Behind every girl who dreams of a bigger life, there is a house she is trying to outgrow. Not because she does not love it — but because the weight of what happens inside it teaches her that survival requires motion. This chapter is about a girl who learned to keep moving, even when the ground beneath her kept shifting.
My mother would not clean the house nor wash our dirty clothes the way other mothers did. In fact, the clean and dirty clothes — placed in different corners of one room — would sometimes mix together when the pile of dirty ones grew too high. I remember lying on a stack of dirty clothes while reading a book, because someone told me that memorizing was easier when done with your head resting on them. But I realized it was not effective — the smell was too distracting. The dirty laundry would reach the point of stinking when my father was too busy with his work. My mother would sometimes wash a few pieces together with her own clothes, but she left the tough ones to my father.
Despite all of this, my mother was a devoted Catholic. I grew up going to church with her to attend Sunday Mass. She had her own cabinet of clothes, some of which she wore only for Mass. She also had veils for her head or shoulders. She would go to church on Sundays with or without me or my younger brother, but I enjoyed going with her because there were balloons, toys, and food for sale outside the church. My mother would buy us some, and we could eat them right there. There were cold drinks in different colors to choose from too. We would bring home food for the family, and sometimes even toys or balloons to play with.
I do not recall her ever explaining why we needed to attend Mass or do things like everybody else in church. I would listen to the sermon, where the priest mentioned names of people and places I knew nothing about, but the message was always clear: we must not do bad things.
Despite her character, it was my mother who first gave me the idea that there is an invisible God.
She was around when I came home one afternoon. She showed me a basket of cassava peelings and said that if I did something good, the God I could not see would know it and give me a reward. Then she asked if I wanted to get a reward. In no time, I was on my way to throw away the cassava peelings, wondering what God's reward could be. When I got back to the house, there was a plate of food on the table.
I was very happy and from then on became aware of the existence of God. Talking to God became a habit and a source of inner strength. My belief did not change even after I came to realize that it must have been my mother who placed the food on the table. I was simply too young to connect the peelings to the plate — which was made from cassava.How does this early belief shape what comes later?This childhood seed — God rewards those who do good — becomes the quiet engine behind every difficult decision in the chapters ahead, all the way to Israel.
My mother was a comparatively attractive woman. According to her and stories around town, she had many suitors. But unlike my father, they did not seem to have the courage to face my grandfather.
Like my grandmother, she was fairly short, medium-built, with a fair complexion, dark hair, small narrow eyes, and a flat nose with wide nostrils. That nose was something she inherited from neither my grandmother nor grandfather — both of whom had high noses — but it looked nice on her. Her elder brother had Lola Adang's nose, and her elder sister had Lolo Imo's.
She was generally soft-spoken, but she could raise her voice loud enough for someone a hundred meters away to hear — whether she was calling out to somebody or singing at the top of her lungs. She was also a woman of strong character in her own right. She would do what pleased her, even if it went against the norm. But she was the woman my father adored — the only woman he ever loved. Her wish was my father's command, and one of those commands was for him to hand over all of his income to her.
That kind of arrangement was common enough among ordinary couples. But my parents were extraordinary.
After my grandfather died, my mother went to church less and less frequently until she finally stopped going, except on special occasions. She would stay home even less often, and crying in the house became more common. Though my father said she was already gambling before they married, I do not know exactly when it began.
I remember taking care of my younger siblings since my elementary school days. I used to carry a child to her so she could breastfeed while she was playing mahjong. I used to beg her to drop some money for food through the bamboo floor of a native house where she was playing cards. I used to put a child to sleep on my lap while sitting beside her at the gambling table. I used to stay with her in the gambling house at night because the baby had a cold. I used to take her place as a housewife when she would not come home from gambling for several days or weeks.
I used to cry with my siblings when we were home hungry and there was nothing to eat. Their pain was in their stomachs, but mine was in my heart. It was really hurting to think that while we were suffering, our unmindful mother was probably sitting somewhere placing her bets, using our father's hard-earned money, with soft drinks and food at her side. Food vendors frequented gambling places because they knew that was where money was.
If the stories about near-death experiences are true, I might have had one myself. I was feeling very ill one time when she left me alone in the house with some tablets, a can of evaporated milk, and some crackers. I was chilling despite my fever, and the world began to feel like it was turning upside down. Then I saw a seemingly endless spiraling tunnel of different colors with a small light in the middle. Apparently, I still had a story to live and tell. I was brought to the clinic and given proper medical treatment.
