I didn’t get to choose who my mother would be. But every day, I still choose to be strong despite all the pain that comes from her.
I grew up not being loved like a daughter, but treated like a burden. If she wasn’t calling me “pig,” she’d call me “lazy” or “dramatic.” No matter what I did, I was always wrong. Even when I started dieting to take care of myself, I was “overacting.”
The only thing my mom knows how to do is gamble. She left us with my grandma when we were still young—and along with that, she left tons of debt. She went abroad, but we were the ones left behind to deal with the people and lenders she owed. The money she sent every two months was never enough to pay off all the loans—some not even in her own name, but she was still the one who promised to pay them back.
Somehow, we managed to build a house. But when she came back home, all her savings were gone—wasted on gambling. And then she had the nerve to blame us for the money being “gone.”
She worked in Manila, found a new partner, and started sending money again. But when I entered college and my sibling entered senior high, it still wasn’t enough. I gave way. I stopped going to school so that my sibling’s tuition would be prioritized.
What hurts even more is that after all my sacrifices, I’m still the one insulted. I’m called “stupid,” blamed for not finishing school. I was the one who stepped aside—yet I’m still the one at fault?
The most painful part… whenever people ask why I stopped studying, my mom lies. She says, “Because she’s lazy.” Even though that’s not true. I asked her so many times, “Ma, when will I be enrolled again?”—but I never got a clear answer.
Her new partner would send money that was meant for my tuition. I should’ve used that to enroll. But she gambled it all away. Then lied to him, saying she spent it for my schooling. She only ever thought about her vices—and her lies.
Because of all the pain I carry inside me, there are times I hurt myself just to calm down. Just to feel like I’m still in control of something. Because the pain inside… it’s too much for tears to carry.
My grandma and I do everything at home—we clean, we sell food on the street, we cook. Meanwhile, they just sit around and only speak when it’s time to eat. Even the money we earn from selling bananaque? My mom steals some of it—for gambling.
I am not a bad daughter. But sometimes I wonder—why am I the one who has to suffer the most? I’m the one who was abandoned, yet I’m still the one expected to understand?
I am not a pig. I am not stupid. I am not worthless.
I am a child who’s been wounded—but my heart still beats whole. 💔