A daughter's resolve

It has been 15 years since I last spoken to my mother. 

A lot of people have been telling me to call her. I tried conversing with her the other day. She still treats me as if I was a rebellious child.

I have told my story so many times before that people are tired of hearing about it. I have since wondered whether I deserve being bothered of being alive.

My husband asked me the other day if I were to go back in time, would I have done something differently? 

NO!

I did the things my mother hated because I took the responsibility of protecting my sisters. I became the dominant male of the household. 

My father at the time, couldn't care less about my sisters' well-being – much less my state of living. 

My mother's attempt of ending my life or getting rid of me came very close if it had not been for his disciplinary methods. 

My father's absence during my formative years allowed my mother to abuse me in ways a child should never have to experience. 

It wasn't until I left my parents' household in 2000 when my father became an actively involved parent. I didn't know this until he told me a lot of things that happened in my absence. 

I was grateful that he took responsibility for protecting my sisters. Sadly, not in the way a father should have done so.

My parents were married for 35 years. Ever since I was 7, all they did was antagonize each other. The hypocrisy of living a "Christian" life behoove me until his death on May 20, 2010.

The decision my mother made to celebrate my birthday to console her in grieving her husband's death still pains me with horrible memories of how she had always celebrated June 6.

I tried my best to erase all those painful memories. I never asked for anything grandeur as a birthday celebrant. All I wanted was to be accepted just as I am. When I was turning 7, she wanted me to celebrate my birthday on my youngest sister's birthday. 

I asked a lot of questions to the point it irritated her. She slapped me with a wooden spoon on my mouth. For a 7 year old, that intense interaction was burnt into memory. 

When I was turning 13, she insisted I celebrate my birthday on the 7th. She blamed her obstetrician for not allowing her to give birth to me on the 7th day of June. She proceeded to tell me that I wasn't supposed to be born at all.

On my 16th birthday, she told me to invite my classmates so that I can convert them to Christianity. My father kept telling me to stop playing with my classmates and serve them instead. I was in tears. My classmates cheered me up by razing my parents' living room. Even though the party was cut short, my parents told me never to invite my classmates to their house anymore. When I pointed out that they were the ones who encouraged me to do so despite my warning, I got a good beating from my mother.

On my 19th birthday, my mother invited her friends so she can sell her "Saladmaster kitchenware." I received presents from strangers with inappropriate birthday cards. Their gifts were eventually destroyed by rat piss. I had left my things in my parent's garage when I left to enlist in the Air Force. All my belongings were no longer worth keeping when I returned to California in 2010. 

Seeing my father's dead corpse on my 31st birthday with my mother's inconsolable respite towards my hospitality was the last straw for me.

On my 35th birthday, my mother left a message on my phone with a lot of bitter resentment and ended the message, "I wished that you were never born!"

You would think I would be homicidal towards her, but I'm not. I was an angry child – not a petty one.

I am suffering from clinical depression, high blood pressure, insomnia and chronic pain because I was angry all the time.

Since my new family is concerned about my health, I have been going through a lot of changes in my behavior. 

The catalyst that began my healing journey was during my decision to divorce my old family in 2008. It was a devastating loss. My child and I had taken self-help classes and life skills to help restore our relationship within ourselves. 

They decided to go on their own path, while I stayed the course with self-care and cognitive behavioral therapy. 

Although my life has been challenging, I am grateful to have a roof over my shoulder, clothes on my back, and food on the table.

Although I am still healing from the painful memories, I am not my depression. It comes and goes like the chill of winter.

I still love and care about my mother. Even though she has lost so many years in getting to know me in person, I cannot bring myself to share my feelings with her.

I have tried opening up to her to enlighten her of what she missed via email correspondences and text messages (2008 - 2010). She has not been kind to me. 

When her mother passed, she implied I was inconsiderate for not trying to visit her and her mother. 😩

She doesn't need to know that I had a difficult time trying to get someone from the hospital to pick up the phone. Whether my letters to my grandmother were read was yet to be confirmed. I figured my grandmother had forgotten me.