I do not know when she stopped gambling either. I was already in high school when I had to take off my uniform and change into something else to look for fallen coconuts to sell — because she would not give me money for transportation. She was still gambling when I came back from school that day. I used to see her from the jeepney playing mahjong at someone's house on my way home. I was already in college when she would sleep over at my aunt's place for nights to play. I was already a teacher when my brother quit school because he could not stand her vice. I was already working in Japan when she escaped from the house to avoid meeting me — and later I learned she had gone to play mahjong instead. She resented me for not giving the increase in monthly allowance she was asking for, because she knew I could if I wanted to.
I also do not know when she began to truly love my father. When I saw a video of her and my father in 2004, I was surprised to see them walking together along the beach, looking happy in each other's company. I was surprised to see their picture dancing sweetly in a public hall during a marriage ball. I was surprised to hear her ask me to take her from my place to my father's, just a few days after staying with me. I was surprised to learn that her request on her dying bed was for my father not to drink too much, and not to marry again. I was surprised when my father said she gave him all the money she had saved.
But I was not surprised when I learned that she asked my youngest brother — who is now a licensed engineer working abroad — to regularly support my father financially.
I might have suffered as their eldest child, but my father must have had a terrible time bearing the tremendous pain of having my mother physically present yet emotionally absent. There were times she was around, but her mind was not. She never seemed comfortable at home. She was always looking toward the way outside, and she never ran out of reasons to leave — at any hour of the day or night. The only time she would stay home for long was when she gave birth.
From elementary through early high school, on non-school days, I would often follow my mother with my younger siblings when she left in the morning. Gambling usually started after lunch, unless it was played continuously for days. She liked to sit on the beach sand doing nito handicraft. On many occasions, one of her fellow gamblers would also come walking from somewhere and sit beside her. They would talk, and my mother seemed to enjoy his company. She appeared to have so much fun with him that I was even jealous on my father's behalf. I began to grow suspicious at a young age. I had never seen that kind of expression on her face when she was with my father. In fact, she would push him away when he sometimes tried to be affectionate in front of us. She would reject him even more when she thought we were asleep at night.
She was also very comfortable with him while gambling. I saw her taking money in front of him to place her bets when they played cards. I saw their feet brushing under the table when they played mahjong. I even saw him at our house one evening when my siblings and I came home earlier than usual from watching TV. My mother was serving him dinner in the kitchen. I was afraid to ask why she was entertaining him at that hour, alone. I did not tell my father either. I wanted to save him from the pain. I did not want to put him in trouble.
That man lived with his family in a house near ours, and his brothers and cousins lived almost as close, if not closer. But that scene was what strongly convinced me they were not like ordinary friends. I was furious inside, but there was no one to tell. The only option I had was to keep it to myself and sometimes try to calm my emotions by telling myself I could be wrong. But circumstances kept putting my patience to the test.
When she was home on weekends, she would often dress up and go somewhere — claiming she went to see a movie or to shop. When she did not come home in the evening, she would say she stayed overnight at my aunt's place. In fairness to her, she did have many personal belongings — body lotion, special soap and shampoo, a full cabinet of dresses. But knowing about her extraordinary friend, I found it hard to accept her excuses. I saw the man several times getting off from the same jeepney my mother had gotten off from. He would simply exit at a different stop — either before or after her. Sometimes they would come one after another on different rides.
To my frustration, my father would just take whatever she said at face value — or at least, that was how it appeared. He seemed to choose to ignore her shortcomings and simply treasure the fact that she was home. That was all that seemed to matter to him. On several occasions, he would even save the food I had kept for him after work. "Your mother must be hungry when she comes home," he would say, and he was fine with just rice. He would add salt, coconut milk, or whatever he could find to eat with it.
But he was only a man whose patience could grow thin. He began to drink regularly after work. He would go out at night and get drunk until he fell asleep somewhere. He would not come home until early morning. In what seemed like his way of apologizing, we would wake up to find him cleaning and making breakfast in the kitchen. But the problems had their way of making things worse. It was during those gatherings that my father would hear rumors — including about my mother's affair. He became aggressive and jealous. My mother, in turn, resented him even more and found more reason not to stay home.
Interestingly, our family got bigger and bigger.
Perhaps having realized that jealousy would not improve his relationship with my mother, my father became less vocal about his feelings — though he could not quit drinking. Just like me, he had no proof that the rumors were true. But I was just a daughter. I had no idea how he could remain the same toward my mother despite everything — until one night when something happened that was not completely unexpected.
