A series of failed romances either led to a distruction's of ones self, or the opposite.
-Kimmie A.
CHAPTER ONE
THE UNWANTED
I often ask myself, "Am I really not that pretty that no one has ever dared to love me back? Am I really that unlovable that I am always a pawn of unrequited love?"
This was not limited to my romantic life. This began with my own family life. The self-loathing and self-pitying began while I was still in my mother's womb. It was completely unplanned. I wasn't supposed to exist, but all it took was one drunken night and a mistake on my parents' part, and here I am. My mother then left for her hometown, where she gave birth to me. Papa, a responsible man attempting to make amends for his mistakes, married her a year later in a small ceremony in Momma's hometown. He then left and returned to Manila to support us, while my mother chose to stay.
I was neglected from a very young age. This story was told to me 21 years later, but it made me realize how, at those crucial times in my young innocent life, I was not given the warmth and understanding that a parent should give to her children. My mother already had three children from a previous relationship, but because she moved to Manila after leaving her live-in partner, she never really looked after them. It was my Pops, who already suffered an immense stroke at that time, that took time to genuinely care for us (me and my other cousin) by constantly giving us soft food, so we would not cry all day long waiting for our mothers to come and feed us with that precious milk. My mom was always out of town and spending time with her friends. They would gossip about mundane things, while my cousin’s mom would never stop following her husband as she was so paranoid that one day, someone would steal him away from her.
It was our Pop, not our own mothers, who would sing us a lullaby to sleep and I would be lying if I said I didn't miss him. He passed away two years ago. He just waited to see me graduate from college before he finally let go. I did not want to elaborate on this part, so I would just stay as close to the plot as possible.
As you can see, from that very young age, I had been subjected to neglect and I really found a good companion with my cousins. We would play by the window and pretend that we were riding a boat. Then we would play with a small paper bullet bamboo we called "lut-hang" that Pops specifically made for us. We would then run around the house with little to no care about the world. Sadly, that didn’t last as well because I would be pushed into a new unknown world 3 years later. My dad brought us to Manila, where I'd be spending the crucial seven years of my life before everything went downwards.
I still remember the first time I met my dad. He was so dark as his skin was sunkissed by the sun in his long hours of construction work, and I was terrified of his looks. I would cry, saying absurd words such as, "It hurts! It hurts!" in my native mother tongue, which Manilanians never spoke. I would then be called by the nickname "Aguy-Aguy" for the rest of my childhood.
I never really remember much around that time, as I was still a toddler. I only remember a big mango tree across our backyard and how the houses were pretty much close to one another. I always look out the window at the signal tower in the distance. It kept blinking and blinking as if it was trying to hypnotize me. . The sounds of our gossiping neighbors, and barbecues being sold on every corner of the street, were the earliest memories I had. I still remember the music-playing Red Owl who would always play lullaby songs that would enchant me to sleep, and how you needed to pull a string to make it play. TV back then only had two signals, and a person would need to go to a roof to fix it if we lost signal. My life in Manila as a toddler was quite boring. I miss my time hanging around with my cousins because I didn’t like forming a new relationship with anyone back then. They would only laugh at me and call me names because I was born tan, so I avoided playing with other kids as much as possible. As a child, I was beginning to show signs of introvertedness.
A year after we settled in, I was enrolled at a local daycare center where I first had a taste of discrimination and bullying. I will never forget that incident for the rest of my life. As a 4-year-old, it was the most terrifying thing I had ever encountered. There was a girl in my class and let's call her Miss Classy because she was a snob and an entitled young girl just like her mother. After our recess (snack break), she suddenly stood up in front of the class, announcing her attention to everyone.
Miss Classy: I have something to tell you, guys.
(Classmates started gathering around her)
Classmate 1: What is it? Tell us! Tell us!
Miss Classy: Well, did you know that I saw Kim’s father in front of our house?
(Everyone gasped, and all attention fell on me.)
Classmate 1: Really? What was he doing there?
(Before she answered, I responded back.)
