RAINY MONDAYS
RAINY MONDAYS
It was rainy Monday and it was also my first day in college. I was 16 fresh from the province, a daddy’s girl and very naïve. I met his very dashing guy in my Humanities class. It was love at first sight!
Who wouldn’t fall head over heals in love with him? Aside from his good looks, he was very witty. Our professor would usually praise him for always topping our quizzes despite his absences and being able to argue with him though he missed many lectures.
He was also very sweet and caring. He would fetch me from my classes and send me sweet notes and flowers. He treated me like a princess and I loved the every minute I loved every minute of it.
Another piece of good news (at least for me) changed all that. Another rainy Monday some months after, I told him I was pregnant. I was anticipating his joy and excitement but instead he freak out. Worse he insisted that I got an abortion.
Completely shocked, I ran out into the rain that seemed to share my sentiments. I prayed that things would go back to normal the next day. But I guessed the lightning and thunder were louder than my prayers. A week passed, and he never came to see me.
Swallowing my pride and dignity, I went to their tambayan. He was very cold, indifferent and noncommittal. Close to begging. I asked him to help me. I couldn’t go home and face my parents. I couldn’t raise our baby alone.
He retorted, “ I told you to be on pill! I can’t marry you. You’re rich. Well, princess, I’m not. If you want to stay with me you will have to strive against the odds.”
With so much love and certainty, I said yes.
I stopped studying to keep people from talking about my condition. I didn’t want the news to reach my parents. I just wrote them a letter telling that I had to go abroad for an exchange study program.
They didn’t buy it. A friend told me that they flew all the way from Cebu to look for me. But I hid myself in a small, shabby house that was entirely different from the home I grew up in.
TERRIBLE MONTHS
My first six months with him was terrible. I experienced many firsts in my life. But I couldn’t complain, And I had to stay and bear everything for my baby.
I had hope that things would get better by the time our baby was born, but they didn’t. He would come home, late and usually drunk. He would complain about everything: the crying of the baby, his studies, my cooking, the bills, some baby stuff and our daily expenses. And when we needed more money, I sold my jewelry, my cell phone, my original CD’s and CD player.
Then I bought an oven. He told me I was nuts for believing that baking cookies would help tide us over our financial problems. But luckily, my baking allowed us to earn P200 a day.
Twenty-four hours seemed to be not long enough for me to do all the things I needed to do. I would wake up early to bake, do the laundry, bathe the baby, clean the house, cook and do the dishes, massage him. On a typical day, I would manage to get four hours of sleep. At 17, I was already Superwoman.
It was rainy Monday again. I woke up earlier than because it was my baby’s first birthday. I baked a big cake, cooked pansit, prepared some sandwiches and bought a Coke “Litro.” I was teary-eyed, realizing that my first birthday was grander by far than my baby’s. I felt so sad because I couldn’t even invite my Mama and Papa to my son’s first birthday celebration. I felt bad because this wasn’t how I imagined things to be on my son’s first birthday. Heck, I couldn’t even invite other kids to his birthday.
BIG FIGHT
But all my efforts went for naught. I expected him to celebrate with us at least. However, it was already 3 am the following day when he came home. His excuse was that his fraternity was involved in a “ramble.”
For the first time, my patience snapped. We fought that early morning, waking up the entire neighborhood.
Even with my black eye. I decided to go to the mall with my baby the next day to forget my grief (even temporarily). I saw I saw a lot of familiar faces. Some were old classmates. They all looked young, lively, pretty and worry-free. I couldn’t help but envy them.
Passing through some large mirrors, I paused and looked into them intently. I could hardly recognize myself. I looked so miserable. Gone were the twinkling eyes, dazzling smile and youthful glow. In a few more days, I would be celebrating my 18th birthday, but already I looked so old and withered.
I saw other babies with their parents and I felt a sharp stab in my heart. I wanted to buy my baby everything, but all I could afford as a small inflatable balloon.
Going back to the house, I surveyed everything. Many of the stuff there were bought by my parents for my freshman year. A few, old kitchen utensils, a one burner stove, a toaster, an old cassette player, a desk fan, small and over-used foam, my baby’s hand made crib and two small cabinets. His clothes and pillows were the only signs that he was also living in the house.
For the nth time, all my frustrations and anguish surfaced again. And I cried my heart out. My baby must have felt it also because he joined me in crying.
CROSS LIFTED
We didn’t see him for three days. On the night of my 18th birthday, he came home so very drunk that I had to help him to get into bed. As I was gently pushing and putting him on the bed, slowly my tears flowed. When my arms slipped off my shoulders, I felt so relieved. It was like letting go of my cross.
I went back to Cebu with my baby. My arrival was like the modern day version of the return of the prodigal son. With open arms, my parents welcomed us back. There’s really no place like home!
Time flew fast. I graduated with honors in college last April. Now, I’m working as a chemist in a big company. My son is now enrolled in pre-school. I know he’ll grow into tough and witty guy because he looks just like me.
In December, I’m getting married to a man I love. He adores my son. I have chosen another Monday as our Wedding Day. After all those hard times, I still want to believe that not all Mondays are rainy, that my rainy Mondays are over.
Not so long ago, I made my big decision. And I’m glad I did!
Ayen, 22, works for a socio-civic organization. She says this is the true story of a dear friend whose identity she wants to protect.
