If We Accept The Love We Think We Deserved, Why Run Away?

I am, you are, all letters of love.

Today, my parents are celebrating their 22nd wedding anniversary. In favor to the hopeless romantics like me, I felt compelled to write about it.

In a snap of a finger, I felt like I’m taken back in time when I was just a little girl doing my homework while mama was cooking for dinner. In my innocence, I can tell how much strength and effort she exerted in order to keep her cry silent as possible. I was in 3rd Grade that time. As far, as I can remember. I told myself, “here we go again!” So, I slammed my pencil on the table, went to the kitchen and said, “Why can’t you just leave Papa?” I will never forget the way she glanced at me. The way how she tried to hide the black eye on her face, the bulging of her eyes from tears that I hoped she knew I am not kidding.

I am the only illegitimate child of the family. The eldest out of ten. That’s five girls and five boys. Mama was 22 when she gave birth of me from a father I never knew until I was 23. When Mama and Papa were fighting, that the only time she mentions my father. But when they are not fighting, I am not allowed to ask questions. It wasn’t planned that she got pregnant of me that I am supposedly adopted by a family who could only bare sons that they want a daughter so much. They took care of me from womb to birth. On or before birth, they lavished me gifts from clothes, infant toys to expensive milk I drink. They even decided for my name but Mama changed her mind and became a single mom instead.

To me, life is perfect if only I have a mother and father. That is happy family! When Mama got married, I am so happy. There is a mother, there is a father and there I am. It made me happy but not for too long.

Growing up in time were sexually abuse of parents towards their children is a hot topic in town. Mama always warns me to stay away from boys especially with Papa since his not my biological father. I have to be vigilant and learn to defend myself. Not just when I go to bed and even when Papa stands next to us in the kitchen which makes the situation awkward. He keeps quite. Then a void overtook us forever. Even touching Papa’s hands to ask for his blessing every time I leave or return home I didn’t get the chance. Even greeting good morning or sitting on the dinning table together seems very uncomfortable.

The only time, I get the chance to talk to Papa is when he ask me ended questions. I can’t remember a day he treated me as a child and not slave. To him, I am invisible unless if I did something wrong or he needs something from me. It makes me wonder, what if mama gave me to someone else?

As I grew up, I see how my parents struggle with each other. When they fight, it’s a fight of whose mature and whose not. When none of them have proven they are matured enough. They are like two worlds. When they collide, It’s a disaster.

Things I will never forget is that one rainy night when I saw the glimmer of street lights in my Mama’s eyes. As she holds a newborn child and umbrella on the other, I was holding her long, plain, simple color de gatas skirt. She was crying as she walks. But she walks like a blind that she didn’t noticed I was there the whole time. She walks too fast that I have to double my foot steps to keep up with hers as I carry a bag loaded with crumpled clothes. To complain, I have to hold tight on her skirt hoping not to stumble in dirt, left behind and forgotten forever. It’s a never ending scenario that I become accustomed as years went by. When there’s a fight, one of them pick up clothes, pack their bags to leave in a face full of disgust as they swore; I’m sick and tired!

When we run away, we always live by a relative and say, everything is okay. But it was too late. I know how to lie much better than she does.

What always makes us come back home is when Papa starts to say, go home or I will kill myself. Papa never pack clothes or left the house the way Mama does. He actually doesn’t talk much at all. Sometimes, I wonder if it was love or guilt that keeps them together. Or, just because Mama remembers her past on how my grandmother left them when they were just a child. That the thought of being on her position to decide to leave the family or not makes her even more disgusted.

Nothing scares me more when things gets better and the house gets quite. Mama gets pregnant again. Year after year, it’s a same old picture but more and more people involved as she bares a child. Nothing changed, except when they no longer worry in choosing which clothes to take. Instead, they choose a child for themselves. Of course, Papa will not choose me because I am not his child and he doesn’t care for me either. In every fight, I clean their mess from plates to glasses, walls and doors everything is either crack or completely broken.

Overtime, everything is broken except the half sized thermos a gift from their wedding day. A memorable toy for my siblings to play with. Neighbors said, it was violence against women and children. So, the police came got Papa arrested, I was there. While everyone said, that is what he deserved. Mama requested to release him immediately. But the police said, give him at least 24 hours in jail that made her cry the whole day.