Me: What's wrong with that? I didn't see any wrong with that.
Miss Classy: Well, I just want you to know that your father was looking for worms inside our trash can. His hands were so dirty. He was doing this (imitating my father as he searched for cans, and bottles in front of her house) then he put the little worms into a sack. That sight was straight-up gross.
Classmate 2: Oh my God! Really...
Everyone except me was horrified while I was speechless and did not know how to answer her back. Then they started ridiculing me for all my poorness and all the dirtiness my father had endured just to feed our family. I began crying at my desk silently when the teacher came and asked me if I was okay. I never answered her as my sobs grew louder. I was ashamed. I was embarrassed. I could not face everyone as they tried to scan me with their judging gaze. I felt so sad that my father did not have an office job, and the only thing I could do was standby as my classmates started discriminating against him, and calling him names such as dirty man and monkey. I could not do anything because it was indeed the truth. He was a garbage man back then. He collects tans, metals, and unused bottles to sell at the junk shop, and he makes less than 200 pesos ( less than 4 USD) a day out of it. This has broken my heart into pieces.
So I went to tell papa about this incident. A year later, he flew away to Saudi Arabia without even telling me and my mother about his plans. We just found out about it when he finally landed there. The only thing he told us was that he was going to work as a security guard in another province. Mom didn't know that he was already planning to work abroad. Not until he was there. When I asked my dad about his sudden departure, he would only respond by saying, "I did that because I wanted to give you a good life and I realized that after you went to me crying about your classmate calling me monkey as I searched for bottles and cans in front of their trash can."
My father, although not an affectionate man, still gave me a comfortable life and helped me finish high school and college. Although the budget he gave me isn’t really that big, I am still thankful that he gave me the education I needed to survive for the rest of my adult life. Although I know that I am a big disappointment to him, that as soon as I graduated, he planned to get rid of me. I understand his reason, as only after five years of him working abroad, my mother began an affair with a widower. He was the son of one of our tenants, and it was already too late when I found out about it. She had already sold the house my dad worked hard for during his younger years, and packed our things as we went back to mine and my mother’s hometown. I was just ten back then.
I did not understand anything. One day, I was visiting my sister, who just got married, and the next thing I knew, I'd be saying goodbye to my best friend as I rode a mini-van with all our belongings going back to my mother's hometown with my mom's boyfriend and his two other children. It was devastating. I remember that one time during our long journey, I fell ill and even fell into a man-made canal in the corner of the street when we were looking for a place for a number 2. Luckily, my jaw didn't break upon the impact, but it did cause a huge wound that healed really slowly. I have been a very chubby kid ever since I was a baby, but due to drastic changes, stress, and changes in my environment, I lost a lot of weight.
I always ask my mom why she did what she did, and she always answers me that within these five years, my father never really made an effort to come back home and visit us, and she thinks he was also cheating on her with a different woman. She also told me that my father only sent her 1500 pesos (30 USD) a month, which was not enough for both of us. This was proven to be false later on. I would not blame my father for how he saw me as my mom later on. I think I resemble her a lot because he was constantly reminded of her existence through me. This may be one of the reasons why my father was emotionally cold to me.
I did not question her any further about what she did as she went to rent a small hut house nearby the sea. I became more withdrawn as time passed by and I started to question everything that had happened. My mom also started favoring her boyfriend's kids over me, and I started to get jealous of them. I often cry myself to sleep.
Then, a month after, a call came from my aunt saying that my father's younger sister was looking after me. My mom was a bit panicky at that time, but she did go to our parent's house to meet her. I have met this particular aunt before in 2004 when my papa's other sister went home from Germany to introduce us to her half-Filipino daughter. She called every one of her brothers and sisters, including their sons and daughters, and my cousin, whom I had never met before. So I am quite familiar with her.
She told my mom that she was going to take me just for a holiday in my papa's hometown. Although I was pretty much against it as I had never been separated from my mother for that long, my mom agreed, I then found myself riding a ship going far away from her and into an unknown world where I would suffer for more than eight years. My aunt never sent me back to my mother again, and that would be the last time I ever saw her and heard from her again. Not until 13 years later.
