Reflections of A 13-Year-Old Victim

I wear my slightly yellowish old polo shirt and my brown pants with small patches and zipper giving out as I also gaze at my reflection in our tall musty mirror standing just outside my small room. Buttoning my shirt, I recall the hands doing it for me last night, showering me kisses all over my face, my body inching to come closer at him, gasping for more. The exact commencement of our secret meetings every Saturday night, its details and my initial reactions, at his concrete clean white bungalow just two blocks away from our quaint two-storey wooden moth-covered house, I cannot remember. What I am certain is we’ve been doing it for years. And as the years draw on, the act continues to excite me the way a can of coke can turn my mood upside down. His kisses suddenly become the soda I can no longer resist, and his sweat dripping all over my body provide a sensation that leave me thirsty every time. Am I getting crazy? When I was still in 3rd grade, I know I wrote my heart out to a girl I fancied in a poorly written, drawing-covered yellow paper I stole from my mom’s “Sari-sari store”, but I cannot call to mind why I suddenly stopped adoring girls around my age or even lasses two to three years ahead of me.

Am I a gay? Or have I “gayed”?

Nina, a pale and slim classmate of mine, who always shoots her right hand during class recitation to show she’s more advanced, has expressed her fondness of me, and attempted to place her voluptuous yet dry lips on mine while we were cleaning the classroom. To decent lads like me I presume, she’s a good offer. Instead, I felt a bolt of knots in my stomach, the little creatures I had inside twisting as though chasing each other. I anticipated then loads of green would come out of my mouth, so I kindly excused myself and hurried to the restroom four rooms away from our class to unload them. She took it as an insult and later on spread the rumors that I am gay. The bullying started after that. Well, I act manly if that makes a difference. I do not tie my shiny hair with a female’s hair knot and I do not wear my mother’s Sunday heels when she’s not around.

Am I gay or have I “gayed”?

Does my contact with Kuya Lito morphed me into the person I was not? I do not put on make up and wave my body, crack jokes in front of the class to put on a show.

Am I gay or have I “gayed”?

And then I realized everything about me revolves around him.

If I see my black leather shoes, I would imagine him removing then while going down further below that take me to a Nirvana I cannot deny.

If I see my polo shirt crumpled, I would remember him pushing me down his bed, shoving his mouth in my mouth and his hands gripping my arms hard that I could only close my eyes and give in.

If I see my pants, I would recall him lowering the zipper, sometimes leaving it open without removing the button to entice me or frequently removing it right away as if a beast is ready to devour the prey. It would take me to a place removed of scenes of my parents throwing silverwares at each other and spitting sour sentiments with words I presume to mean I am a mistake.

If I see my bag, I remember him putting all sorts of fruits he gathered a day before from his farm in Digos. And that would fill my stomach and emotional well enough for seven days before we meet again; enough to displace my parents’ absence on Sundays and Mondays, to diminish the impact of my parents’ insistent altercations and squabbles from Tuesdays to Wednesdays and enough to erase the feeling of guilt of being born into this world every Thursday and Friday when both would berate me for no apparent reason.

Am I gay or have I gayed?

I do not sashay in front of this mirror every night as portrayed in —–‘s Sirena music video. I do not look for guy textmates and pretend I am a woman! I am not gay! I am not! A cloud of invisible mist dissipates into thin air. Fisting my knuckles and throwing them at the side of my head while I continue to ask, am I gay? Did I find the solace I needed with a man and end up being what people call “salot sa lipunan”?

The throws move faster…

I look at my eyes and start piercing into my soul at that moment with these incessant questions of guilt.

The throws move faster and faster…

Guilt? Am I guilty? Why should I be blamed? Faster. Is the feeling of being wanted a form of addiction or is it the act itself that makes it addiction, or is it both? I throw rapid and stronger punches this time as tears streamed down the floor. Is numbing myself from care and love for my parents to give them the happiness they want still my own fault?

I am gay? Have I been gayed? No! I am not gay! I am not gay. I am not gay… I am gay? I am gay. I am gay!

I stop, still staring at my sweat and blood-stained polo shirt. Then I realized I am just looking at a victim.

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Photo Journal #38: January 15, 2016 (Friday): Undercover Billionaire

I loved my first Lucy Score so I decided to read her another novel which was short compared to the first novel. I also loved it except that I did not experience the same sublime emotions while reading it.  


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Photo Journal #37: January 14, 2016 (Thursday)/ The End

I really felt the warmth in Benevolence. The ending of the story means the ending of that warmth. O honestly did not feel alone even if I stayed in the house for two straight days now.  


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Photo Journal #36: January 13, 2016 (Wednesday)/Harper and Luke

I became in love with this couple and couldn’t put down the kindle. Grrrrr. I honestly cried in some parts especially when Luke said Harper can never replace Karen. A lot of bed scenes though.  


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Photo Journal #308: March 13, 2015 (Friday)/Decision Desk Technical Error

When I opened my phone, I saw two messages from Fulbright: one stating the last e-mail was due to a technical error and another asking me to match universities. Of course, it caused me muh again. Depressed, I instantly put off all other activities for the day and just simply looked at instagram photos of MaRIHE participants to redirect my focus to what is yet to come. While scrolling down the posts of Crystal, I found new hope in life and promised myself to stand up no matter what. So, in the afternoon, I read the book below while Tita Lilian is doing my pedis.


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Photo Journal #307: March 12, 2015 (Thursday)/NSO and Grab a Crab with Mama

I woke up early to go to GenSan with my mama for her NSO. Although the queue was too long, I wasn’t irked at all because I brought a book by Norman Peale. Reading a material that advises what to do on that same situation had contributed much. Haha. There was one line from the material that struck me the most and it’s, “A hammer breaks glass but it forges steel.” It means that trials can either make or break us, depending on our choice. I also learned that most of our sufferings are caused by our twisted negative perspective of ourselves. Today, I chose not to complain but to appreciate the moment, to be positive amidst the chaos. I almost forgot the words of the mother of Eisenhower which may be paraphrased as: In playing cards, we don’t get to choose the cards that fall on us but we have to do our best with what we have, and life is exactly the same.









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Photo Journal #302: March 07, 2015 (Saturday)

On a reading spree…


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Photo Journal #301: March 06, 2015 (Friday)

My ate Kath was hospitalized last Wednesday but she’s totally fine now. Today, I just simply read the whole afternoon. IMG_7652 IMG_7653 IMG_7654 IMG_7655 IMG_7658

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Lessons from The Magic of Thinking Big by Dr. Schwartz





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Photo Journal #22: May 31, 2014 (Saturday)

Met Dr. Suzette for the first time today at 1:30 p.m. Take note: No hypothyroidism! That means, I really have to work harder on my exercise routine and diet. Huhuhuhuhu. After the check-up, Ate Angie and I talked about several matters while gobbling our Mcdo cheeseburgers and nibbling our fries in between. We jumped from one serious topic to the next while I mindfully put into practice the “Tune in to Channel Positive” tip by Dr. schwartz as Ate Angie rambled on her perceptions about the subject. Honestly, it was harder than I expected. If you are willing enough though, you wouldn’t want to put off what you learned because you know it would make you a better/greater individual. Takeaway for today: When failure hit you, choose to think big and say, “Failure is not taking something out of me. It is putting something into me.” Choose to learn from your setbacks. 🙂







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