I have always considered myself an unlucky child – I was born on the day my grandfather died, when I turned two, my mother lost her only sister, and when I was three, Mama's plan to leave with her then-boyfriend was thwarted because he found out about me.
Kaya naman tuwing umiiyak si Mama at iniisa-isa n'ya ang kamalasang dala ko sa buhay n'ya ay tahimik na umiiyak lang ako sa isang sulok dahil tanggap ko na kasalanan ko lahat. At tuwing may hindi magandang balita na dumarating ay pakiramdam ko ay dahil sa akin 'yun kasi naniniwala akong malas ako.
When my mother met my stepfather, I thought the tides would turn – that we would become a happy family. And we were, for a while. But fortune always had its habit of turning its back on me and from a family of three, we became a family of four whose father was a drunkard and abusive and whose mother was too weak to fight for herself and her children. And when my brother died when he was just ten months old, my mother generously blamed me for the misfortune that had befallen her.
I was six when I first started contemplating suicide. At six years old, I was already tired and felt hopeless. But, fate, as if changing its mind about making my life hell, sent someone to help me connect with my biological father and on that same year when I thought about ending it, my life changed.
When I met my father, I felt hopeful for the second time but life taught me very quickly that hope does not last long for someone like me – I learned that I was as unwelcomed and as unwanted in my father's home as I was in my mother's. But, fate again flirted with me – it sent me my grandparents—Nana and Papa—who made me feel, for the first time, that I mattered.
Growing up, I was one of the four Asian Americans in our small community in Texas and we were relentlessly bullied. The bullying did not bring us together unlike what I had expected – maybe we were too afraid that if we came together we would be targeted as a group and the bullying would become more brutal.
I was in second grade when another student transferred – he was four years older and his stepmother, Tita Arlene, was a Filipina.
Tita Arlene was a five-foot woman in her late twenties who used to be a nurse in the Philippines until she met her husband on one of the dating sites. She did not have her own children, but her husband had four sons from his previous marriage. Tita Arlene was loquacious and she had no qualms about asking things that others would have trepidations inquiring.
"O, nasaan ang Mama mo? Hindi ko yata nakikitang sinusundo ka tuwing sinusundo ko sa school si Bobby?"
"Hindi ko po kasama."
"Bakit? Nauna ka bang kunin ng Daddy mo? Isusunod daw ba s'ya?"
"Hindi po. May sarili na po kasi s'yang pamilya. Pareho po silang may kanya-kanyang pamilya ng Daddy ko po."
Her youngest stepson, Bobby, and I were not friends but Tita Arlene acted like a second mother to me. When Tita Arlene learned about my story, she took me under her wing. She introduced herself to my grandparents and they became friends. When she learned that I was being bullied, she requested a meeting with my school's principal and threatened to report him to the school board if no action would be taken. When that did not work, she went and talked to the student's parents and even posted on Facebook about it.
"Inaabangan ka pa rin ba ng mga 'yun, Brennon? Sabihin mo sa akin para kausapin ko ang mga magulang nila ulit. Napakababata pero napakawalang modo."
"Hindi na po, Tita."
"Mabuti naman. Sa susunod h'wag kang magpapaapi. Magsumbong ka kapag may nanggagago sa'yo. Aba, nananalaytay yata sa katawan natin ang dugo nina Lapu-lapu, Gabriela Silang, at Andres Bonifacio. Hinding-hindi tayo papayag na malulupig ng mga dayuhan."
