them. Sadly, after we moved to Malaysia, ALL of my sisters quit piano. I was the only one left and after 5 years, I’m still the only one of us playing the piano. This used to upset me until the day I heard Abbie playing the piano again. After 5 years of practice under who I consider one of the best piano teachers in Asia, I surpassed my sister with absolute ease. Playing her choir piece was no problem at all. Maybe I did play it without her knowing, but I didn’t want her to know that her little sister had finally beaten her in something. Music is my most important hobby, from playing the clarinet to singing. The mike is also a sign of my dedication to music. As a child, I would have chosen a karaoke over any Barbie in the world. First of all, I hated every type of Barbie in the world. Second, singing was like my candy. Whether I could or can sing well, nothing will ever stop me from singing to my favourite songs. To sing is like saying a monologue. I express how I feel, what I’m thinking about and what I want to say through songs especially when I don’t have the courage to say what I need to say the most. One of my deepest secrets is that when I sing, I’m always thinking of someone. Every song I’ve sung has always been dedicated to someone. I’ll never reveal who I’m singing about because hopefully, my singing will be clear enough for people to figure it out.


A key chain and mango juice. These are 2 items probably no one will give a second look. My key chain holds a Naruto toy, an anime character, a monkey and normally, my thumb drive. The monkey, I like to think, represents me. It’s holding a basketball, one of my favourite sports, on a ladder and is about to fake a slam dunk using the ladder. According to my parents, I was a very cheeky kid, like a monkey. Pretending to do a slam dunk is something they’d think I’d do if I ever had the chance because of what I used to be like before. The Naruto key chain and anime key chain are signs of another hobby. I love Japanese manga. They are a type of comic but are much more detailed and have an actual plot, unlike comics like Garfield or Bone. What I find amazing in anime are the character’s eyes. They’re actually very large and are like a trait for manga characters. The artists draw large eyes on purpose because that way, they’ll be able to add all the details needed to show their emotion. You can tell exactly how they’re feeling just from looking at the eyes. It’s kind of been a fantasy of mine to be able to tell how someone feels just by looking into their eyes.


My final puzzle piece is a can of Gina Mango Juice. In reality, it’s called Gina Mango Nectar, but thanks to my friends’ confusion, I just stick with the word “juice” to avoid the question that’s bound to be asked. Seeing the mango juice immediately puts a very dorky, childish, gleeful smile on my face. I might leave an odd impression on people who see me in stores because whenever the seldom store that sells it appears in my life, I nearly scream in joy. Smelling the juice is like the two minutes of waiting before you can eat the instant noodles. It’s excruciating to know that the most delectable treat isn’t already going down my throat. Holding the mango juice to me is equivalent to holding a deep cut. If there are any drops on the floor made of the precious liquid, I almost feel physical pain. I know that sounds very silly, but the mango juice to me is just that delicious. Besides its amazing kick, it also makes me think back. The fact that the mango juice brings me to such nostalgia irks even me. At times, it seems as though whenever it reaches my throat, I enter a world of memories that lay forgotten deep in the back of my mind, the latest one being in a restaurant as a 4 year old, in a moment of bliss because of her new presents and if I remember correctly, I was showing off a fake phone. I can never be sure if that was a very surreal memory or a very realistic dream, but it’s just like the other recollected memories I have. I cherish these moments. They are the links of a chain that are slowly but surely bringing me to my past even though it seems to be a world away.


I have never been normal, then again, who is? I’m someone whose devotion towards mango juice could be questionable, but I like to imagine that I myself am questionable. As I write this, I realize just how important these items really are to me. They aren’t just random objects I picked up to complete an assignment. They are a part of me and help me be Niqui Dizon.

What's in a Name?

What’s in a Name?
A name is a book cover. You can look at it all you want, but you’ll never be able to figure out what’s really inside without putting in the effort of actually reading the book. If you just observe the outside of the book, not the inside, you will most likely start making assumptions. My name is quite an example. You can look up the meaning, stare at it all you want, but it doesn’t mean you know who I am because I don’t match my name at all.
My name is Veronica Dizon. Although “Veronica” means “Runner of Victory” or “Victorious”, a meaning that could be desirable in another’s eyes, I’ve never been very fond of it. It may be because I don’t find it very unique, seeing as everyone seems to have heard of the name before, either in a book called “Veronika Decides to Die” by Paulo Coelho or from a movie. I do like the Latin meaning more. The name Veronica comes from the phrase “vera icon” meaning true image. That makes my name an anagram, but even though true image does appeal to me, I’d rather not be identified with “Veronica”. It sends a feeling of discomfort and formality when I introduce myself with such a long name. Because of these reasons, I’ve always liked to acquaint myself with my peers as “Niqui”. Yes, people have never spelt it on their own without me telling them how and yes, people have always mispronounced my name. Although my name is spelt “Niqui”, it’s pronounced as “Nikki”.
I have had my fair share of question as to why my name is spelt in such an unusual way. Many people have reacted in different ways, some of them saying it’s ludicrous and asking me to change the spelling, and others are happy to know a new way of looking at a name they thought was only spelt as either Nikki or Nicky. Miraculously, I was able to find the meaning of my nickname. Capable. So far, my name practically “One who is Capable of Victory”. Wow. That doesn’t even tell me if I actually do win, it’s just saying I can. Is it trying to say I’m not bothered to win even though I am capable or have the potential?
In my entire life, the question I hear the most is either “How was school?” or “Why is your name Niqui when your given name is Veronica? Shouldn’t it be Ronnie or Vera?” I have answered this question countless times but the amount of times it is asked seems to build up anyways. The reason my name is Niqui and spelled with a and not a is because of my birthday. I was born on October 10th, which just so happened to be the same birthday as my great-grandmother who I just happen to be very similar to. I was originally to be named after my great-grandmother, Francesca, but said woman told my mother that I shouldn’t be named Francesca because it meant “spoiled”. That’s when my mother decided to go to her other choice of Veronica but she hadn’t given up on naming me after my great-grandmother one way or another. Before she died, my family called her Lola (meaning Grandmother in Tagalog) Quica. It must have been difficult to find a way to squeeze “Quica” into “Veronica” but she eventually came up with the name “Niqui”, leading to why my name is spelt as Niqui and not Nikki.
I may not be fond of True Image of Capability or Capable of Victory or maybe even True image of the Capable Victor, but I am without a doubt grateful of having the honor of wearing a name like Niqui or Veronica and I hope I’ll be capable of carrying my name to true victory.