It was dawn. I was sick in bed with my grandmother at my aunt's place when my uncle — my mother's eldest brother — came knocking and calling outside the house. He brought the news I had been afraid to hear. The night before, my father had found my mother and that gambling partner of hers together under a tree, near our house.
Upon hearing that, I could not stop myself from screaming and crying.
"AAAAAAAHHH!"
I was right all along, and I hated that.
"I knew it! I knew it!" I kept saying that between screams and sobs.
After my grandmother was able to calm me down, my uncle continued. My father and the other man's wife had reacted exactly as one would expect — they were both furious. My uncle wanted my grandmother to come and see my mother. The two persons caught and their families were scheduled to meet that day with the village leader to discuss what could be done.
Lola Adang and my uncle left that morning. The next thing I heard was that my mother had packed her things and was planning to go to Manila. But before she could even reach the seaport, my father found her and begged her to stay. He was ready to forget everything and ignore what people would say. Things would go back to the way they were. She was all that he wanted.
And who could possibly refuse that kind of offer from an aggrieved husband?
They came back home together. Surprisingly, everyone seemed to have respected their decision. Both sides were quiet. I was quiet, too. When I went home after the incident, we talked as if that scandalous day had never happened. Everything seemed normal — my father went to work, the children went to school, and my mother went to gambling. If anything had changed, it was the atmosphere in the house. It was like breathing a different kind of air, not knowing if it was fresh or polluted.Did the parents' relationship ever truly heal?The surprising transformation of this marriage — especially the mother's final years — unfolds across the later chapters.
I did not have much chance to see how things went after that. I went to live with Lola Adang and my aunt's family. Her place was closer to the town proper and the high school I attended. My aunt had four children, but the three older ones were living with their paternal grandmother, who was a pensioner. The youngest, Robert, was a handsome boy and everybody's darling. It is still a wonder whether his being a special child had anything to do with the kind of love he enjoyed from those around him.
My aunt used to be a dressmaker, and her husband was a public employee. When Robert was conceived, my aunt was also running a buy-and-sell business and lending money at interest, mostly to government workers. Her youngest child at the time was big enough to take care of his own simple needs, and some people did not think it wise to have another baby born after such a gap. Whatever the reason, my aunt decided to have an abortion without professional medical help. The attempt failed, and a healthy baby boy was born and named Robert. It did not take long for them to discover that he was different from other babies. He would need someone to attend to all his needs. Though his physical development was close to normal, his mental capacity seemed very limited. He was able to walk, though unsteadily. He could recognize people he constantly met and would greet them by throwing his saliva — or, when less fortunate, his stool, which he would also fling around the house if left unattended.
My aunt needed Lola Adang's help, but my grandmother was too old to care for Robert and do the housework at the same time. I would see that during my visits — when I came to take her finished nito handicraft and bring her the raw materials and her money from the sales. I would help by dividing the work: she did the cooking, fed Robert, and handled the lighter tasks, while I did the washing and ironing of clothes and the cleaning. Together, we would give Robert a bath and wash his messes off the bamboo floor.
My visits became longer and more frequent until I finally moved in. By then, I had a younger sister who could take my place caring for our siblings at home. Though I could no longer help my father with housework, it meant less of a burden for him in other ways.
In return for doing the housework, I enjoyed a life with a decent meal on the table three times a day and an electric light to switch on when it got dark. We even had a television set — though it was not entirely helpful for my studies. My aunt was very mindful of the electric bill. To keep it low, we only turned on the lights where they were truly necessary. She would switch on the TV only for popular drama series or comedy shows at night and the noontime variety programs. It was turned off when the news came on, because it was not uncommon for people to consider watching the news a waste of electricity.
For my part, I would use a gas lamp when I studied at the kitchen table at night. The kitchen sat right next to the living room, separated only by a curtain and a thin wall made of native materials. The TV and its audience — which often included neighbors who did not have their own sets — were on the other side. I would need extra effort to focus on my books and ignore the sound of the show and the viewers' reactions.
My aunt would give me a weekly allowance for transportation and school projects. Her husband was a man of few words, but he would tell us jokes when he was in the mood. He also liked to play mahjong, and he would give me and Lola Adang some money when he won big. Because Robert spent weekends with his other siblings, my grandmother and I could sometimes go see a movie together. Her treat.
