Our homeroom adviser dismissed us a few minutes late. I was anxious because Papa always fetched me on time after class and he abhorred late people. He deems them as selfish bastards, disrespectful of others’ time. Almost tripping, I rushed down the stairs of the elementary school building of St. Paul College of Pasig. I knew I had it coming… “Anak ng Putang-ina mo!” (This is a Filipino curse meaning "Your mom is a whore!") were the words that greeted me as I opened the car door of our white Toyota Corolla Liftback. I hesitantly sat down beside him on the passenger seat because I knew I was to be the sole target of another litany of hurtful words… And I was right, cruel and nasty words came zooming my way, piercing my ears and my heart. Deep down, I wanted to explain it was not my fault I was late. However, I knew from experience it would only fall on deaf ears. Papa was always right, no matter what you say and no one ever questioned him. For those who dare to answer back, beware and face the consequences. Verbal abuse may not be the only thing they’ll get.
Next thing I knew, hot tears were rolling down my cheeks as he berated me on and on, and made me feel like I was the most ungrateful daughter in the world. “Huwag kang iiyak, huwag kang iiyak!” ("Don't you cry, don't you cry!") he shouted as he glanced towards me and noticed the streaks of tears on my red face. I remember Mama telling me I was just being too sensitive and emotional. I should not allow myself to be affected by Papa’s hot temper. So then, in my mind, I started to repeatedly say to myself, “Ang pumasok sa kaliwang tainga, ilabas sa kanang tainga,” (A Filipino proverb: "Whatever goes inside your left ear, let it out on the right ear") but it was to no avail. The tears still kept coming but I tried hard not to make a sound while crying or else Papa would punish me all the more. After scolding me incessantly for about thirty minutes until we reached the house, Papa slammed the car door shut once he got out. I on the other hand, quietly went into my room with a heavy heart. This time, I sobbed with no holds barred, finding solace on my soft yellow pillow.
“I wish Papa would just listen and hear me out…” “Is being late such a mortal sin that I deserved his mean words?...”
“Why is Papa so mad at me but very lenient to my younger sister?...”
“When will this hell ever end?...”
“It’s unfair that I have a dad like him while my classmates had fathers who never raised their voices to their kids…”
“I wish Papa would die tomorrow and I vow not to even shed a single drop of tear during his funeral…”
“What is so wrong with me?...”
“Does Papa love me? Did he ever love me?...”
…thoughts like these saturated my head. Sometimes, even up to now.
This is just one of the countless callous episodes I have endured. I lived in a home where smiling and laughing were forbidden… a place where I am not allowed to be myself; only permitted to be perfect. At times when I stumble and commit mistakes, Papa often rebuked me and made me feel I had no value… “Ang tanga tanga mo!” ("You are so stupid!") these words continually echoing in my ears, even if he isn’t around. He would embarrass me in front of people and make me cry, be it at home, in the car or in restaurants. I even remember the taste of salty Milo (a chocolate drink), as I raised my mug to my lips frequently during one incident, to hide my tears from Papa. I could feel prying eyes ogling at us when Papa’s fuming voice would angrily curse me in public. I once had a dream of Papa chasing me in a dark alley, carrying a bolo (a big knife) and about to kill me. I found myself breathing heavily, sweating profusely with tears in my eyes after waking up from that horrible nightmare. I became a shy little girl and a people pleaser, lacking in self confidence, ashamed of who I was. I didn’t love myself. For years, I believed I was a worthless piece of crap in spite of my achievements like being a Pisay and a UP scholar (Philippine Science High School or Pisay and University of the Philippines or UP are the best schools in our country). Whatever I did wasn’t always enough for Papa. I was permanently a failure in his eyes.
Currently, I don’t live with my parents anymore; I opted to live alone in a condo unit somewhere in Manila to stay away from Papa even if it drains my meager salary and savings. I had to decide what to keep: my money or my dignity? For me, the choice was obvious… I probably would not ever learn to love myself if I won’t quiet my father’s critical voice down. I also needed time to heal the emotional wounds my dad has scraped on my spirit. I knew I eventually had to forgive him to be able to move on with my life and may God help me on this lofty task. Slowly, I am still discovering the real me, engaging myself in different things, pursuing my various interests like creative writing, finding my place in this world and learning to appreciate who the real me really is. I never realized it is liberating indeed to be me, allowing myself to commit mistakes and celebrating my imperfections. I now have my very own list of dreams and committed to fulfilling them one by one. I came up with an inventory of activities that give me joy and promised myself to do them regularly. I jotted the places I want to visit and I’m saving money for those trips. So far, I have gone to Pagsanjan Falls and Australia already, crossing them out from my list. Everyday, I read a set of affirmations that basically exclaim that I am a beautiful and wonderful child of the Lord, worthy of love – from God, from others, from myself (I'm Roman Catholic).
Maybe someday, I can truly and wholeheartedly say, “I love myself…” Hopefully someday, I can also approach my father, look at him straight in the eye, gently hold his hand and affectionately tell him, “I love you, Papa.”
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