Hello X...

Yesterday, I clicked on an e-mail message in my Facebook page and was momentarily paralyzed. It said, “Hello X. You look pretty. Hope all’s well.” I was confused. How does he know about my new venture, calling me by the initial of my business? Then it dawned on me, he was saying “Hello ex”. I felt violated. I tried to zoom in on the photo he posted, to make sure it was the person who made my life a living hell at some point in my life. It is he, alright.

Thirty years ago I was a new immigrant. Young, lonely, and isolated from my friends, family, and all that was familiar to me, I made a very serious mistake that could have had fatal consequences. In the next three years of my life, I would be a battered young woman. I was repeatedly told that I was stupid, I was ugly, and that I would not amount to anything. I was told that I was stupid because I was smarter than my tormentor, I was told that I was ugly because I was secure about my looks, I was told that I would not amount to anything because I kept on educating myself.

My case was a textbook case. I was isolated from anyone who would be a likely friend or ally. My only protector was another friend who would come to my rescue anytime of the night or day that I needed a friend. He was my tormentor’s friend and he protected me like his own sister. But even that did not stop the systematic way I was mentally and physically abused. I could not predict when or how I would be punished for made-up sins I have committed. Outwardly, we looked like normal people but behind the closed doors, I endured horrific abuse every day of my life. I started to forget who I was; that I was college educated; that I was raised to believe that I am equal to another human, no better, and no worse; that I actually grew up in a loving family.

I was a young university coed at the University of the Philippines when I left Manila less than a year when I got initiated into hell. In college, I excelled in theater. I was a founding member of a college theater group. I have performed in leading roles, at the Philamlife Auditorium, the UP Manila Rizal Theater, and at the Little Theater of the Cultural Center of the Philippines. I was surrounded by friends who loved me and who I loved in return. I was a teen-age beauty queen. I was the apple of my family’s eyes. They thought I was becoming too “liberal,” so they thought I should leave Manila. I, on the other hand thought Manila was becoming too confining so I left. I was very young, naive, and over confident.

I looked at myself in the mirror one day about two years into the abuse. I was all of 22 years old but the mirror told me I was much, much older. I could see the bones protruding on my chest. Coming to work one day, my friend Diane remarked, “You have lost the sparkle in your eyes.” Yet, I was too scared to leave because I was embarrassed to admit what was happening and I started to believe that if I changed my behavior, then I would not be subjected to the abuse. I went back to school, a legitimate way to get out of my “prison.” One evening, as I was reading my book in a corner of the cafeteria, a young Filipino student put down his Coke on the table with such flair, and exclaimed, “Pinay!” I looked up at him quizzically. Then he said, “He is beating you up, isn’t he?” I was stunned. I realized at that time that I was the only person in the world who was stupid to think that people did not know I was battered. What an idiot I was. Rick was also a student in the same university and we sort of became buddies. He was married to an American woman but we had an instant rapport. He would give me a ride in his old car with the seats covered in this charming upholstery that his wife made. He would drop me off a block away from my apartment. My friend never asked for details but he took great care in being kind to me and kept telling me,”Pinay, take care of yourself first.” After the semester, my friend graduated and I never saw him again but his kindness started to make me think clearly about the situation I was in.

The onus of getting out of an abusive relationship is on the abused. No amount of prodding from others could change that. However, little by little, I planned out my “escape” very carefully. I needed to be sure that I was out of physical harm’s way. I needed to remind myself who I was before the abuse. I needed to tell myself that my options were limited while I lived with my tormentor. I was not responsible for his behavior. I could only be responsible for my own. No one could decide for me; only I could do that. A very dear friend to me said, “You need to have the strength to walk away from what is making you unhappy.” Something in my brain clicked and I decided that I have had enough of it. I had to act soon if I were to change the direction of my life. I was too young for this type of misery.


I bought a plane ticket to see my family in Manila. While there, despite the embarrassment of the admission, I told them what I was going through and what I planned to do. They were very supportive. They could not believe the things I was telling them. My sister told me, “I would rather see you in jail than put flowers on your grave.” And I was sure that if I did not leave, I would end up dead or I would be in jail for killing; both options were unacceptable.

I picked up the phone and placed an international call. The call was short and unambiguous. When he came on the phone, I calmly and fearlessly said, “I just want to let you know that my family knows. I do not want to see you or be with you anymore when I come back to the United States.” “I understand. I want half of everything in this place.” “You can take whatever you want. You can have everything. I will pay you more as long as I do not have to see you ever again. I am only going back there to get my clothes. If you touch me, I will kill you.” What I did not say aloud was “I curse the day you were born. The rest of your life will be miserable and unhappy. You will never succeed in anything you do. I hope you die. ”

My brother accompanied me when I went to get my clothes. I took one look at the house and I started crying. My brother put his arms around me. I told him I was crying for all the years I wasted my life. He told me in a very kind tone, “This is part of your learning experience. You will be alright.” Thus, I gained my freedom; I moved to an apartment and rebuilt my life. I blossomed. I met new people; I travelled; found a new love; lost the newly-found love; went back to school; learned a new language; went back to my first love - theater; hosted a TV program; had a son; met my husband when my son was six, fell in love; got married.