It was rainy Monday and it was also my first day in college. I was 16 fresh from the province, a daddy’s girl and very naïve. I met his very dashing guy in my Humanities class. It was love at first sight!
Who wouldn’t fall head over heals in love with him? Aside from his good looks, he was very witty. Our professor would usually praise him for always topping our quizzes despite his absences and being able to argue with him though he missed many lectures.
He was also very sweet and caring. He would fetch me from my classes and send me sweet notes and flowers. He treated me like a princess and I loved the every minute I loved every minute of it.
Another piece of good news (at least for me) changed all that. Another rainy Monday some months after, I told him I was pregnant. I was anticipating his joy and excitement but instead he freak out. Worse he insisted that I got an abortion.
Completely shocked, I ran out into the rain that seemed to share my sentiments. I prayed that things would go back to normal the next day. But I guessed the lightning and thunder were louder than my prayers. A week passed, and he never came to see me.
Swallowing my pride and dignity, I went to their tambayan. He was very cold, indifferent and noncommittal. Close to begging. I asked him to help me. I couldn’t go home and face my parents. I couldn’t raise our baby alone.
He retorted, “ I told you to be on pill! I can’t marry you. You’re rich. Well, princess, I’m not. If you want to stay with me you will have to strive against the odds.”
With so much love and certainty, I said yes.
I stopped studying to keep people from talking about my condition. I didn’t want the news to reach my parents. I just wrote them a letter telling that I had to go abroad for an exchange study program.
They didn’t buy it. A friend told me that they flew all the way from Cebu to look for me. But I hid myself in a small, shabby house that was entirely different from the home I grew up in.
TERRIBLE MONTHS
My first six months with him was terrible. I experienced many firsts in my life. But I couldn’t complain, And I had to stay and bear everything for my baby.
I had hope that things would get better by the time our baby was born, but they didn’t. He would come home, late and usually drunk. He would complain about everything: the crying of the baby, his studies, my cooking, the bills, some baby stuff and our daily expenses. And when we needed more money, I sold my jewelry, my cell phone, my original CD’s and CD player.
Then I bought an oven. He told me I was nuts for believing that baking cookies would help tide us over our financial problems. But luckily, my baking allowed us to earn P200 a day.
Twenty-four hours seemed to be not long enough for me to do all the things I needed to do. I would wake up early to bake, do the laundry, bathe the baby, clean the house, cook and do the dishes, massage him. On a typical day, I would manage to get four hours of sleep. At 17, I was already Superwoman.
It was rainy Monday again. I woke up earlier than because it was my baby’s first birthday. I baked a big cake, cooked pansit, prepared some sandwiches and bought a Coke “Litro.” I was teary-eyed, realizing that my first birthday was grander by far than my baby’s. I felt so sad because I couldn’t even invite my Mama and Papa to my son’s first birthday celebration. I felt bad because this wasn’t how I imagined things to be on my son’s first birthday. Heck, I couldn’t even invite other kids to his birthday.
BIG FIGHT
But all my efforts went for naught. I expected him to celebrate with us at least. However, it was already 3 am the following day when he came home. His excuse was that his fraternity was involved in a “ramble.”
For the first time, my patience snapped. We fought that early morning, waking up the entire neighborhood.
Even with my black eye. I decided to go to the mall with my baby the next day to forget my grief (even temporarily). I saw I saw a lot of familiar faces. Some were old classmates. They all looked young, lively, pretty and worry-free. I couldn’t help but envy them.
Passing through some large mirrors, I paused and looked into them intently. I could hardly recognize myself. I looked so miserable. Gone were the twinkling eyes, dazzling smile and youthful glow. In a few more days, I would be celebrating my 18th birthday, but already I looked so old and withered.
I saw other babies with their parents and I felt a sharp stab in my heart. I wanted to buy my baby everything, but all I could afford as a small inflatable balloon.
Going back to the house, I surveyed everything. Many of the stuff there were bought by my parents for my freshman year. A few, old kitchen utensils, a one burner stove, a toaster, an old cassette player, a desk fan, small and over-used foam, my baby’s hand made crib and two small cabinets. His clothes and pillows were the only signs that he was also living in the house.
For the nth time, all my frustrations and anguish surfaced again. And I cried my heart out. My baby must have felt it also because he joined me in crying.
CROSS LIFTED
We didn’t see him for three days. On the night of my 18th birthday, he came home so very drunk that I had to help him to get into bed. As I was gently pushing and putting him on the bed, slowly my tears flowed. When my arms slipped off my shoulders, I felt so relieved. It was like letting go of my cross.
I went back to Cebu with my baby. My arrival was like the modern day version of the return of the prodigal son. With open arms, my parents welcomed us back. There’s really no place like home!
Time flew fast. I graduated with honors in college last April. Now, I’m working as a chemist in a big company. My son is now enrolled in pre-school. I know he’ll grow into tough and witty guy because he looks just like me.
In December, I’m getting married to a man I love. He adores my son. I have chosen another Monday as our Wedding Day. After all those hard times, I still want to believe that not all Mondays are rainy, that my rainy Mondays are over.
Not so long ago, I made my big decision. And I’m glad I did!
Ayen, 22, works for a socio-civic organization. She says this is the true story of a dear friend whose identity she wants to protect.
