By: Klaryzza Ynez Gregorio
St. Elizabeth Catholic High School

“You’re it!” And I was there.

The name of their game was “first one to touch her lives… losers die.” Thousand of sperm cells are swimming as fast as they could just to get me. I am the target or I should say I am their hope, their life. First one to tag me will survive; the rest will be doomed. Pretty exciting… all the attention is mine. They will do anything for me- swim, sprint, live, die, anything.

“Hon, we’ll be having another baby. It will be our fifth. I… I just want to let you know.”

“Shit! How did you get pregnant again? How… is it mine huh? Damn it!”

“Stop it! You’re hurting me. You are the father! Who else? Stop it!”

My mom has been irritated with me for the past seven months because I am the reason why dad is not paying attention to her anymore. All my other four siblings are complaining non-stop. “That thing will be another pain in the ass!” they would yell. How can I forget about dad? Thanks for the shaking he would always give me. He would constantly beat mom for not cooking the meal the he wants and for not aborting me in the first place.

“Lady, are you crying, do the tears belong to me?”

It is from John Denver’s ‘my sweet lady’. She would always listen to that song while crying her heart out. She would hate me and herself. The next thing I know is that I am indulging in vodka and Marlboro. Mom’s ‘therapy sessions’ had begun. She would laugh then cry, drink and drag. I am used to it. I think I am addicted myself. I would kick hard every time she would not drink or smoke. Like mother like daughter. If she even knew that I’m a girl.

Time flies so fast that I just noticed my hands and feet are fully developed (with a little distortion). The big question in my head keeps on growing, “How?” There are things a want to do in the future; to be a doctor, to be a journalist or to be a broadcaster. But how? How can I be a doctor and cure people’s diseases if I can’t even find the cure for the deteriorating love in my family? How can I write my innermost feelings if the house is filled with screaming and swearing? How can I tell to the people the situation of the country if couldn’t even tell others the story of my family?

“You dropped your English course? Why? This is your last year in high school. I don’t want you to waste another summer or semester because I need you to work and help the family.”

“Shut up mom! As if you are so smart back then. I mean look at you! So what if I dropped it? I didn’t know you care that much!”

“Don’t talk to me like that you…”

I want to have my own family. “Mommy, I love you!” my little angel would whisper. How sweet could that be? I want to experience how to love and be loved. I want to be in the arms of the man who’ll show me a glimpse of what eternity means. I want to grow old with wrinkles and grey hair and naughty grandchildren whom I’ll spoil. But what if I end up with the reincarnation of my dad? This story will never end.

“Oh my God! Ahh! I think it’s gonna come. It’s gonna come out! Take me to the hospital! Aaaahhh!!!”

“Dammit! Why didn’t you tell me that it’s due this time? I just lost in a poker game. This is all wrong timing!”

Mom is labouring and I can hear dad swearing loudly that I can swear in my mind hoping that it would make him stop. He never showed any sign of care for me or for mom. He walked out the delivery room without giving the doctor any decision. He left with only the echo of his swearing audible.

“Just let the baby live. I wanna die and… I just want to end this…”

“Uhhaaaa! Uhhaaaa! Uhhaaaa!”

I know God has a plan in my life. He allowed me to see the world outside my mother’s womb; to fulfill my dreams, to become a separate individual, to breathe a different air, to live. I am alive. She is gone. I am alone like always…nothing new, just the environment. The chord that is connecting me and d my mom has been cut. I am a different individual.

“You can adopt her if you want. I have four little bastards to take care and… uhm… I just can’t take care of her.”

“Have you told her mother about this? Because…”

“No need. You are the one who should tell that girl that she is the reason why her mother died. I don’t want her to exist in my world.”

They say that time heals all wounds. My belly button is already healed but there is something left unaided in my heart. I know that the other end of the chord will always be missing. I opened my eyes to the blinding light. I heard an unfamiliar voice- sweet and tender. The music was not of John Denver. I cannot smell vodka or cigarettes. Everything is missing.

“Poor little girl. Don’t you worry now; I’ll take care of you.”

“Hi little baby! I will be your big sister. When you grow up, we will play Barbie and I will read you bedtime stories. Don’t cry! Everything will be alright.”

My story has just begun.

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