Since childhood, other than my brother, my relationship with my family has always been turbulent, a source of stress and a drain on my mental health. Now I reminisce of such days, they were simple times. My path was set out for me, with no say in the choices made for my future. My parents had not planned my path very well, it was not a neat foundation with care taken to ensure a levelled surface nor was it very concrete. They had been winging their lives, got pregnate young and based the future planning on what came to mind, rather than on research and study. It was a dirt path with a little cobble thoughtlessly spread out, making it horribly uneven and discomfortable to walk.
As a kid, I was blessed enough to go to a decent school with teachers who enjoyed their work. Despite my teachers' best efforts, I had horrible grades and rarely did I complete my homework. I was told school and studying was important and I understood that, but I barely had time and energy to tend to my future. I had many responsibilities at home, my parents weren't very organised, so my chores weren't pre-planned by them, yet I was supposed to know and expected to do the tasks they had in mind.
There was a time we were visited by some foreign catholic missionaries. My mother told me to behave and made sure I understood the importance of being on their good side. They drank every visit and joked around, one running gag was having me marry one of the older white men. It was gross, but I was conditioned to smile and let them hug me. As I grew older, my mother put additional pressure on this notion with continous suggestive nods towards flirting and dating with older white men. All she wanted was to extort him for all he got through me.
The little hobbies and distractions I had were adjusted to this unpredictable environment. I collected stones, especially adder stone, but also just stones I found myself connected to. I also had a hidden stash of coins I had been given and I often lied about losing the money. I liked drawing with whatever I could find, as long as there was a surface and something that could be smudged onto it, I drew and painted. Most if not all my childish art is lost to time, my mother loved ripping paper drawings apart as punishment and my dad often removed the paintings I did on other surfaces with a smile.
At times, I was yelled at and punished for failing to fulfull their expectations. At times they would complain I had not done a chore, that they never had assigned me and would scold me, if I argued my case. They often gaslighted me, called me a liar and warped the past to make me be in the wrong. All I could do was nod, I never liked complying, but if I didn't settle their anger, they would lash out at me. At times I thought I would die.
Even as I did my chores through the day, they would bring up baseless complaints, ordering me to redo things and often punished me for not doing it the way they wanted it.
The way they punished me was pretty typical. They sometimes made me kneel on salt or rice. Other times it was a spanking, slap across the face or just a straight up beating. At times the environment we were in made for unique punishment, like if we were in or near the bathroom and my mother believed I was lying, she would take the handsoap and wash my mouth.
My mother was usually the one to be upset and punish me, she could be upset about something while I am on the other side of the house and hunt me down to smack me. Sometimes I was caught off-guard, like one time I was in the shower and she suddenly burst in and began just hitting me violently. I was left in shock and I have never felt safe and secure in any room in that house since. Every night when I go to sleep I worry about the next day. Being accidentally killed by my mother was a real fear in my mind as I fell asleep.
Dad was usually kind; he was, however, a busy man. Working offshore and rarely home. That said, he could be riled up by my mother's constant nagging and insults. Those frustrations were at times taken out on me. His violence was much less controlled than my mother's and he would strangle me, while shouting horrible things.
School was my haven and I usually walked from school at a slow pace, just to extend the time away from home the tiny bit I could. If there were any extra subjects or events at school after class, I would always attend.
As far as I know, my sisters got the same treatment, but they were already out of school when I was born. My brother, now with a wife and kids, never experienced any harm. He was treated like royalty, I believe my parents always wanted another son and I have several times been told how they wish I had been their second son.
Despite my difficulty studying, I managed to achieve good grades in one subject: English. We had a gentle woman as a persistent teacher on the subject and she vaguely knew what was going on with me at home. She always encouraged me to focus on English to the point where she suggested to forget about any of the other subjects. She wanted me to join a call center and be able to support myself, leave my parents and become independent.
As I grew into adulthood, my mother continued to encourage me to find an older white man to marry. She always talked about how our neightbor's daughter had moved to the United States and the family was able to rennovate their house thanks to the funding from the American. I shared with my English teacher how my mother pushed me to seek out foreigners and she made sure I focused on my independence. It was a lot to accomplish, but thanks to her, I eventually did.
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I started working at a call center for a few years, but my parents, unhappy with me looking to move away, wanted me to study to become a nurse and pushed me to further my education. Eventually I gave in. They made me feel bad for going against their wishes.
