the gift box: my beginnings
My name is Karen Anne L. Tating and I was born on the 18th of September, 2005 in Bintulu, Malaysia. I moved to the Philippines during 2012 and have been raised by my mother until mid 2015 and my aunt ever since I moved. My parents are Cherry Lampawog and Carlos Tating Jr. I have two sisters and I am the middle child. Growing up, I have always felt closer with my mother. She had always made me feel loved, unlike my father who had some sort of favoritism towards my elder and younger sister. Looking back at it now, I realized she had been making me side with her whenever they fought. I had never felt more betrayed and lost after she left.
My childhood feels like a dream I can barely remember, perhaps because it was far from ideal and it was the reason why I chose to forget it. There were moments of happiness, but beneath them was a quiet sense of confusion and distance. I didn’t know then that I was living in an environment that would later shape the way I view love, safety, and trust. I realize I was navigating the early psychosocial stages of trust versus mistrust and autonomy versus shame and doubt. My surroundings didn’t offer the sense of stability I needed, which might explain why I often struggle to trust myself now. Yet, I find comfort in knowing that I’ve survived those early stages–that even through a rough beginning, a part of me still learned how to hope and dream.
the wrapping paper: my outer self
If I were a gift, my wrapping paper would be mysterious–simple on the outside, but full of scribbles and sketches underneath. I’ve worn different versions of myself over the years, from loud and extroverted to the quiet, introspective girl who finds peace in solitude. Or perhaps I’ve become both because I tend to have different personalities for different people.
Strict parents taught me discipline but also silence. And the pandemic turned that silence into comfort. I found safety in isolation, in music, in thoughts that danced only in my mind. People often tell me I look “intimidating”, but I think it’s because they can’t see the chaos and softness inside. As if I’m a wall they’re unsure how to approach, but I don’t blame them. I’ve learned to protect myself by appearing strong.
But underneath, I’m just a socially awkward, sometimes weird, but deeply thoughtful person. I enjoy being in my own world. I love discovering new things, learning, and just existing in quiet spaces where I can think and breathe. Erikson would say I’m deep in the stage of identity versus role confusion–a chapter of asking, “Who am I, really?” Some days I’m confident, others I’m lost. But every version of me, even the confused, quiet, uncertain ones, are parts of a greater whole I’m still discovering.
the ribbon of love: my relationships
Ribbons tie everything together, just like the people who’ve touched my life. I have been blessed with friends and people who care, but sometimes, I still feel like I’m standing alone, unseen. The truth is, the person I’m learning to love the most is myself. It took a long time to admit that. There are times when I betray my own trust, when I whisper harsh words in my head that I’d never want to say to someone I love.
Kohlberg’s moral development theory reminds me that morality grows not only from external rules but from an inner sense of justice and compassion. I’m learning that kindness isn’t just something I owe to others, but something I owe to myself first. I can’t fully love people if I keep denying myself the same grace I give them. I want to live in a way where compassion starts in my own heart.
the hidden notes: my values and beliefs
Inside every gift box, there are hidden notes–the kind that no one else reads.
My values can change the moment I learn something new, but I know they are shaped through self-reflection and the quiet moments I spend with my thoughts. I believe in healing, allowing myself to face pain instead of running from it. I believe that forgiveness is not weakness, but freedom. I believe that self respect means setting boundaries and not shrinking for anyone. Through Kohlberg’s theory, I realize that my values matured–I no longer do good just to be seen as good. I do it because I understand what it means to feel hurt, and I don’t want to be the reason someone else feels that way.