I tried to ease the pain by trying to smile like it never really matters.
- Kimmie A.
CHAPTER TWO
THE UNWELCOME
The first week staying at my aunt's house was horrible. The house was so messy and very unclean. There were no proper toilets. All the clothes were tossed everywhere, and you would not even recognize which one was newly hand-washed and which one was dirty laundry. The floor of the house was the Earth itself. No wooden floor, no concrete, and no carpet. There was none. When it rains, not only the outside will be full of mud, but as well as the inside. When you need to cook something, you have to cut a piece of wood yourself then put it into a fire pit inside the house. Every time the fire went off, you would have to blow it with your own mouth. Sometimes, I inhale lots and lots of ashes, but I didn't have any choice. We sometimes only eat root crops, rice with salt, and water. Sometimes we go to bed with nothing at all.
The house was unorganized, messy, and unhygienic. It was like a house owned by a pig. Not to mention, since the town was located at the foot of Mount Apo (the tallest volcano in the Philippines), it always rained and there was usually a fog. Flash floods and landslides were prominent. This was the first time my eyes were open to the truth of how mountain life was so difficult. Life there was very hard. I thought that my life with my mother was hard, but my life there was hell. Coupled with my aunt's not-so-good attitude towards me.
She would always complain to my father over the phone about how I was a picky eater and how I would not help them with any household chores. She would then start to narrate her life story about how she started earning money by selling veggies and flowers on the side of the street by the age of seven. How she would call me spoiled, and lazy. My dad would then reprimand me, telling me how they lived their life back then before he went to Manila to find a job.
By that time, I realized that this would be my life now, and there was no turning back, especially when they broke the news to me that they would no longer send me back home because my mom was a wench and a liar. She lied about how my father never sent her money when he actually was sending her 20,000 pesos per month (more or less 400 USD). They told me that my father never cheated on her because the Islamic religion has a strict rule that married OFWs must follow. Women and men were segregated and they were not allowed to talk to one another, even if they were of the same race.
Those revelations broke me so much more than Miss Classy ever did. Nothing was more terrifying than discovering that the person you loved and trusted the most was manipulating and lying to you the entire time. I began to hate my mother starting at that time. I began to condemn her because I experienced so much pain after she chose her own happiness and selfishness over me. I began to blame her for everything that happened to me from that day forward. It is also because of her that I am putting up with my abusive aunt. If she only waited for another year till my father would come back and brought the two of us to Saudi Arabia to live with him, none of the horrible things I experienced would have happened to me. However, since life is cruel, I wasn't spared from the mental, emotional, and physical abuse I had experienced under my Aunt's wing. I was broken for life.
I cried every night for the last six months. I miss my older siblings. I miss my home in Manila. I miss my childhood best friend, and most of all, I miss my mom. However, I don't have a choice.
"Go back to your mom and you would never have a good life," my aunt once told me. I looked at her in horror.
"Do you think your father will ever support you? No. Once you went back to your mom, your future would be over. You'd be eating root crops like you were eating right now because you never finished studying."
Her words. Her threats were what kept me from holding on all those years. I wanted to graduate from school and have the better life that I was experiencing at that time. I wanted to move far away from everyone. From her. From my family. So I held on. Even if she threatened me that she would send me back to my mom and all my future would be lost, I held on. I held on because I knew by that time that finishing school was my only guarantee for life.
My aunt would always tell me,
"If you ever stop studying, your life would be nothing. Just like mine. You were born poor, and you will die poor, but if you finished your studies, your life would not be as miserable. You would be working in an office, and not on a farm. You would eat the foods you prefer rather than dried fish or root crops. Your life would be tolerable."
I admit that she may be the most horrible human being I ever met, but her words rang true. If I never fought for my life back then and if I indeed went back to my mom's life, I would be living twice as hard as I did back then since my mom would never have enough money to send me to school. I would be nothing but a spectacle of dust in front of my father's family. They would laugh at me and mock me for my life choices. That was why even if my back was aching, bruises were visible all over my body, my gums were bleeding after she hit me with the firewood, I endured. I endured because I wanted to finish my studies and ditch them as soon as possible. Which I did.