I know in my heart what I did was right. If I had not done the things that upset my mother, my sister, Beautiful Orchid, wouldn't be here with us today (kidnapped by a pedophile at 10 years old). My sisters Beautiful Love and Beautiful Wisdom would have been in a mental hospital (raped by a 12 year old boy at ages 6 and 4). I would have been enslaved to a Christian man doing unspeakable things to me at the age of 12. 

If I had not enlisted in the Air Force, I wouldn't be alive today. I'd probably be electrocuted as a death penalty for murder in the first degree (My father was about to attack my mother. I jumped in and slammed him down on the ground before the weapon struck my mother. My plan was to kill him if necessary.)

If I were to be sent back to the past, I would have made the same decision every single time. 

Silent Reservations

https://m.facebook.com/EnglishLiterature11/

I was born an extrovert.

To my mother, I was considered dangerous, troublesome, and problematic. 

Yes, I waved hello to every person in public I saw while tagging along with my mother on her errands when I was a toddler. However, I never strayed from her presence. I recall feeling dread when I lose sight of her. The assumption my mother had that I would wander away from her was very confusing – why would I risk my life recklessly?

It was obvious to me she couldn't care less about my well-being. She would introduce me to people I barely knew and demanded that I kiss them. But when I went to greet people on my own, whom I recognize, to give them a kiss, she would yell at me, violently shaking my body like a ragdoll, and then cursing the name of my father's mother.

The constant belligerent nagging and violent beatings during my formative years to adolescent years stood uncontested while I struggled to still hold a piece of what was left of my sanity.

My life was forever changed when she allowed a pedophile to our bedroom. I begged my mother to listen. I had no choice but to steal the master key to my bedroom from her bedroom dresser. I shared my bedroom with my sisters. 

My mother violated our privacy before. Why would she listen to me a second time? Sure enough, the pedophile visited my bedroom only to discover it was locked. I insisted my sisters not to unlock the door. I threw the key up at the top of the cupboard. The next morning, my mother was violently banging on my bedroom door. I scrambled up to the cupboard to grab the key. My mother clobbered my face the moment I unlocked the door. The housekeeper was frantically getting my mother's attention before my mother decided to punish me severely. The pedophile, whom she called her dear friend, stole her newly purchased car, and her car title. When she finally learned her friend was a wanted criminal for kidnapping children, she thanked God.

No apologies or remorse for the consequences of her actions. Yes, I was grateful that God was beside me and guiding me what to do. The level of discernment to listen to God was not something I figured out on my own.

My mother indoctrinated me when I was 7 years old. Every Bible verse she quoted was either taken out of context or misinterpreted. Every word she uttered from the Bible didn’t sit well with me. It bothered me for a very long time.

In 1995, I attempted suicide. God intervened by sending a messenger. He made me realize that the God my mother worshipped was not the God of Abraham. I decided on my own to commit my life to Christ, the Messiah, whom they called, "Jesus."

I vowed to take my journey to a renewed faith with God's wisdom and following Jesus' footsteps. 

My parents were livid for betraying the family. I did bo such thing. Since then my mother condemned me for being a heathen. She told everyone at her church how an obstinate and ungrateful child I was.

I was beaten violently to the point of exasperation and frustration. She had the audacity to ask me why I stopped being her sunflower?

She left me in the quicksand. She called me all kinds of insulting names. She allowed her anger to manifest into a cultural tradition that no Filipino would consider nurturing. 

I had to learn from others what it means to be a woman of virtue. It was from the kindness of strangers where I learned to be a wholesome individual. My resolute stance as an evolved introvert is not my resolved state of mind.

When we emigrated to the U.S., I asked God if I should quit and break my vow. I was quickly reminded with a big warm hug from a Youth Leader, God never wavers – neither should I. 

God led me to a place I saw in my dreams years before I knew what it was called. I enlisted in the Air Force. For the 2nd time since 1995, I was free again. 

My unit supervisor advised that I take self-help classes to manage my anger. Years passed and I was becoming more like Christ.

I will fight for justice and righteous for the sake of freedom, peace and love. Just as the Messiah once did 2,000 years ago.

