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.