I had friends in the village to spend time with during the holidays — classmates and neighbors both. Though I spent more time with school friends, I also had a close neighbor friend. She went to a Catholic school located behind the public high school I attended. We would always see her group pass by on their way to and from school, and we knew most of them by name. She was one of the most popular among them. She would teach me things I did not learn at my school, and she was very humble and surprisingly open with me. I believe I was her confidante when it came to her crushes. Her mother was a dentist, her father was a working man, and their house was across the road, about fifty meters from my aunt's. Because her mother and my aunt were friends, she was allowed to go out if I was with her.
I would visit my family on weekends, sometimes bringing something bought from whatever was left of my allowance — which seldom happened. In some cases, it was my father who secretly gave me money. He would set aside a small portion of his share and hide it from my mother. He would also burn coconut shells after their work and sell the charcoal for extra income. My mother never knew, because he would go back to collect the charcoal days after the copra was sold.
By overcoming one challenge after another — with my weekly allowance, earnings from nito handicraft, and my father's hidden money — I was able to reach the fourth year of high school. Classes were divided by academic performance, and I was assigned to Section 2 from the start. Many of those in Section 1 had beautiful skin, nice clothes, shoes, bags, and accessories. Some were children of our school teachers or government employees, with presumably stronger foundations. Because there were only two schools in town, and mine was located downtown, it was the more popular choice — and therefore crowded.
Despite the financial hardship, I was able to impress my teachers. I was number one in our class when we graduated. There was even a time my teacher said my average grade placed me among the top ten across all sections of the entire year level — higher than even the child of a prominent local figure. But I almost lost that chance.
The curriculum required all graduating students to attend Citizens' Army Training, or CAT. Non-attendance or incomplete grades could prevent a student from graduating or receiving honors. The program included classes, community service, and practical training — we learned to salute, carry rifles, and march as a platoon on the school playground under the instruction of a battalion commander. In the beginning, we wore our school uniforms. But later, we were required to have a complete set of CAT uniform for a tactical inspection — and to wear them from then on.
Because I did not own a single item, I had to buy everything from scratch. Others were lucky enough to borrow from previous graduates or had the money for the pay-to-order shop that sold the uniform, shoes, and accessories.
I told my father about the uniform, and he was able to save some money. But it was far from enough, and the practical test was drawing closer and closer. When I knew I could not make the deadline, I asked my CAT teacher if there was anything I could do to avoid the worst consequence. He was firm about his policies, but I did not stop pleading until he finally offered me two choices.
The first: he would let me into class after I got my uniform, but would give me only a passing grade of 75. The second: I would wear the uniform and, like everyone else, march on the ground carrying a rifle — but I would also have to stand guard at the flagpole for a set period of time. And while the tactical inspection was done on a weekend with only the senior class present, I would have to do mine on a regular school day.
I had time to decide. But having my academic record as the only consolation for all the hardships we had endured, I was not going to settle for 75. I had always strived for good grades since I first started school. Lolo Imo used to reward me for perfect scores or excellent remarks from teachers. I would show my test papers to my father, who was not generous with praise but would look pleased to see them. Sometimes I would hear him talking proudly about me to others. That was the least I could do for him — to show that his effort was worth it.
He did not have any decent clothes or shoes. Most of what could be seen in the corner of the house where his things were kept were his work clothes — worn out from too much use and washing. He would save the white promotional T-shirts with commercial logos for special occasions. His footwear was no better, though he rarely used them; he preferred to work barefoot, and his feet had become too thick and wide for shoes. The only valuable thing he ever owned was a wristwatch. I never knew where he kept it when it was not in use, and I hardly ever saw him wearing it — so rarely that I had almost forgotten he had it.
One day, he handed me something wrapped in a handkerchief. I untied the corners of the cloth, but before I finished, I already knew what was inside.
It was the wristwatch.
He said I could sell it and use the money to buy the CAT uniform. I was moved to tears and made him a promise. I said I was going to succeed, and when I was ready, I would take care of his responsibilities.
I took the watch to town and went to the watch repair shop. The shopkeeper could only offer a small amount, but I had no choice. I took it and went to order the uniform. I knew the money — even after selling the watch — was still not enough. But I tried. I negotiated the price, knowing they had already earned well from the other students and that unsold stock would sit idle for a year.
Perhaps winning the owner's sympathy, I was able to place my order for the complete uniform at a reduced price with incomplete payment. I promised to pay the rest when I came back to collect it. And I did.
