I Am Will….

My name is Will. At the moment that is all I will tell you of my name. I was born in a mining town. My father is a geodetic engineer. My mother an elementary public school teacher in our town. We are four sibling in the family. All boys. I am the youngest. My mother wanted a daughter but after four boys, the company doctor has prohibited my mother from having another baby. At this time my mother has diabetes and hypertension. Having another baby is a serious risk – might even cause her death – so the company doctor perform a tubal ligation on my mother.

Early Years

Being the youngest my mother and my aunties doted on me. I became the envy of my elder brothers. They think I am the favorite of my mother. Growing up wherever and whenever my mother goes she brought me along with her. Because of this I ended up being bullied and beaten by my elder brothers. Everytime this happens my mother always comes to my rescue. She tells my elder brothers instead of beating me they should protect me because I am their youngest brother. But my father would get mad at my mother telling her and me that a real man should be able to protect himself.

When I was growing up, my father’s drinking has gone from bad to worse. Everytime he comes home drunk, he beats us – me and my brothers – for no apparent reason. My brothers has learn to run and hide. But not me. If I run, my father would beat my mother. And so I stayed and protect my mother. But I am a small and skinny kid, I really can’t stop my father from beating my mother, nor can I protect my mother. So, everytime this happens me and my mother will end up being badly beaten. My mother would hug me to prevent me from being beaten by my father. And my mother would hug me after she treat my wounds from the beating, and we would cry together.

I grew up hating my father. And loving and pitying my mother more. I don’t know why and feel very much confused wondering if my father really loved me. My mother always said my father love me and my brothers, she said my father just had problems and we should pray for him, so he won’t have those problems anymore. I don’t understand why my mother still love my father when she gets the brunt of his beating. She even defended my father, often saying that it is her fault that is why my father have beaten her.

Growing up I was always teased as being gay, or said that I’m a girl instead of being a boy. Everytime this happens my mother always defended me and fought those people who teased me. Being a public school teacher, my mother knows almost everybody so they are scared of my mother. I really don’t know if I’m gay or not. Although, in my high school years I admit that my actions are what is described as effeminate. I hate boys, especially the ones who teased me and bully me. I like to go out with girls. I’m not sure, however, if I like them as friends or as something else. Although, I must admit that in grade school I sometimes wear my mother’s shoes and clothes and pretend to be a teacher in our games, with other boys who are like me and girl playmates.

How My Mother Met My Father.

My mother was the most beautiful and intelligent woman in her time at our mining town. She won several beauty contests and got so many awards for school competition in spelling, debate and science contests. She is the only female in our town who had a master’s degree. While most of her high school classmates did not even go to college. Getting married right after high school. My mother was an ambitious and an adventurer. And her plan was to leave our mining town and explore the outside world. But it was not meant to be. Our strict culture, prevents women from going out on their own. And going against the wishes of our fathers.

One of the engineers working in the mines, was a handsome and dashing debonair, who was an out-of-towner. A lot of girls wanted him. But she only has eyes for my mother. My mother has repeatedly ignore him. Because my mother was really keen on leaving our town. And she succeeded when she got a scholarship to study at Normal College, at the capital. She was also, hired to teach part-time.

The engineer relentlessly pursued my mother. Even visited her at her dormitory and school in the capital. My mother don’t want nothing to do with him, because the engineer had a mustache like Burt Reynolds. When my mother graduated she was offered a teaching job in Thailand. But my grandfather did not permit my mother to go, instead ordered my mother to go home, because he said he is dying. When my mother went home, my grandfather told my mother to marry the engineer, because my grandfather wanted to be sure that my mother will be secure and taken care of the way my grandfather has taken care of my mother. My mother cried, throughout the preparation and during the wedding because she is not yet ready to get married. And that’s how my mother married my father – the guy a lot of women in our mining town wanted.

Maria Elena

I had one good friend throughout my growing years. Her name is Maria Elena. We were classmates in third grade up to high school.  Everytime I had problems at home she is the only person I go to. We do everything together. Her parents is not concern that we spend so many times together, mainly because they knew my mother. And they had a certain understanding of who I am supposed to be.

On our senior year in high school the prom was our most memorable day together. Our classmates teased us endlessly. The boys dared me and made me drink several glasses of punch, as well as Maria Elena. We wanted to go home early so we didn’t wait for the bus, we decided to walk since our homes are not that far anyway. We didn’t know we were drunk from the punch. We were laughing while we were talking. We decided to take a short-cut and pass through a rice field. Along the field is a hut where farmers rested. It has a bamboo floor where farmers may sit or lie down. Or eat their lunch. It is designed like a bed. We decided to rest because her feet hurt. And lie beside each other. One thing lead to another. We were kissing, and then we did it. It just came out naturally. On our way home we were not speaking. For several days after the incident she didn’t talk to me. I tried to talk to her but she didn’t want to talk to me. On our graduation, she told me she is going to the capital to study college. I said I can’t because I don’t want to leave my mother. It was the last time I saw her. The next time we met, she was about to be married. I talked to her and ask her why. I told her I loved her so much it hurts. She considered our act as a betrayal to our friendship. She now lives in the capital with her husband, while I’m still living with my father and mother. The mine is close now. Many of the people in our town has left. Except for a few die hard. I became an elementary public school teacher like my mother, and taught in the same public school that my mother was once a teacher. I didn’t became an engineer like my father. Maybe it is a form of rebellion, or simply to spite my father. My parents are both retired now. My father still drinks heavily. But he has shriveled to a near skeleton. He didn’t beat us anymore. Because surprisingly, I grew big. I am even bigger than my elder brothers. Who are living somewhere else in the country. They left right after high school to escape our father’s beating, but I stayed to protect my mother. My mother still cared for my father, especially when my father vomited blood and was so scared of dying that they went to church daily. When my father recovered he started drinking again, and stop going to church. I ask my mother why he cared so much of my father. She said he is my husband. But you didn’t loved him in the beginning. And he beat you repeatedly for years. My mother said: I married him. I made a vow. We are partners in life. AND I LOVE him maybe not at first, but when I had you boys, your father was a good and caring man. It was his drinking was the reason he became an animal. And I partly blame myself. I should have done more to stop his drinking. My mother belong to another era where women stayed loyal and devoted to their husbands no matter what. I wish there are still women like my mother. I knew one once. Her name is Maria Elena. And I blew it. I lost her forever.

And that’s all for now. I hope you will join me for the coming days, as I pour my heart on things that interests me. Writing has become a therapy for me.