Oppressed and Depressed

the most oppressed n depressed child is the eldest daughter

— mehru (@mehrunlsa) January 28, 2019

I was randomly browsing the net when I came upon the post above this morning just a few minutes after I woke up. Still half asleep, it took my braincells a few minutes to process the whole thing until I verbally voiced my reaction: YES.

Oh, yes.

Being the eldest and a daughter at that, I've felt this my whole life. It's an albatross around my neck, a baggage on my back, the stamp of who I've been my whole life.

The eldest daughter. The unpaid nanny. The little maid. The role-model. The absorber of the punishments. The default shield against bullies. The organized one. The planner. The often-taken-for-granted right-hand (wo)man. The invisible help. The first receiver of bad news. The strong one. The resilient one. The third parent.

The progeny who's supposed to be a mini-adult by the time she reached five.

Not that being eldest doesn't have its perks. But like Uncle Ben said to Peter, "With great power comes great responsibility." Only in my case, most of my life, the responsibility mostly outweighed the illusion of power.

As early as four years old, I was already taking care of my little sister who was two years younger than me. By the time I reached five, I had two charges. It was, simply put, hell. I was constantly reprimanded whenever they were crying or they made a mess. Or if they won't stay quiet. Seriously, I don't remember a lot of things when I was very young, but one thing that stuck to my mind was that I had to make sure my two younger sisters were behaving or I will be punished severely. I felt that no one was on my side, then. My parents were stressed out so, in effect, I was absorbing all their bad humor. Many times I wanted to run away. I wanted different parents. I wished we weren't almost poor. Plain and simple, I hated my life.

In Depression, Call Out to Jesus

When you reach a certain age, you can't help but look back and do a very thorough, lens-magnified criticism of the things you did and the things you have not over the past so many years of your life.

Have I done this? Should have I done that? I was so stupid for not doing that. For doing that.

God. I wish I were a very different kind of person.

Lately, a friend sent me this article about what psychologists call "Quarter Crisis." It's basically "mid-life crisis" but it's for the twenties and the thirties. Our contemporaries. After reading the article, all I could tell my friend was, "Why is this so true?" and "It's so depressing that I'm depress like this." It was a commiseration between two almost burnt-out twenty-somethings. But after that nighttime online talk, I woke up the next morning thinking, "I should do something about this!"

It's not that I haven't done anything about it. The problem was, I had trapped myself into a routine. Even though I'm not the most interesting person to have around, when I was in college, I used to dream and make sure I acted on that dream. But over the years, so many things have happened--we lost our father, we reached rock-bottom financially, I struggled to "hold the fort" as the provider, we moved to another country... so many things that I would find myself saying again and again, I'm so freaking tired.

So, so tired.

Sa Paglisan Ng Mga Paru-Paro

🔷🔸🔹 🔹🔸🔶

This is one of my earlier works written in my birth country's vernacular (Tagalog) that was published in our school newspaper sometime around 2004. As such, this work may contain some inconsistencies and hints of childish idealism. We ask for your indulgence. Enjoy reading. 

🔷🔸🔹 🔹🔸🔶

“Nakikita mo ba ang mga paru-parong ‘yon, Sum?” tanong ni Herei nanng minsang naglalakad kami sa may hardin ng bahay nila. Nandoon kasi si Kuya kaya nandoon rin ako kasi wala akong kasama sa bahay. “Oo naman,” sagot ko. “Ang gaganda nila ‘di ba? Parang mga maliliit na bahaghari.”

“You’re right. At mas marami pa sila ‘pag kalagitanaan ng summer. Kaya nga gusto ko ang pangalan mo eh…Summer.”

Matalik na kaibigan ni kuya Lemuell si Herei. Mula kinder magkasama na sila kaya nga parang magkapatid na ang turing niya sa’kin lalo pa’t nag-iisang anak lang siya. Pero ako hindi. Ayoko siyang maging kapatid dahil…

“Herei, bakit gusto mo ng mga paru-paro?” tanong ko sa kanya. Nagtataka ako. Ang alam ko, madalas babae ang namamangha sa mga paru-paro, sa kanilang kagandahang ‘di matutumbasan.

“Bakit gusto ko sila? Dahil sila ang nagpapaalala sa’kin ng mga magagandang pangyayaring naganap sa aking buhay. Dahil sila ang gumigising ng kasiyahang minsan ko ng nadama…”

Kasiyahan? Sa mga paru-paro? Bakit ko kakailanganin pa ng paru-parong magbibigay sa akin ng kasiyahan kung malapit ka naman sa ‘kin?  Ikaw lang ang kailangan ko para maging masaya.

“Rei! Iwanan mo na nga yang rabbit na yan! Kung hindi, ‘di matatapos yung project natin!” sigaw ni kuya mula sa loob ng bahay. Nakakainis siya! Ako nalang ang alam niyang asarin.

“Hindi ako rabbit! Palibhasa kasi, ikaw gurang na butiki.”

“Anong hindi rabbit? Tignan mo nga yang ngipin mo! Ang laki-laki! Pang-rabbit na pang-rabbit.” Tapos ay bigla siyang humalakhak ng pagkalakas-lakas.

“Tama na nga yan! O sige papasok na ‘ko—gurang na butiki!”, nakabungisngis niyang sambit sa kuya ko. “O, diyan kana muna ‘rabbit’, papasok na ako sa loob baka lamunin na ‘ko ng kuya mo!”

“Herei! Isa ka pa! Unggoy!” ganti ko sa kanya.

Alam kong narinig niya ang sinabi ko, pero hindi na siya lumingon. Sa halip ay iwinagayway ng lamang niya sa langit ang lahat. Ay Herei…ang pinakamagandang nangyari sa buhay ko ay ang makilala ka.

Magandang alaala. Mga paru-paro.

Bakit ba kailangana bumalik sila? Babalik kung kailan hinihiling mong umalis na sila at nais mo nang magpakalunod sa kalungkutang iyong nararamdaman. Sa kalungkutang dumurog sa aking puso. Sa kalungkutang na tanging katotohanang iniharap sa akin ni Herei…

Kring… kring…