Now I was in for another challenge. I had to wear the uniform and report to my CAT teacher. I came ready for the second option — physically and emotionally. As expected, I marched carrying my rifle on the playground, which was surrounded by the school buildings. Unfortunately, I was still marching when break time came. Students who had been watching from their classrooms were now outside. They must have been wondering why I was doing that, and I could not blame them for laughing. It was my choice. Some of them teased me, but I just shrugged it off. Those who knew my story understood what I was doing.
For a few days after that, I stood guarding the flag after the morning flag-raising ceremony. It was equally challenging, but before I knew it, the test was over. My CAT teacher gave me a more favorable grade. Although it pulled my general average down, I was able to keep my academic standing in class.
And how I wished it was my father who pinned the ribbon on me after that.
The recognition ceremony for honor students was held one afternoon. I was at my aunt's place, getting ready, but some people were playing mahjong on the balcony. My mother, sitting among them, could hardly pull herself away. She still had to change her clothes and tidy up, and rides were not always available. Finally, one of the players intervened. He told her she should be proud to have a child like me and said he would have acted differently if he were in her shoes. But perhaps it had become routine for my mother — she had been attending my recognition day since elementary school. She would sometimes ask my father to go in her place, but his usual excuse was that he did not have any decent clothes to wear.
We made it to the program, and she left right after her part was done — likely worried about the mahjong table she had asked someone to cover. But when I got back, there was food on the table for the occasion. Her treat.
After Recognition Day, the next event we were all waiting for was graduation. Some of my classmates were excited — they knew where they were enrolling in college. Some were going straight to work. Whatever it was, unlike me, they had plans.
I was hoping desperately to go to college, but I knew my father could not afford it. Like my out-of-school friends, I was preparing for the possibility of going to Manila to work as a helper or babysitter — thinking I could save money for college later. But it was only me planning for the worst. Except for my mother, who unsurprisingly did not welcome the idea of spending more on my education, no one had told me I was going to stop studying. Perhaps they did not have the heart to disappoint me. My father could not say straight out that there was nothing he could do, but he gave me no false hopes either. He must have thought I was mature enough to understand the situation. And he was right.
But I did not lose hope. I had talked to the invisible, watchful superpower about my case, and I was expecting an answer. I had been working so hard, and God knew I deserved a chance.
Graduation day finally came, and my mother went with me. It was not an especially emotional event, except that I was happy to have received a lot of presents from different people — more than I expected. But the most unexpected gift came from a male classmate I had hardly even spoken to. He had his present handed to me by another person, so I could not even thank him. It was an orange blouse made from a soft fabric, with a round neckline, a slightly wide collar, and puffed sleeves.
I wondered what kind of occasion I would wear it on. But I also wondered how he could have thought of giving me a present when he had never even tried to catch my attention before. Had he been a secret admirer — or did he simply want to honor my effort in class? Now that he had left me with a gift but not a chance to thank him, I began to admire his character and selflessness. He was a beautiful person. It felt so good to know that someone could be kind without expecting anything in return. But after some time, I felt a guilt I could not shake — a debt of gratitude left unpaid.Does she ever learn who he was — or why?The identity and intention of this quiet classmate remains one of the story's gentle mysteries.
Because Robert's siblings were on vacation, he could stay with them more often, and Lola Adang's workload was lighter. I went to my father's place more frequently and stayed longer, helping with his work, making handicrafts, helping my sister care for our younger siblings, and giving the house some cleaning.
I was sweeping the front yard one day when the dentist mother of my friend happened to pass by walking. She approached me and said she had been looking for me. She asked if I had any plans for college yet. When I said none, she looked excited.
She said she had stopped by the Department of Education office and learned about a Study Now, Pay Later scholarship program. She seemed certain I qualified and told me exactly what to do.
The rest was history.
When the next school year began, I was enrolled in the Education Course at the province's public college. I was a bed-spacer in a house right across from one of the college gates. I had new sets of uniforms and shoes. My entrance and tuition fees were fully paid. And I had a monthly allowance for personal and miscellaneous expenses.Was this the cassava reward coming back?The invisible superpower she had been talking to since childhood seemed to have answered — through a dentist walking down the road at just the right moment.
Why This MattersThis chapter contains the forge. Every fire that a child should not have had to walk through — the hunger, the gambling, the scandal, the loneliness — she walked through. And she emerged not bitter, but determined. The wristwatch, the cassava plate, the march on the playground while her classmates laughed — these were not just memories. They were the evidence that hardship could be currency, paid forward into a life that had not yet taken shape. The girl who kept looking up was about to find out what was waiting above.