The milestone of adolescence to becoming a young adult
varies across every single individual. My daughter, for one will be 13 soon
this coming spring. I should be worried like any parent would. However, I have
decided that until I get to that point, I will not worry about it. When that
time comes, I will have to choose which battle to fight.
For the moment, I will reflect on my own milestone.
Honestly, becoming a teenager was not something I was eager to become. My
reason for dreading the milestone was mainly because of the influence my mother
has enforced on me, regarding my self-image. An image I have to portray, which
is to be the utmost perfect lady. I had to carry my head up high, strut with
class and to speak eloquently with poise and prudence. Evidently, even with
good intentions, my mother extended this expectation with brutal criticism and
harsh discipline. For a good solid moment when all your trust with the one
person you held so dear, becomes your nightmare. I had often wondered as a teenager, what it would be like to be an adult and if it would change the way my parents thought about me.
By the time I was 14, I had no choice but to tell my mother,
that if she were to strike me again, I will make sure someone will get hurt and
that it wouldn’t be me. The breaking point had its limit. I was done with her
telling me how ugly and unsophisticated I was to her and how much I reminded
her of her “monster” of a husband. Honestly, this wasn’t the worst part of my
life.
When I was 16, I was sent back to the Philippines. There was
a typhoon that hit Los Baños,
Laguna. I got sick with food poisoning and did not even realize it until an
OBGYN had to point it out to the doctor who was suppose to be helping me get
better. This doctor thought my parents were making millions, since Brunei is
well-known for its riches in natural oil and gas. A doctor in a small province,
really doesn’t make much at all. So, enabling me to be sick, this doctor
believed he would rake himself some money by keeping me at the hospital. It should
have been an easy treatment of ‘get rid of bacteria in digestive system’ for a
week rather than three.
Instead of being worried about me, my parents were
infuriated with my actions since I had gone to a different restaurant from
where I was supposed to dine at. Regardless of the matter, whether I had waited
to dine at the designated restaurant, the whole area had no power. Another
factor to consider, we were not allowed to cook at the dormitory. The aforementioned
restaurant did not own a power generator. They had to borrow it from somewhere
else. So, by the time they had found one to open shop, I had 2 hours left into
my curfew since I had been looking for a place to eat. It was a long walk back
to the campus dormitory since the Jeepneys were not able to drive in the flood.
The aggravation was intense while I was using the hospital courtesy
phone. I retorted back to them, “Then, you would rather have me starve to
death?” The response was, “If there had been no other choice, you should have
stayed home and eaten some bread.” It was very convenient of my mother to
personally ask the owner of that restaurant if they were open that day not
realizing the situation at that time. Of course, they were going to say they
had not seen me come in because they were closed when I had arrived there. It
was just the sheer inconsideration on my parents’ part for not understanding
what happened when the typhoon
struck Luzon.
The emotional break down from that moment became the worst
part of my life. The acknowledgement in which my parents had given me, made me
feel that I was worth nothing more than a piece of bread. Yes, I understand
that this was my teenage angst. I was depressed then, not realizing how much of
what I have expected from my parents merely was an ideal. An ideal parent would
have taken measures to fly to Philippines, talk to the doctor, or something to
show that I meant the world to them. A loaf of bread is not enough to keep
one’s starvation level satisfied, especially after a flood. There had been no
power for 2 consecutive months. The concept alone trying to understand why my
parents were angry at me for being sick was too much for me. I was so angry at
that time, I wanted to kill myself. Just as soon as I was about to cut myself,
my roommate’s boyfriend walked in. He noticed what I was doing and asked me,
“Why?”
I told him the burdens and expectations my parents have
given me were too much for me to handle. I told him that I was nothing more
than an image to them - an icon of an ideal successful eldest child. I
explained to him that I was a failure to them and was more of a burden than being
a poster child you see in Parent Magazine. He just blinked at me, gave me a hug
and told me I was worth more than that. He told me I had so much to live for.
He said, “I know this may sound selfish, but YOU have to live for yourself. It
is YOU who will live your own life. If not for you, live for God. I may not be
a devout Catholic, but I know what is right in my heart. If you let God guide
you, YOU will be happy.”
From that moment, the worst part of my life became my best. When
the day it was my godparents’ turn to pick me up for the weekend, I asked them
what it meant to be a family. As soon as I asked, they invited me to join them
to their church’s family camp. This has been my personal testimony on how I
became a born-again Christian. I have never regretted that moment.
I know my daughter will never understand what I had gone
through as a teenager. Needless to say, I have prepared her for what to expect.
As far as introducing her into Christianity, I only told her what she needed to
know and made her aware that I have delved into other religions long before she
was born. She is more than welcome to do her own research about them. I was
giving her this opportunity to learn about other religions because it would
allow her to better understand where people are coming from. I had no great
intentions of converting her into some auspicious religion that may not even lead
her life to euphoria or benefit her spiritual journey. If I had in fact
indoctrinated her, she would not know any better. With that being said, my
actions would have basically made her lose all meaning of the phrase, “finding oneself
in life”.
I was 19 when I had my first boyfriend. Sure, I had some
crushes and courters in high school. My mother’s constant badgering about my academics
allowed me not to take the courtship ritual seriously. My boyfriend at that
time was still taking his GCE ‘A’ Levels while I had taken a career path in
Computers and Information Systems. Everything was going well, until my mother
gave the news that we had to immigrate to the U.S. My depression and aggression
ensued.
I took it upon myself to find my destiny. I enlisted in the
military since my parents have not established themselves financially well when
we arrived in California. I know I swore to abstain from sex while in
military training and to wait until I finally get my degree in Computer
Information Systems and Security.
I was enjoying the notion of reuniting with my boyfriend
from our long distance relationship after I had accomplished all that I had
planned. I didn’t become sexually active until I turned 21. I had my one and
only daughter at 22. I was in tears when I gave my boyfriend the news, but he
was too far away to do anything about it. He was kind enough to let go of the
relationship.
Considering how far I had come from where I began, I am
proud of myself for accomplishing what most teenagers dread to face:
responsibility. I know several of my friends from the U.S. who got pregnant too
early, have gone through more than what they’ve bargained for. I give them
kudos for sticking with it (taking full responsibility of their actions) and
not allowing themselves to be mocked on national TV as you see on the Maury
Show, Dr. Phil or Teen Mom.
My husband is fully confident our daughter has a good head
on her shoulders. We will burn that bridge when we get there. The final conclusion regarding becoming an adult with an elderly parent: the only person who changed was ME.
