on bended knees

sorry to steal the title from a song, but i believe that i'd do it justice if i write something deeper and more profound. but this line in the song started with, "oh god give me a reason, i'm down on bended knees". unlike the song which tells the story of a man who is desperately trying to get over his agony (as well as himself), he goes back to the lord for comfort and wisdom.

just this morning as i was headed to liceo for my driving lesson, my father blasted the car with christian music. it was up to 16 which was very loud. i could barely hear myself think! i got so mad that i screamed at him to lower down the radio so my mom could drive properly. he then inserts himself and says "i don't understand what your saying anyway so i'm going to listen to something I enjoy!". i mean, of course it makes sense. it doesn't bother me what he listens to, what does bother me is how he constantly puts us in a position where we all want to hate him. i naturally don't care about him. i've lost my passion to continue life for my dad. and yes, i have learned to stop loving him a long time ago.

so back off, we were in the car right? so... he asks me "how many minutes do you spend for God?" i kept quiet because i already told him that everything i do is for God. i make my deeds a form of sacrifice. he then says, "see, you can't even answer me!" pissed off, i told him, "you don't get to tell me what to do! don't dictate me on how i should praise God! just because you can't control your life, it doesn't mean you should control mine!" and almost automatically, my father kept quiet.

a few minutes later, while driving out of town, i regained sanity. even though i didn't love my father, i had no right to treat him that way. even if i hated having to believe in God because that was what he constantly pinned down in my head, i still believed in him which meant it was at least in a way effective. i just hated the idea that my life was being run by a self proclaimed emperor. then i came to the idea that if i wasn't able to treat my father with respect, i wasn't doing God any good either.

it's like, there is a commandment that says, "fathers, do not provoke your children". and i have been using that as an excuse to hate my father. instead of looking for good things he has done to me, i constantly keep my eyes on his mistake and never ever forget to remember them. all i see is him trying to make me miserable. in ways it is true, he even forgets my name, but in some... it's not the case.

even when i told my father that i didn't love him anymore, he still paid for my school. he bought me a car, he wrote down our house in my name and promised me a future in the states. even when i made up reasons to hate him, he continually found reasons to love me.

i really don't love my dad. honestly, i want to live without being with him. but then again, i can't imagine my dad not being with me when i need him most.

i remember a time when i was two years old when he would take me outside to bathe me. i was too young to pronounce "kabo". he brought me outside that one afternoon. i could still remember because my mother was making salted eggs and balut for extra income and she'd always make them in the afternoon when she was done with siesta. so my dad put me on a wooden cover for the huge water tank. he didn't notice that it was already rotting because he was busy getting my soap and clean clothes. i didn't notice either since... well... i was still 2.

he went back inside the house to get what he needed for my bath which included the kabo. i was singing mandy when the wood broke in half and i fell head first into the tank full of water.


they say that at the moment before you die, you see have a flashback. my life wasn't that long so there wasn't so much to look at. all i remember was my mother holding me in her arms while making me go to sleep. i remember my dad singing, "pipay, i love you so. don't you know oh oh oh, pipay i love you so... pipay i love you so." and stuck in that upside down position, almost out of breath, lungs almost collapsing, i felt a touch on my ankle and i was pulled upward.

my dad saved me.


the same thing happened when i was four. i was following my sister and our neighbor len-len who were planning to get native guavas at the back of our small farm. they told me to stay behind, but i kept following them anyway.

we passed by a broken canal my dad demolished before because water could not pass through properly. my sisters acrobatically walked at the sides and continued to push me away. angrier and desperate to have my sister's attention, i went on following them.

i tripped on a rock and fell head first into the hole where my head hit a broken glass. the scar still is visible 'till this day. moments later, i opened my eyes to see my father holding me in his arms and my mother getting gauze and guava tea to wash my wound.


all those times i was inches away from death, my father came to the rescue. he was always ready to pull me out of deep-shit situations. and for that, i thank God for him. for every good thing he did, i bless my dad.

turning around, i saw myself. all those times, i had always been the "good child". i was the one who always got good grades, the one who never got into trouble, the one who was continually progressive. i was always the one who my parents gave everything to. i was always the one who my parents wanted to be with. and no matter how effed up things were, i was always the one they trusted. but all these titles were my choice. i didn't want to be the reason why my parents kept regretting why they made children. i didn't want to be the worst child, they already have bad ones.

but behind closed doors, they don't know who i am. i'm still the girl who has a summer ritual of trying to kill herself. i'm still the girl who wishes to get cancer just so she could die. i'm still the girl who never learns. i'm still the girl who had a child but died. i'm still the girl who feels unloved. and i'm definately still the girl who can't find her true identity.

to them, they see me as someone strong and independent. but to those who know me, they see me as someone who separates herself. i don't know why i am like this. i don't really give in to one set of friends for a long time. i always seem to run into bad reasons to stay and i always abandon them regardless if they need me or not. and i always want to be alone even if it means going away from God's light just so i could prove to everyone that i made it without anyone's help.

reflecting upon this want, it still went back to my sisters. my eldest had always been the genius, and that's not just a title i gave her. she is, literally, a genius. she was the one who knew how to spell before she could talk. she knew how to write and read. she could draw, she could dance, she could do anything except sing. my other sister was always the one who knew how to gain money. she always knew how to embezzle everyone. she was the meanest of us 3. she would make me cry on a regular basis. she could sing. and boy, she has one heck of a voice. but neither of them wanted me around during my childhood.

i would enter their room to play with them. they would push me out of their room and tell me i didn't belong there. it was just a childish thing. but i couldn't forget how my eldest said "no she's not my sister" when i called her in recess. i most especially couldn't forget when my other sister went to her friend's birthday party instead of mine. i would never forget how my sister took my lunch money because she said she already used hers to buy a yoyo. and at that time, you were the coolest kid when you had a yoyo that flashes light.

but a more mature thing came along when i was in second year high school when my sister had sex with my boyfriend. my other sister's boyfriend almost raped me but she still chose him over me and said, "starting now, you don't have me as your sister anymore." i still remember how they forced me to enter a relationship where the boy only got me drunk and raped me. and i definately remember how my sister punched me in the face in dv soria and my mother took my sister's side.unknown to them, i still bear these things in my heart. unknown to all of them, i still hurt all over again when i remember these things.

but, if i look at the positive side to what they did, they have done alot of good things to me. like my eldest teaching me algebra in grade 6. my other sister teaching me how to sing. my sisters who took me out for lunch when i had my first heart break and my sisters who celebrated with me when i graduated and was offered to school in xavier. they were the ones who saw me cry, even if sometimes they were the reason.

my family had always been the apple of discord. everything always goes wrong. but hey, they're just human. even i make mistakes, i just don't know them. i am sometimes optimistic, but there are times when i wake my mother in the middle of the night because i want to die. there are times when i broke my mother's heart when i pulled out a knife and desperately tried to cut my wrist because i felt discontented. there are times when everything is oh so wrong, but my family remains strong for me. my dad pulls me out of shitty situations, my mother takes my side whenever i need it, my sisters take me out when i'm sad (with tanduay in hand).

and through the years, they are a constant reminder to me that God exists.