I was young and adventurous once more. I became a mother at the age of 23. 

My mother was constantly nagging me even though she was 752 miles away. My first husband was furious with me for allowing my mother to control my life. I was so distraught. 

I became isolated. I wasn't allowed to go anywhere. I couldn't hold a job for more than a year. I cried myself to sleep. My greatest mistake was trusting my mother-in-law. My first husband called me a pushover, naive, and selfish woman.

I tried everything to reconcile my relationships with my parents and my own family. I was at my wit's end. When I threatened to end my relationship with my family, I was thrown into custody of the military mental ward.

Yes, I mentioned genocide. They took the threat seriously. When I gave them the big picture of my situation, they didn't call authorities to arrest my parents or my first husband for abusing me.

I was misdiagnosed for having a borderline personality disorder. I wanted to give up so much. I was tired of being beaten to silence. 

I stopped being me. I lingered in the shadows once more. My anger grew and festered. I hurt my baby without realizing it. I wanted to find ways where I could be happier and still have my baby with me. 

I felt truly alone (2001 - 2008). I grew fatigued and emotionally weary. My saving grace was God's promises to see to my child's well-being. Her smile was the only thing that kept me resilient throughout my day. 

November 2008 was the day every thing turned upside-down. I filed for separation and protection. Even though I was the victim of domestic abuse, I had to take visitation rights for seeing my child.

March 2009, I gained full custody of my child with my best friend's help. He helped me picked up the pieces of my soul that was abandoned in the darkness. 

On June 6, my best friend and my sister surprised me with a visit to California. My mother was nothing more than a judgmental and belligerent host to my best friend. 

My father on the hand was more accepting. When my father learned that my best friend intended to marry me, he gave me a surprising revelation. 

He asked me to forgive him for being a negligent father. He should have trusted his gut when I was always thinking of him and his well-being despite of my isolation from him. He never realized that my mother was manipulating my emotions and violating my personal boundaries. He recalled the letter I wrote him in 2004. He made every effort to protect my sisters in my stead.

I couldn't believe he interpreted my letter just as I intended. I poured out a lot emotions of recompense for being a extrovert. I was overwhelmed with emotions to hear from my father that he was very proud of the woman I became. 

When my father passed away 11 months later, I was beyond disbelief. 

I tried to console my mother when her husband passed away. She forced me to celebrate my birthday to see my father dead in a casket. A birthday I will never cherish the way I used to when I last visited California.

She doesn't know that my father sanctified my marriage to my current husband. I am bound to my husband's will in accordance to God's covenant at the Garden of Eden. 

I said a lot of things that upset my mother. She was overbearing despite proclaiming that her behavior was due to her husband's abuse against her.

I haven't spoken to her since 2010. Whatever I have written here in this blog was my past experience. She cannot take that away from me.

My silent reservations of not returning to California was because of these moments where my own mother made me a prisoner to her delusional reality.

I can't blame my sisters for being indifferent and blind to my imprisonment. I had to protect them from her. When I left California in 2000, I prayed everyday for their future endeavors to be free from my mother's oppressive and toxic behavior. 

Their well-being was always in my thoughts. I try my best to remember calling them just to let them know how I'm doing.

They are the reason why I am in almost all of the social media platform. 

I learned six months ago that my first husband still consider me his buddy. He was indeed high-strung when I first met him. He eventally found his inner-peace – just as I have expected. I never realized I was the baggage. That's okay. He taught me a lot of things about America. 

My mother had a preconceived notion that America was the best country to live in. Since we were forced to tag along, I did my best to make my life as toxic-free as possible. 

I acknowledge that my past trauma doesn't define my present self. I have evolved into a wholesome individual. I owe it all to God for delivering me from oppression. I am saved and redeemed. 

Since my renewed faith has given me the knowledge and power to connect with others, I bless them too by sharing my experiences. 

I came into the world of violence. In the darkness, I grew into a russet potato. I can weather any season and storm that comes my way. My flowers bloom in the summer – absorbing the beauty and light of others around me. I maybe in the darkness, but my vines that bud from my eyes will continue to find the light and meet the world just as I am.