Crybaby

The first time I cried, as in super cry with all the "uhog" (mucus) and river of tears, was when I was seven years old. Maybe I've been emotional since then but rarely cried. I always kept my emotions inside my blood vessels and heart. True that I've been a silent and timid, and even slightly effeminate as what my cousins described me, but I just shrugged everything that's been happening around me. My escape from all the turmoil going on inside my frail body (I remember this description from the first fubu I had, hahahahaha! sorry EJ for mentioning you here) was always the wild and corruptive slum environment. Yes, I've experienced to live in a slum and squatters' area for about four of my primary years.

It was fun to be with all the kids in our community. There, you'd find all sorts of children. From rugby-boys, snatchers and prostitutes to nerds, altar boys (ooohh, hot boys! ahahahaha!) and, of course, gays. As for me, I only mingle with the good boys because I already learned that people will be able to tell who you are merely by the type of friends you hang out with and I have to always give good impressions to my family and relatives. We always liked to play the usual games that require 1000 calories, which includes hide-and-seek, habulan-taya and patintero. Sometimes, we do the bahay-bahayan but I always played the part of the middle child and I didn't do any chores at all. The whole baranggay (village) is our playground and sometimes it was not enough so we included the Manila Memorial Park where we had our pseudo-picnics with all the veggies that we picked from our neighbor's semi-garden. Too much of that; I'll post an entry about that next time.

Going back to that dreadful "cryola" event. The story in the previous paragraph is, actually, the result of this event. A day before that big event, I was searching for my Mama in her quarters but couldn't find her. Yes, at the age of seven or even younger, I was already separated from my mother and guess where? In a very popular orphanage in Manila. No, I'm not an orphan and wasn't at that time. Both of my parents were alive, though my Papa passed away about nine year after this. After that long search for her, I decided to go to the playground in front of our classroom and had a swing. I liked sitting in a swing merely because I haven't experienced it before. It gave me tranquility and time for myself. Imagine at the age of seven I was already a loner!

It's nearly dark and, still, something was bothering me. I missed Mama and only her. I wanted her to embrace me from my loneliness and kiss my forehead before I sleep. It was that time that I felt so awkward about the world and it seemed that the human civilization was conspiring against me. I felt something was wrong. Then, someone tapped my shoulder. I hoped it was Mama, I could even imagine her at my back but the voice was different. It was our house mother- a guardian in what is called dormitory in an orphanage. She asked me, "Bakit andito ka pa? Kanina pa kita hinahanap? Saan ka ba nagsususuot na bata?" (Why are you here? I've been looking for you?) I just stared at her and I saw that she felt something about it. I thought she was thinking, "What the hell is going on with this shit kid?" Then, she tried to hold my hand but I didn't allow her. I walked away with disappointment.

After that night, I did the usual routine- taking a bath but this time I enjoyed it because I took a bath using a hose in front of the church. I just enjoyed being alone in my open-field bathroom in front of that holy infrastructure. And I was doing it (bath) naked!

While I was in the classroom learning those stupid English words, somebody knocked and called our teacher. She looked at me so as my teacher while whispering something. Minutes after, I was sitting on a teacher's table inside the Mother Superior/Principal's officel crying my heart out. The reason? I was about to decide my own life at the age of seven!

I really didn't remember how they started that litany but what I understood was that I needed to choose one of my parents. It was not clear to me but everything made sense when they already laid down the scenarios. If I choose my Mama I would be living in that hell dormitory where my housemates were retarded, rugby-boys and children from hell. I have nothing against these children but living with them was like a purgatory on Earth. I was not even mature enough to absorb all those shit plus I have parents or even a group called FAMILY! For Pete's sake, I couldn't stand those so dirty restrooms where shits were all over the walls. My bedsheets smelt like garbage because the drooling retard really liked to bathe it with his ever sour saliva. And those snatcher-bastards made my days so sickly. Our very large room which felt like a very big oven where those Jews were roasted by Nazis, added all the horrors. Those nuns who were hypocrites and hobbies include constant gossiping. The never ending novenas and rosaries we pray. How could they torture us with this activity when, in fact, they should be taking care of our childhood? They were penalizing us by forcing us to kneel for hours of constant repetition of those prayers. And I should not forget the house mother who looked like the devil's wife and treated us like we're her slaves! Oh yes, I thought of these things even when i was seven years old. I didn't like it there.

I knew Mama would be disappointed if I choose Papa over her. I didn't want to choose him because I longed for my Mama's cuddle. Those moments when she'd just stare at me playing with those little garbage I snatched from the trashcans. I remembered the day she took care of me when I got ill. I thought I would miss all the motherly care. That's when my tears flowed from my eyes like the water from Angat dam that was released from the reservior. Then, a small sound was echoing inside me saying "Let it out!" That tiny sound became loud and seemed to choke me. And there was I, crying out loud. I thought of words to say while crying but my vocal chords were not able to engineer those words. I wanted to curse the Mother Superior for bringing my family into a mess. I thought she broke my family. She brain-washed my mother that it's no good to stay with my father!

I didn't remember how they tamed me from crying. All I could think about that time was I would be taken away from Mama. That they would take away my childhood-growing in a happy, complete family! I saw my older sister across the table looking at me and crying but her mouth was mum. I knew she wanted to rescue me from the emotional death I was enduring. I knew she thought who I'd choose. I thought she could see it in my eyes. And she's mad at me for that.

I didn't remember how I said my decision because it was too painful for me. It's like I hit my head with a very big bang. I left that room still crying but a little bit of comforted. Somebody hugged me but I didn't even care because all I could think about is a loss. I thought that my life would end up the same whoever I chose- a messed up childhood. I was not wrong...

And I chose my father and went to that slum area thereafter. I had independence from the retards in that orphanage but I missed my mother so much. The pain didn't stop but I outgrew my longing for her and accepted the fact that I could never see my family whole again...