It’s Not Always Your Fault

 

My parents and judo coaches taught me well. When you’re at fault, have the courage to own up to it and make amends. Apologize, and try to right your wrong.

That’s how I lived my life, to the point that I take blame for things I have not done. Somehow, I felt responsible for everything, from the little things that my brother finds annoying to me to the fact that I don’t have anyone.

And it’s my nature, I guess to keep on adjusting and to stay silent and to change. I keep on morphing into different beings just so I’ll be accepted. And it’s tiring. Somehow I created different versions of me to the point that I lost track of who I really am.

I looked at myself in the mirror and asked if I was happy. I wasn’t. I am not living my life. I am living how other people want me to live.

Sometimes you cannot control how others think of you and if you keep on changing so you’ll be accepted by one person, then you lose yourself. Not everyone will like you and that’s a fact. Some just can’t accept the way you are.

And that’s okay. Whether it’s a family member, a co-worker even a lover, that’s fine.

You just have to remember what you really want, who you want to be. Because it is your duty to live. You need to know that one day, you will wake up and look back, and have no regrets on how you lived your life.

And if they can’t accept you, then perhaps it’s time to move forward and leave them behind. Perhaps seeing them every day of the week is not necessary. They’ll be that person who you only see during family reunions or on Facebook.

And perhaps that is fine. Perhaps you need to cut some ties, just so you can move forward.

#MeToo

This is not something I would like to share on social media because it involves family members. He’s my first cousin, in fact. My mother took him in when they were in need.

His father died at an early age. He was a teenager when he started living with us. He was my brother’s age, so they were very close.

The first incident happened when I was five. We were playing a game, him, me and my other female cousin. He would hide a small token in a room and ask the me to find it while he “played” with my cousin in the other room. When he was done with her, he asked us to switch. She went to the other room and he asked me to lie next to him.

He started touching my vagina and asked me “what it this?” he just kept on touching and asking the question over and over again.

The second time it happened, I was alone with him in our house. I was seven. I came home from school and took my afternoon nap. When I woke up, he was just there. He asked me if I wanted to play a game and if I win, I will win a prize.

He asked me to stand at the end of the room while holding a bag. He wanted me to walk across the room and we will cross paths. “Simple, right?” he said. I just wanted the prize, so I agreed. When we fake bumped to each other, he touched my vagina and squeezed my small private part in his big hand. We did it for a few more times. Nothing felt wrong at that time.

My uncle, who happened to be my godfather as well, kept on asking me if he could take me out for lunch alone. He said it was his gift since he missed a lot of my birthdays. I kept making excuses and saying no. it didn’t feel right. Was that messed up? I wonder.

It was only after a few years later that I realized what it truly meant, how messed up the whole thing was. I can’t say that it messed up things for me. I don’t really have a sob story to tell how it ruined me, because I think it didn’t. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing, or maybe I am messed up too. I don’t shy away from guys. I don’t shy away from their touch. Whenever I grapple with guys in judo training, it didn’t make me feel uncomfortable. I guess I am doing fine, despite what happened.

But whenever that whole family is together, I try to stay as far away as possible from him. I avoid being in the same room with him and whenever he spends the night, I lock my door.

I can’t help but wonder sometimes if what I feel, the uneasiness with him is justified. It happened a long time ago, and it was too late when I realized what really happened, what it really meant. He did the same thing to my cousin and she’s fine with him. I wonder if she remembers. I wonder if he remembers what he did to me.