I took a six-credit course in Domestic Violence. I ended up helping my professor teach the class. I knew too much; I told him I am a domestic violence survivor. The class helped me heal and forgive myself for my lack of courage to act upon my situation sooner than I did. I also forgave myself for not forgiving my tormentor, ever.

A few years back, I got a call. It was he. How was I? I said in a monotone that I was doing very well as was the case. I did not want to sound eager but I wanted to rub his nose into the truth that he no longer belongs in my universe. He never did. He was my biggest regret. He was the skeleton in my closet. He is the nightmare that I erased from my memory. I said finally, “You owe me an apology for all the things you did to me.” He said, “You will not be where you are today if I did not do those things.” I said icily, “Some things never change, do they? I am not your friend and I do not want your friendship. I am happily married. My husband adores me and my son. I am no longer the person you knew. You abused me thirty years ago. I have not forgotten and I have not forgiven you. But I have moved a long way away from that and I hope you will never call me again.”



“Mr. X. WTF are you doing friending me on FB? You are still stalking me after all these years. I am doing very well. I am healthy, I am happy, I am comfortable. “How is that for starters? I continue, “I have a beautiful son in college, I have a loving husband, I have a great job, I have an awesome circle of friends, and I have a life. Oh BTW, thanks for not knocking my teeth out; thanks for not breaking my nose; thank you for being careful that my bruises never showed. In the meantime, I am so happy for you. I am very happy that your wife divorced you, that you suffered a heart attack, that you lead an empty life, and that you amounted to nothing. I read your Facebook profile. You are a loser. For all these things, I am truly happy. “ Instead, I deleted his email and grateful that Facebook will not allow him to punch a hole on the WALL. I am safe.

Mom, on Tuesday, you will be the Number One woman in my life again…

My son came home for the Christmas holidays. The moment he walked in the house he asked,”Mom, what do you have for me?” I told him I fixed a nice dinner. The dinner table has been set. He said, “Ok I will have to leave right after dinner to see Krista.” I was unable to respond right away. I quietly put the platter with the baked Cornish hens and a huge bowl of salad on the table. I walked away from the kitchen. He called out, “Mom, aren’t you going to join me for dinner?” He asked as though his Dad was not even on the table. I responded, “You just said you would leave right away to go see Krista so I might as well be surfing the Internet.” “I did not mean like right away, Mom. I mean after dinner. Come join us.”

So we had a little talk about college while he vacuumed his food. I have not even finished my glass of wine when he said, “Thank you Mom for the dinner, may I pleased be excused?” I did not want to show that I was affected, so I said, “You are welcome. Sure, of course.” He left the table and a few minutes later came back down and started to put on his jacket. “Do you have gloves?” “Yes.” “Anak, do you have a scarf?” I got an impish smile. “Are you warm enough?” My husband said, “Let him go!” I know the subtext too well “He is not a baby anymore; he is going to be fine.”

I could not sleep until I heard the door open when he came home late. It was ante-meridian hour. The next day was Christmas Eve. He was quiet. During a meal he told us, “I think I was dumped!” “Really, what did she say to you?” “Well, she said, she was like, she did not want to see me again.” Almost simultaneously, his Dad and I said “You were dumped.”

Husband (HB) said, “So what did you say?” “I said, fine, because everything was good up to this point and I was not happy either, so I was like, fine.” I did not know what to say. Somehow, I was happy Krista dumped him so that he is back to just being my son. But then, I knew he was not happy. Hurting, no. Unhappy, yes. The only thing I could say was “At least you are not heartbroken like your cousin when his friend broke up with him. The world did not blow into pieces, did it? Silence. Then my husband said, “What happened? Did you say anything to offend her?” while I, the wiser of the parents asked, “Did you buy her a present? Were you nice to her?” I felt that I was not saying the right things so I went to Face Book and posted what I felt, i.e., I wanted to drive to Krista’s house and throw snow balls at her. And my FB friends egged me on. I would have yelled in front of her house, “Did you just dump my son? Did you just walk away from a nice, almost, but not perfect young man?” But I did not. I knew too well, that this was also a rite of passage for both of them. That night, he went out with his friends.


The next day, he announced, “Krista wants to see me and talk to me. Mom, I did not know this was going to be full of drama!” I laughed. He was learning. His Dad and I had the same idea. I said “Well she just wants to go over the things why she dumped you. You should not spend money on lunch, okay? This should be a Wendy’s type of lunch!” His Dad was even more austere. “She is just rehashing things tomorrow to give you a chance to hear again why you were being dumped. This should not cost you money. Take her to Starbucks.”