I was pushed into an unknown world I was not prepared for, and this is not the only problem I had. I may have had a hard time growing up, but it was not as extreme as the one I experienced going into my adolescent years. I was also being bullied at school. This time it was way worse. They spit on me, on my chair, and everywhere I sat because they thought I was dirty. I had severely dry skin due to extreme cold weather. They would call me fish because of how my dried skin resembled the scale of a fish. I was ostracized. They would steal my shoes and throw them away on our school's rooftop. They would steal my crayons, my pens, my papers, and my aunt would start reprimanding me because it wasn't yet a week, and yet all my school's supplies were gone. I blamed it on my forgetfulness, but it wasn't until one close friend of mine, Lady Rose, admitted to the bullying. She also added how they would start riding my trolley bag like a shopping cart whenever I was out at lunch, and how they peed on my shoes and slippers before throwing them away.
One time, someone even framed me for stealing my classmate's pencil case and five pesos because they found the pencil case inside my trolley bag. It was already the last subject of the day when Marriane, the girl who accused me of stealing, just finished answering Math problems and was told by the teacher to sweep the floor. I was so focused on solving my math problems when Mary Ann, one of my classmates, asked me to borrow my pen. I told her to just get it in my bag. When she opened it, she suddenly gasped and said, "Marriane's pencil case is inside your bag, Kim!"
I looked at her in horror and immediately told her that I didn't know how it got there. It was already too late as everyone's attention was already on me and Marriane rushed to the scene immediately looked at her pencil case and saw that her five pesos were gone.
"My five pesos weren't here! You got it, Kimberly! It was just here before the start of class after lunch. Where did it go? Gave it back to me!"
" I didn't. I did not steal anything!"
"You're a liar! Teacher! Teacher! Kimberly stole my pencil case and my money!"
By this time, I was already flushed with anger and embarrassment as my body began to shake hysterically. I know for myself that I did not steal anything from anyone. Never did I go out within 4 hours after lunch to buy something because my aunt never even gave me money to buy snacks. Where does the money go then? Why am I being accused even if they can not prove anything?
They searched my bag but nothing was there. They rummaged every corner, but nothing was there. At this point, both Marriane and I were crying, but everyone came to her aid and nobody even stepped up to believe my claims. I felt so alone, so lonely, so humiliated. The teacher even straight-up called me a thief.
"There's nothing here, ma'am!" They told the teacher.
"Where is the money, Kimberly? Gave it back to Marriane." This biased teacher told me even though they never even saw the five pesos in my bag.
"Go look at my skirt, and, even undress me if you want! I have not gone out since lunch, nor did I go nearer Mariane's bag! Never in my life did I steal anyone's money! You should believe me. "
Marriane was already sending daggers in my direction, but I remained standing up and trying to protect myself. They looked at my skirt, asked me to take off my shoes, I did. Nothing was there. In the end, I was left all alone with my things scattered all around and a biased teacher hovering over me and reprimanding me for things I had never done. Only Claire and Lady Rose came after me and asked if I was okay. The rest seemed to take pleasure in my sufferings.
Marriane went to my aunt later that day and demanded her money. I explained to my aunt that I was just framed up. She never answered me back, and I didn't even know if anyone ever believed me. I felt so horrible that I even planned on taking my life and ending my misery. I was just ten back then, and before I could do something horrible, I remember what my aunt told me.
"If you finish studying, then you'll have a good job to make money and buy what you want. All the people who may look down upon you now will have nothing to say because you were educated and they were not. You have money, they have none."
Then I realized I still have a lot of things to improve and a lot to prove to those who never believed in me, and I promised myself that I would never let that simple obstacle hinder me from reaching my dreams and proving to everyone that they were wrong about me. I will prove to them that success is the best revenge. And so my plan of vengeance started that day.