Autobiography
Memoir of the Soul
A vessel of lived seasons, carrying both storms and blossoms.
Beneath the Blossom
SPROUTED TO LIFE
We are all born into stories. Some unfold as grand epics, others as quiet dramas. Some are filled with joy, others with sorrow. Yet each beginning is unique, a testament to the human experience.
And my story is no different.
It began, as all stories do, with a single moment: the moment I entered the world. It was a moment I could not remember, yet it shaped everything that followed. My journey would become one of discovery, purpose, connection, hope, resilience, and growth. And it all began in a small house in the City of Iloilo.
At three past midnight on the 25th of May, 2005, the cry of a newborn pierced the night air—my cry.
Tears of relief welled in my mother’s eyes as she finally held her first child and daughter. My name was born from the union of my parents’, marking the beginning of my story. From that night on, the first chapter of my seedling’s tale began.
My name is Mariel Roque, known to many as “Mai-Mai” — an enigma to some, but within this story, the mysteries of who I am will finally begin to unfold.
THE LITTLE SEEDLING
My world began as a blur of colors and sounds. In my mother’s arms, I found warmth; in my father’s laughter, joy. When I was five months old, we returned home to Isabela — a small family of three in a humble hut beside the rice fields.
Sunlight spilled golden over the land, and the wind carried songs of birds. My fondest memory was a gentle ride atop a carabao with my grandfather — my mother’s laughter below, my tiny hands gripping his. That moment became a seed of memory I would carry forever.
THE BUDDING EXPLORER
Childhood was a season of mischief and wonder. My days were filled with games under the sun — hide and seek, chasing, and creek swims with cousins. Discipline came swiftly, but so did love.
At school, I was quiet but curious. Books and drawing became my favorite worlds — sketches of fields, huts, and smiling suns filled my notebooks. Hard work soon bore fruit: honors, medals, and leadership as a Girl Scout. By graduation, I stood as salutatorian — a little seedling growing toward the light.
THE BLOSSOMING TEEN
High school marked a quiet bloom. I formed friendships, joined the Drum and Lyre Corps, and found comfort in music and art. My mother’s gift of a guitar deepened that love, and a friendship with a fellow lyre player grew into something precious.
Then came 2020. The pandemic turned freedom into fear. Anxiety consumed me — obsessive thoughts, panic attacks, and sleepless nights. My world shrank to my room, but through writing, I found a fragile voice in the silence.
THE WILTING PETALS
Before the year ended, I found peace in a familiar friend. He made me laugh again, and soon, love bloomed between us. But the joy was short-lived — he was suddenly gone, leaving behind only silence and grief.
Then came another loss: my sister fell ill and never returned home. Quarantine kept us apart; the news shattered me completely. I wrote to release the pain, whispering to myself that this was reality with tragedy, not a fantasy that ends happily.
Through the grief, I still endured — finishing senior high school, earning awards I dedicated to those I had lost.
THE RECOVERING BLOOM
Healing came slowly, like dawn after a long storm. I smiled for others even when I felt hollow inside, but in time, light began to return.
Books became my refuge — especially psychology, where I found understanding for both myself and others. I began to draw again, play music, laughing softly. I was still in pieces, but I was mending — learning to live with the cracks that let light through. It wasn’t the end of darkness, but it was the beginning of hope.
THE FRUIT DEVELOPMENT
College marked another season of growth. With my background in ICT, I pursued a degree in Information Technology, majoring in Web and Mobile App Development — a field that blended logic and creativity.
The first days were lonely, but soon, new friendships bloomed. Unlike before, competition faded — replaced by kindness and support. The challenges were endless, but I endured, remembering the storms I had already survived.
Now, I see myself as a canvas — layered, imperfect, yet evolving. Like a fruit still ripening under the sun, I am growing, patiently and purposefully.
For every ending, birth’s another beginning, and every shadow only makes my light shine brighter.