I have to say that we are not unkind people but we are parents and we love our son. If a girl hurts my son’s feelings and dumped him, then she does not deserve to be served lunch; no waiters, no table cloth. His Dad had words of wisdom for him. “Son, she was not expecting you to agree with her. You see, girls say all those things to give you a chance to say that you do not want to lose her; that you will do whatever it takes to win her back.” I said, “If you care about her, then you should try a little harder to win her back. Care, and be nice. If not, then it is okay, this is not the first time you will be dumped. Sometimes you get to dump them too.” I was the only one who laughed at my comment but I nursed my son’s broken ego with a huge bowl of popcorn and a glass of iced tea while we watched and episode of “Entourage.”

The next day, he returned from yet another outing with his friends.
He came home and announced, “You know she and I are back together again.” “You are. Ok, is this the outcome you like?” “Yes.” “If you like her that much, you need to treat her nicely. So, do you have a Christmas present for her?” I am a Mom, remember. I have already lined up the things from my closet that I was willing to part with for this girl who broke and fixed my son’s heart within 24 hours. All brand new – a nice abaca fiber purse I brought from Manila, a set of earrings from India, a bangle from Ilocos, a pashmina from Kashmir. He looked at me and smirked, “William is my best friend and I do not have a present for him. So that answers your question, Mom.” “You need to show you care about her. You should give her a present.” “Alright, alright.” That night, he left the house. If I were to jot down his many coming and goings, I would not be able to do anything else.

He came home happy and announced, “I bought her some presents.” “Really, where?” “William and I went to the Dollar Store. I bought a Christmas stocking and filled it with stuff.” “Are you serious? So, did she dump you again?” “No, she thought it was funny, she liked it!” Kids!

For the next days and late into the night, my son would spend time with Krista. Then one afternoon, I got a call from him at work. “Mom, hey, do you want to have lunch with me?” “I already ate lunch, it is 1:30.” “Umm.. Actually it is more like---- can you buy lunch for me?” “Okay, come to Union Station.” “Okay, uh, Krista is with me.” “Okay, just come and I will buy lunch for both of you.” An hour later, I was waiting for my son and the girl to whom he gave the Dollar Store stuff to. He held her hand. I smiled inwardly. I took them to the Grill and have them order their lunch. I gave the waitress my credit card and left them alone. I kissed my son and then the friend. I felt right about it; it is the Holidays after all, it is ok to kiss someone with or without mistletoe.

It was bitterly cold. I texted my son and told him that I was willing to pick him up, at any time of the night because I did not want him walking home in the cold. At some ungodly hour, post meridian, I got out in the cold and entered the address he gave me into my GPS. This was supposed to be a short 10-minute drive from our home. Instead, the GPS was taking me onto the freeway. I was anxious-it is four o’clock in the morning, I have been watching some “platinum weddings,” on TV to keep me awake. I had to leave before the cake was served and here I was in a rather empty road and the annoying witch kept telling me to “make a U-turn” or take the ramp on right, to I495. No! Shut up, are you kidding me? Krista lives by Balducci, really just around the corner from where we live. Why was the witch taking me to Richmond, Virginia?

I did the unthinkable. I called up my son. “Hey Ma.” “Hey, listen, I cannot find your friend’s home. How far are you from Balducci?” “About five minutes.” “Okay, meet me there.” Fifteen minutes later, my son got in the car and thanked me profusely for the ride. Then he offered to buy breakfast for me at McDonald’s. Before I agreed, I asked him to take me back to the community where she lived and then he showed me the pedestrian bridge that leads from Krista’s tree-lined community to the retirement high-rise, a few minutes away from our own community. I felt much safer knowing the route they both take to rendezvous and go home.

At McDonald’s, he seemed happy. He said, “Mom, I guess you already know, I love her.” I said, “I like that. I like that you love her. It is nice to care about and love the girl you are with. You be nice to her. But please, I am not ready to be called grandma yet.” “Mom!” Hands up, the usual 'What’s up with that?'" stance. Then he said, “I cannot believe I am telling you all of these, Mom.” “I cannot believe that you would not, son!” “Mom, she goes back to college on Monday. He laughed, and then said, "After she leaves, you will again be the number one woman in my life!"

I cannot hold on to my son forever but at every turn, he makes me know in gestures small and grand that I am the one woman he trusted and loved and relied upon since he was a toddler. I have never held back in telling him that I love him unconditionally and I know whoever he loves, I will love like my own. Through his eyes and his experiences, I go over my own and those memories fill me with joy. And besides, the day after Krista left for college - my son smiled at me, laughed with me, joked around with me, like, you know, I was like, the number one woman in his life.