I’m Sorry


I hit her once. I hit her twice. I hit her more than I can tell till her tears look like blood. God! Am I becoming my mother?

I could have knock her out cold when I hit her on the head while in our toilet. I kept barking out loud what she should do while my hand do all the damage to her young flesh. What am I doing? When she cried in agony and looked at me as if to ask for my mercy, I saw myself through her eyes when I looked at my mother as if pleading her to stop beating me years ago when I was in her position while mom beats the hell out of me.

Thank God that look of her awaken me from my senses and realized that, unwillingly, I’m becoming the monster I once used to fear, used to hate, used to hide from. I looked at my hand and saw that taint of blood and it creep the hell out of me. I couldn’t believe I was hitting my sister just because of that one, tiny, innocent mistake. Every slap, every blow, every tears… I couldn’t imagine how I could have done it to her when she was young. When she was so fragile.

It never happened again-thank God. It was years ago when I decided to put leash on that monster. But never a day passed without that episode came flashing back like a slow-motion movie intended just for me to see. I clearly remember that day when one last smack hit her head and that was when all the questions and guilt came and all I felt was a frozen slap on my face, waking me from a bitter past and anger that I never got over with and one of my youngest sibling became the object of my retaliation.



I’m a restless soul. I never wanted to stay in one place for a long time. Like my mind, I want constant movement, constant change, new scenery, fresh air, a first time experience of something. I don’t like rules. It kills me. It suffocates my whole being. I don’t like being held by my neck.

When I was young, when I knew my mom would be waiting by the door and shower me with volley of blows because she’d think I did something out of ordinary, I’d roam all throughout the village. Or if I have nowhere else to go, Id sit by the tall, grassy field near our home while I hear my mom shouts my name at the top of her voice searching for me.

When I was in 5th grade, I’d sneek out the house and bring my brother with me and go fishing by the filthy creek where you’d get anything but fish. Or I’d ran and rang all those doorbells of our neighbors. Or climb tree, the tank tower, anywhere my feet takes me. I even managed to had this little adventure with my grade school pals when we tried looking for turtles in a smelly tunnel near a creek but we ended up with nothing but rubbish smell all over our school uniforms.


I don’t like being told what to do. I get really edgy if someone won’t shut their filthy mouths and mind their own business. I tend to be all by myself and figure things out on my own and if I damn needed help, I’d still be thinking twice of asking for one.