Having a sibling is fun but not until it takes a toll on you. When Mama gives birth, Papa can’t stay in the hospital as he can’t stand the smell of medicines. He hates it. Our relatives thinks my parents are out of their minds that no one is willing to be there for her to teach them a lesson. So, they have no choice but to make me her watcher.

What a joy it is to a hold a newborn child in such a young age. That I see myself, as a Mother. Suggesting and choosing for their names, how exciting it is. It’s no surprise to arrive home from the hospital and find Papa drunk. As usual, his broke again. I wonder, how he even gets drunk if he has nothing. So, I often sneak on his wallet out of curiosity. It would surprise me more, if his not drunk and broke. Every morning, when Papa sprays his favorite strong scent perfume which I hate, I carefully observe how he groom himself. He has a good taste of fashion that it is impossible to know he is hiding a rotten dead person inside — guilt, pride and shame.

As years went by. I am contented of making myself believe that I am a mother and that my siblings are my child. Though, I can play just like other kids. Most of my time is not spent in playing or studying but in baby sitting and cleaning.

But when I start seeing teen age girls passing by, laughing and having fun. I wondered, what else is fun other than baby sitting and doing household chores all day? When I am at school, it’s the only time I become a child again. A child who plays around with other children without worrying if she over cooked something as I always burn every dishes I cook.

The more I spend time outside, the more I am convinced. I missed half of my life for keeping up with a family like mine. The more fun it gets, the more rebellious and disobedient I become.

In high school, I am convinced I am not free. I have to break free. This is slavery! Words I always murmur when I think of suicide every time I don’t get what I want, to hang out with friends or attend events at school. The desire for freedom made me furious that it is no longer my parents who fights for each other. IT is now me who starts a fight. I can’t remember how many times Mama would drag me out, throws my clothes outside or how I hold by the railings on the stairs just to stay because I know there is no way out for now. It’s funny to remember, how a parent sincerely asks a child to eat right after they beat me up so hard that I keep crying barely breathing. I don’t want to eat, I said. But Mama warns me, if you don’t eat I will beat you up again. So, I have no choice but sit on the table and eat in tears.

No matter how much I want to die. I can’t kill myself and I don’t know why? So, I comfort myself saying, wait till I’m 18, I’ll find a job and leave. Maybe, that’s what fuels me to keep moving.

Finally, when I reached 18 years old. I took the opportunity, tried my luck and became a customer service rep in a call center company. I’m disgusted living in town that I didn’t get the chance to explore with. So, I choose city life where nobody knows me as I hide my identity of how miserable I used to be.

Now, training started but I don’t have anything. So, I stole money just to make it. The last fight that me and Mama had, she slapped me so hard with her sharp long nail which is why I can’t stand having long nails. Then, a blood started dripping on my face. With all of my strength. I said, I will show you; I can live without a family! It was time, when she said sorry, holding me tightly not wanting me to leave. I left with no words but the way how I slammed the door says it all.

Finally, I am free.

At first, having a job, living on my own, earning money for myself, doing what I want is what it means to be free. I became the happiest person I never thought I could be. Oozing with such confidence and cheerfulness, that’s how I do my job. At work, seeing my picture as top agent for customer satisfaction makes me so proud and proud of myself as if I’m walking in clouds. Pride is an ecstasy. A drug I take everyday making me work, sleep, work seems eternity and I’m loving it.

Working tirelessly never made me lonely or sad. I want more that I hate being off from work or wished to work on my rest days but labor code says it’s not allowed.

I am so used to be alone that having company at home makes it uncomfortable. So, I decided, to move out from sharing apartment with a friend.

I told myself, I am living the dream now. But then, in one snap of a finger everything changed. I thought it’s never ending how come I reached the end?

Then, September 2014 when I was off from work, laying from a double deck bed. All of a sudden reality woke me up and said, times up for heaven sweetie. Now, let’s go to hell. I can’t describe the grief and the number of tears I have to shed looking at my very own heaven and eternity collapse in just one snap of a finger. The grief is like, losing a child right in my arms. Loosing pride is like a murder. I am so angry. So angry that everyone to me is evil and enemy. Even if you sum up all the pains of life there is nothing compared to loose pride.

It’s not just about job, not just about dignity or reputation and dreams. It was when I have to face the fact that I have to swallow what I said, I don’t need a family! There is no other place for me to go now but home.

