Leaning
over the toilet, my stomach heaves painfully, pushing vomit up
through my mouth. I cough harshly and my eyes water over.
Afterwards, I wash my face and dry it off with the towel hanging
on the wall. I look at myself in the mirror. I don't look sick,
but I certainly feel sick. Still feeling slightly dizzy, I drag
myself over to the little space that is our kitchen. In it are: a
refrigerator, a blender, a toaster, a rice cooker, a coffee maker
and a stove with an oven. Leaning heavily on the rim of the sink,
I reach for my purple toothbrush. It stands in a tall cup along
with five others. Sometimes there are six. That’s when our
mother is home for a visit. She works overseas as a housemaid. My
four siblings and I rarely see her. She only comes home for one
month out of the year. It isn't enough time for her to be with us,
but when she's home, she usually brings lots of wonderful gifts
for us and many nice things for our home, like the appliances we
have in our kitchen, and the karaoke in our living room.
When mother's home, we love to sit around her and listen to all of
the interesting stories she has to tell about living overseas. She
tells us how everybody lives in big beautiful houses and drives
fancy cars. And how the children have lots of toys and clothes.
The way people live overseas is a far cry from how we live here.
We live in a part of Manila called Santa Anna. It is crowded and
polluted. We live in a small two-story house made out of cement.
Upstairs is divided into three small sections divided by plywood
walls. The downstairs area has a bathroom, a small front room and
a kitchen. It's an ok house, but it is good when our mother is
home, then I don't have to be the mother of the house anymore.
Since she took the job overseas working as a housemaid, I had to
take on the role of mother. There was no other way. She needed to
work because our father was out of work. Our mother, of course,
wasn't too happy about leaving us, but she needed the job to help
make ends meet, so that we could eat and go to school. Besides,
she wanted to give us many of things that growing children ought
to have, like Nintendo games and our own watch.
"Wouldn't
you want those things," she'd smile at us.
"Yes, we would love to have all of those nice things,"
we would say excited.
"Well," she said. "Then I must go and make some
money to give you all of the wonderful things you would
like."
Then
she turned to me and said, "Daughter, you are the eldest
girl. You are responsible for your siblings and must take good
care of your father and the house. You are the mother while I am
away. I depend on you. If you do a good job, I will give you a
nice pair of gold earrings, when I return home.”
"Yes,
mother," I nodded with tears in my eyes. "I will not let
you down."
When
she left, it was the beginning of a nightmare. I was no longer a
little twelve-year-old girl. I became a mother of four children
and a sex object of my own father.
The
first couple of weeks without her were rough. But soon my siblings
began to cooperate and listen to me. I got very good at taking
care of them and doing the household chores. I was usually the
last to go to bed, after tidying up the house and preparing for
the next morning.
"You
finished your chores?" my father would ask me.
"Yes sir, everything is clean and ready for tomorrow."
"Come in here, I want to talk to you."
"What about?"
"Close the door."
He
made me touch him and he started kissing me. He made me come to
his room every night. He told me that what we did was what all
daughters did with their fathers. Somehow, I felt it wasn't right
what we were doing in the night. I tried to tell someone about it.
I told several people, but nobody would listen to me. They said I
was fantasizing and making it all up. When they didn't believe me,
I felt embarrassed and guilty by the things I had said.
When
my father found out from my aunt what I had told her, he whipped
me black and blue and threatened to kill me, if I ever spoke about
this to anybody again. Terrified, I never uttered another word
about what we did.
Another
year passed and the molestation turned into violence. When I
refused my father's advances, he would beat me, and then he would
rape me. I started to put on several layers of clothing, so that
he couldn't get to me, but this only made his ire even worse.
Consequently, he started to tell me how to dress. He made me wear
clothes that made me feel exposed and shameful. Silently, I
screamed out for help, but no one answered.
Then
mother came home. She looked wonderful. I was so happy to see her.
When we embraced, I just cried in her arms. She had no idea what I
was going through. Finally, when the two of us were alone, I tried
to tell her about my problem.
"My
goodness, you've grown up," she said. "Look at you
daughter. You look like a little lady. Here these are for you.
You've earned them."
"Mother....I...."
"What is it? she asked smiling. "Your father tell me
you are quite the little mother. He tells me you take very good
care of your siblings and the house."
"Mother...father...he makes me do things. He touches me and
kisses me."
"Of course he does. He's your father."
"He makes me do things...He makes me touch him.
"How dare you talk like that about your father. How can you?
With all of the sacrifices that we are making? I don't want to
hear another word from you. do you hear me?"
"Yes, mother."
"Do you hear me?" Then she left. Somehow I felt she knew
what was going on between my father and me, but she felt too
ashamed of herself to confront him. She ignored the problem and
pretended it never happened.
Going
out with my friends was an ordeal. My father became very
possessive and jealous. Sometimes he did not allow me to go out.
Whenever I would return from being with friends, he would ask me
very personal questions. Like if I had sex with them or not. It
was humiliating. I couldn't take it anymore. Desperate I tried to
run away. I stayed with a relative, but my father found me and
threatened to kill me, if I ran away again. I felt trapped and
alone in the world. I had nowhere to go and no one to turn to for
help. I lived in constant fear, shame and humiliation
I
brush my teeth vigorously over the sink and spit the toothpaste
out of my mouth. I fill a glass with water and rinse thoroughly. I
start to prepare the breakfast. I boil some rice in the rice
cooker. Remove some eggs from the refrigerator; crack them over
the pan on the stove. Toast some bread in the toaster and make
some fresh coffee in the coffeemaker. I set the table. My siblings
wake up, eat breakfast and go to watch the early morning cartoons
on the color television set that our mother brought from overseas
during her last visit home nine months ago. Everyone has eaten
except my sister. Usually she is the first to get up to help me in
the kitchen. I go to her room. "Wake-up. Time to get up
sleepy head." She still lies in her bed with the covers
pulled up over her. I go over to her and pull them down.
"Get
up now, it's late." I say.
"Alright, I'll get up." She rises reluctantly and goes
into the bathroom. When I start to make her bed, I notice a red
spot where she had been lying.
"He has been here too," I say to myself. "What to
do?"
back to top