My time at the call center was liberating; I spent many hours of every day at the call center. It helped me stay out of trouble at home. The most difficult part was to keep up with the ever changing schedule. It would change rapidly and at times I was expected to work all night with a schedule change the next day preventing me from catching proper sleep. The company repeated a mantra "Family-inspired partnership", we were always told to treat the company as a second family.
I made some good friends there, we always tried to meet up on the rare occasions we had the same schedule. We mostly talked about the harassment we experienced, both with work pressure and with how some guys at the company acted like creeps and at times were very inappropriate.
When I quit, I had to fight for my severance pay and they made it hard to make them keep all the promises they made. So much for family. It was always a one sided loyalty. Our bonuses and salary increases were rare and far from significant. We were also forced to overwork whenever there were high demand. Our preplanned off-days were taken from us and if we didn't show up at a moment's notice we would get written up. It wasn't out of the ordinary to experience being called to work in the middle of a supposed day off.
My manager had at one point falsely written me up for not working for several days where I had been there and despite my appeal, I lost many hours of salary.
Yet, with all this horrible treatment, I was honestly happy. There was a sense of peace and I foresaw a future away from my family. It was once I began wearing a smile on my face to and from work, that my parents decided to put more pressure on me and pushed for me to study. Just when I was beginning to search for an apartment and become truly independent.
"I failed the first exam." - Those were my last words to my parents. It was during a videocall. I had just started on an education to become a nurse. It was an expensive failure, especially for a family like mine, who lived in The Philippines.
My mom was about to burst into tears, as she told me the last words I would her from her: "It'll be okay, you can try one more time. Just give it your all". My dad pulled her by her arm shortly after so she was not on visibile on camera, as she broke down in tears.
He returned shortly after, visibly upset, "Rita! We can't afford this, you know full well everyone of us; me, your mother, your brother and your sisters are all working, so you can have this education." He made a fist, but shakingly lowered it soon after. "Get it right this time! If you fail again we will pull you out and you will return to working in a call center". My dad's last words were fierce, but truthful.
I am the youngest of my siblings, my brother the oldest and my sisters the dumbest. One sister is constantly changing jobs and asking for money to pay the bills, she always spends her backpay on her fashion addiction. My other sister stays with her deadbeat husband, works a horribly paying job and is never there for her own kids. She also constantly asks for donations, while her husband is spending all his, and sometimes her income as well, on going to bars with his friends. He openly cheats on her and the rare moments he is at home, he wants space to deal with his hangover. Violence is ensured, if you upset him.
I hated providing for my family, when I was working in a call center. My max profit was 26.500 php a month. I got to keep less than 20% of my hard earned money, the rest went to "supporting" my family and their endless vices. The money I could keep was mostly spend on transport, food and rent, as my parents wanted me to pay for my stay at home, since I had now had my own earnings.
When I think of the craziness of being pulled into another world, I am little more at ease, knowing I won't be a burden to my family anymore. I deserve this change, but my brother is innocent. He is a hard worker and the only one in my family who I could spend time with. He has always been there for me... He makes me laugh when I am down. He always brings food, when he knows I haven't eaten all day. One time he beat up my scumbag of a boyfriend who had cheated on me.
If everything ends up well, like in the fairytales. I imagine we will be able to retrieve our bodies and go home to our family. I want my brother to be able to go home, but I think I will stay, if such a choice comes.
Why did I try so hard not to be a burden to my family? My parents beat us whenever they thought we did wrong. When I worked in a call center, my sisters always spent the money I sent back thriftlessly. No matter how much I send back, it was never enough. It feels like I was conditioned into caring for people; who took advantage of me, just because we are related by blood.
Had I become a nurse, I would likely have ended up with the same amount of money for myself and barely getting by, while my family would have been the only ones to be enriched from my hard earned success. My family had trapped me into slavery with their culture of giving back and their broken worldviews. They would never be thankful for what I provided and would always ask for more. I see it now that I have some distance from the restless routine I was living. Despite the dangers, I don't want to go back. I'll rather live and die by my own choices and experience a meaningful life where my hard work provides more than branded clothes and empty luxury for those around me. I want to be of service to those who truly care for me. All my energy will be poured into helping my brother and overcoming the challenges this world may bring.
So I don't want to be a burden to my brother, not any longer. I want to be competent and help him. When I gain my next Skill Point, I will allocate it into something that can support him. I will fullfill my role as his support, just like the old days.