My Fifteen Years

        Fifteen years ago, my mother did all her efforts to deliver me properly and carefully. Those moments of pain were restored after I came out of her womb. Not because her physical pain ended, but the whole family’s happiness is starting to begin. My father held me on his arms, seeing an infant crying innocently, ever so fragile in his eyes. He is right. I was fragile from the very start. I’m his daughter, his eldest, his child.

         Although, during those fifteen years, there were times I made them happy. But I mostly provided them the saddest memories. I blame myself most of the time whenever an argument rises from any of our family member. Why? It’s because all arguments reflect of what I have done mainly before to make our union weak. But, of course, I have my reasons and causes of how I dared to disrespect and become irresponsible in the past.

         It’s hard to avoid the bullies especially that their eyes are all on you waiting for you to stumble down and be laughed at. I was four years old and I wasn’t prepared for any aggressive exploit. My seatmate, a boy, during our class was just really silent until he grabbed his chair, raised it and was about to throw it harshly on me when my teacher saw what he tried to do and warned him. I had fast heartbeats that time. I am no good of being mad at someone. I forgive people easily. Luckily, violent deeds ended for me since that day but...

         Ever since I was two years old, I’ve already been abused by an adult. She was hired to be my minder since my parents are at work and can’t watch over me at home. I was actually happy to see her on her first day when my parents were there (possibly it was a Sunday). She was very friendly and kind as what my innocent mind once thought. But then after that day, she gets food from the fridge, gets the remote control, sits on the sofa, and turns the TV on, completely unavailable. I remember myself asking her for my milk, all she said was, “Get it. It’s on top of the fridge”. And to think, I WAS TWO YEARS OLD. I’m not tall enough for that. How was I supposed to get my milk? You know what I did? I had to get a stole and stand on top of it, helplessly reaching for my precious milk. That wasn’t the only negative of her. Every end of the week, she has to go out because she dares to shop and leave me with her addict boyfriend. I lock myself in my room the whole time she’d be out because her boyfriend stays inside our house and does what she does: eating in front of a TV. Did I ever tell my parents about it? Yes, I did. But I was late. I told them about it only when I was seven because I was afraid she’d do something bad. I suffered her abuse for one and a half year.

         When I was at the age of five, I grew two fangs on my gums. And as a result, boys tease me of how I look. Girls get disgusted of me especially because I behave as a lesbian. Therefore, no friends. I was always excluded on their games inside the classroom. That’s why I never know how to play with the others because I was used to being excluded. Well, ever since I was a baby, my parents trained me to learn the universal language and never my mother tongue. So upon that, many judged my nationality and staying in the country for that matter.

         When I turned six, it was worse. My classmates start to think I was being a perfectionist since I always get the top score and highest rank in class. Also, they’ve notice I have always been speaking in English ever since and never heard me say any of the words in our native language. When I told them I was trained to only speak English, they all laughed at me and they were saying things like, “Poor you. How long will you last in this country when your parents hate your motherland’s tongue?” Then when they’d say something to me in Visaya and I’d ask them what it meant, they’d just laugh and ignore me. Since then, I told myself that I have to learn how to speak Visaya. Fortunately, my parents were fine with it because they see the advantage. And I have to suffer this bullying and teasing of my fangs, tomboyish acts, English accents and intellect for four years.

         I changed school after third grade. I was partly happy, partly lonely again. I knew I’d only have few friends on the next school. But there, I gained lots and lots of friends from different grade levels. Although, I can still feel the emptiness in me, like I didn’t belong there.

         I was fully ten years old when I had my first period. Yes, it was very early for a teen. In time when we discussed about menstruation in E.P. class, I had the period. When I stood up unknowing of what stained my skirt, they laughed at me. Our E.P. teacher guided me out to the comfort room and told me about my period and to tell my mother about it later after dismissal. I cried because I thought I was going to die due to the blood I saw on my skirt. I was given another skirt by the school which was supposing served as a display for the transferees but they let me wear it anyways.

         Again, after that school year, I migrated to this place. And still experienced bullying, isolation, and developed my bipolar disorder at the age of eleven, twelve, and thirteen which started at the age of seven. [My bipolar disorder worsened to stage two when I was nine years old.] I felt like a nobody for three years. It ended when I reached second year high school. Unfortunately, I was still treated wrongly but I could just deal with them.

         Year after, I was fourteen years old, I continued to be manic depressive. I believed to things that didn’t even happen. My mind makes up memories that weren’t even true. I had hallucinations secretly and had the feeling I now have a poor heart based on the changes I have observed with myself.

         Now that I’m fifteen, those memories keep coming back to haunt me. I don’t seem to see any solution for my lifetime dilemma. I feel hopeless with this! I don’t have enough time in the world to be happy. I have many people expecting big things from me and I always get stressed. I don’t know if I’d survive.