It was my 5th birthday.
My mother gifted me a yellow skirt.
No, it was not new.
Worn and also torn by some kid in a rich man’s house where my mother used to work, that dress was my only chance at dressing up in something “new” that day.
My mother, embarrassed, said, “We will get you a brand new dress on your next birthday, honey.”
I believed her and waited.
I was 11 when I finally convinced my parents to send me to school.
On the first day, 5 year olds teased me.
They mocked me for the way I looked, for the way I dressed.
I couldn’t stop my tears.
I cried my heart out, waiting for the moment when there will no more be any tears to flow.
Well, that moment did come.
However, it wasn’t until I came first in the class and started crying of joy, tearless, that I knew I couldn’t even shed happy tears any longer.
Paying for school wasn’t easy.
So when I turned 13, I started working at the house where my dad was the housekeeper. On the very first day, people I worked for hit me.
I looked at my dad hoping he would say something.
I waited. So long that my whole body was bruised already.
I wasn’t dumb though, you know.
So after a few days, I figured it would be better if I waited for the wounds to heal instead.
I already mentioned that I was bullied in school ever since I joined one.
I didn’t have many friends either.
And the one I had, she started looking the other way around since the day she caught me doing dishes in her uncle’s house.
I hoped she would understand and waited for her to come play with me during the lunch breaks.
Yeah, you guessed right, she never came to me.
With my only friend gone, the days became lonely.
And the nights even more so as I fell asleep on the ground staring at the un-lit bulb
hoping I will get to finish up my homework as soon as the electricity came,
and thinking of the times I complained to my father about it.
He always said, “Don’t worry. For this once, do your homework in the morning, princess. Tomorrow will be different, I promise.”
It remained the same, just like his response.
Yet, I kept waiting because waiting was all I could do back then.
You see, my life was like a gravel road government promised would be pitched up long ago.
Somehow, I walked on it, barefoot, no matter how much it hurt.
I am 23 now. I finished high school and got into a good college.
I guess I could say my days of struggle paid off, or that I have pitched up the road.
Or better yet, patched up my life now.
But deep inside, I know I still am a little girl–waiting for the dress her mother promised on her 5th birthday.
PitchBlue 
Leave a comment