Truly, even if we find family in our friends and co- workers, no one will ever replace true family. As I tried and tried to start from scratch, it becomes more and more painful. Like forcing a broken ankle to wear a high heel shoes for a catwalk. Looking at friendships and see how everyone left me alone, made me hate everybody. If there is help I get other than self, I don’t want it. I don’t want to owe anyone anything but when I barrow money I pretend I don’t really need anything at all.

Keeping up with a broken shards of pride and dreams are painful but it is the kind of pain I know I could bare. So, I didn’t let go of it disregarding the wounds I get while blaming others for it. People thinks I’m delusional and crazy that the news arrived home. An aunt arrived to pick me up and go home. I said, no but she managed to convince me to go home.

I decided quit my job and live with her for months. But my aunt has extreme conservative beliefs I can’t stand. So, I chose to live by myself again and made a decision, it’s time to start from scratch while dead broke that it can’t scare me anymore. Things didn’t worked out the way I planned it to be. I began to develop that sympathy and misery has power. The power to get what I want. This time I am no longer working as customer service. I am now hired to mourn and grief. That’s how I’m paid for. Now, I found a new pride that somehow made me happy. Fake it till you make it, now I know it very well.

When I decided to finally go home. I’m surprised how Mama welcomed me as if nothing happened when all wounds to me feels it was just like yesterday. I don’t know how to respond or what should I feel.

Even in my return there is no sign of humility. I took my pride with me like baggage from a long travel. It always gets me in trouble every time she asks me questions about how was life for me while away. It ignites the fire of my anger that in order to change the conversation I have to shout or start a fight again. I am always in trouble. When I went home, by how things are arranged. I see no changes at all. Siblings seems stranger to me now but the mother inside of me remains. Papa didn’t say a word when he saw me home same as before.

The more I remember what I lost the more I take pride of my misery. If I’m not fighting with my sibling then I’m fighting with Mama and Papa. Finally, Papa said a word for me, she is crazy you should take her to a mental facility.

Nobody believed that what happened to me is real. And if they do, they are much more convinced that I am crazy. Now, I’m angry why I get sympathy from others but not with my family. What hurts me more is that no matter what I do, I can never get back in time when my mom used to slap me on the face, cry in front me and said don’t leave. Now, she slapped me on the face but this time she’s the one who tells me, get out and leave!

I am so angry, I went to church just to say there is no God!

God, prove me you’re there. Take my pain away which has now become my worst and greatest misery.

“One day, we will thank God for not granting us what we asked for.” — Ven. Bishop Fulton Sheen

Don’t be fooled to think this has made me a good person over night. This do not made me a good person either. There is much worst things for you to know. But how come I am writing for love if my story is not because of how I loved or I am loved in return. I have seen love in a bigger picture than anybody else a great privilege.

Surely, it would be great to be in love and to taste of it’s sweetness and bitterness. And reap the fruits of it’s glory. But that is not for me. Mine, is to marvel at it’s design and not to have a taste for it. It’s like I have gifts you don’t have and you have gifts I don’t have. Life has never been unfair at all. We just can’t forgive the things we do not understand which is why we are miserable.

Now, I know myself far better than anybody else and that’s because of Jesus. As I see God in others, more and more I see how I’m becoming unforgivable. As I looked at the cross, now I know there is no other victim. It’s not me at all.

Now, I know why.

Now, I know why Mama and Papa keeps fighting before. Mama always accused Papa for sexually harassing or having lust over me when he did nothing at all. She worries too much. She wants to protect me so much that she have to choke me in staying home.

I will never forget that very day when Papa was drunk and visited me in my aunt’s house just to ask if I’m doing okay. They didn’t knew, I was on the other side of the wall listening in secret. I’m happy he finally cared for me. Now that once empty hole no longer void to me.

Although, there is no trace that Mama and Papa loved each other. Just by staying to keep this family together is the greatest sign itself for the love they have for us and each other. When they no longer understand each other, can’t stand at each others face, they longer run away. There is no more fights than little arguments. Finally, they are matured now.

There are so many things to shamed of but their love story is what made me proud. And to be there through all the ups and downs, that alone has become my greatest achievement in life.

What makes me sad is to see how we easily get into relationships today without even thinking if this is what we deserved, if this is what we really want to die for or if we are willing to give our all. We no longer think that we are expected to do the same — to die and to give your all.

When will we stop saying, leave. When will we start saying, this is what you deserved!

It is not pain, not misery that you deserved. It is the chance to prove that you are worth loving and worth fighting for.