Shadows of Mistakes

Taken from the plane on our way to Legazpi, Albay. The clouds look amazing yet it brings sadness in me.

                Mistakes are inevitable… part of our lives. We live and die making mistakes. Hence a line from a song Human, “I’m only human, I’m born to make mistakes.” No person ever existed without committing any error. These errors greatly affect our lives -- the greater the error, the greater the effect. Some people might even be remembered through the errors they have made. It may even be the reason why we now know what is right. Future decisions are influenced by previous mistakes. Most importantly, we learn from our mistakes, shame on you if you don’t. It is hard when there is no way to correct what you did; harder when there is no second chance; hardest when you are living in the shadows of your mistakes.

                When I was in high school, my parents used to tell me to study hard, stay away from barkadas, refrain from staying out late, go home after school and those entire parents rule. But just like any other teenager, I had my fair share of acting out on it. I once got so attached with my barkadas that I barely see my family just to be with my friends. I was out late almost every night just hanging out with them. We would go to different places after school just to spend time together – mountains, friend’s house, restaurants, plazas, even stay at school jamming and singing along to every song that we know. I remember having a fight with my mother for staying out so late. She tried to look for me in those places where she knows I might be. She did not find me. I went home past midnight and my brother told me that Mama is out looking for me. We live in a province where night life is not so common. People are asleep before the clock strikes ten. You could just imagine my mother’s worries when her daughter did not come home by midnight. That is why she came looking for me, worse, she didn’t find me. I was asleep when she got home. All her worries turned to anger. She was mad and furious and infuriated. She kicked me so hard that I had to get up. I cried endlessly. That was the first time she became so violent punishing me for something I did wrong. Usually it’s my father hitting me with his belt or slippers or branch of a tree, whatever he can get. And it is usually my mother stopping him for doing so. This time is different. She is so enraged. She’s taking out all her fears on me.

                That incident turned out ugly. I did not talk to her for one week. I know somehow that it was my fault but what she did is not right and she knows it. I know she feels sorry and she wanted so bad to tell me. But I was shutting her off. I did not deserve that. I did nothing wrong to get that kind of punishment. I don’t do drugs, I don’t drink, I don’t smoke. I was just hanging out with my friends, having a good time. Is that so bad? I am a teenager. Don’t I deserve to have the time of my life? Those were my dilemma. Time passed and we eventually found ourselves talking to each other with the past misunderstanding forgotten, left behind us. No sorry’s, no promises not to do it again. Everything went normal as it used to be. Though no promises were made to each other, I did promise to myself that it won’t happen again. I cannot afford to lose her trust again. In the end, it is me who will suffer the most. Plus I cannot live not talking to her. I haven’t mentioned that I am a mama’s girl so ignoring her is one of the hardest things to do.

                All their fears, my mother and my father’s, is due to my siblings’ mistakes. They all married at a young age, though legal, they were still young. I don’t know how old my brother was when he got married. I was too young to remember. But he didn’t get to finish college because of barkada influence. I lost my older sister for almost a year and then she came back with my first ever niece. No words as to when she did get married. She ambushed us with a husband and a baby. My parents doubt it if they because she’s already pregnant at the age of twenty one. I can’t imagine my parents’ frustrations on their three children. I guess they were being a little cautious on me.

                Growing up, I was always told that I was just like my sisters – careless and irresponsible. I hate it when they tell me that. I hate it when they compare me to my siblings especially when I did nothing like them. I hate it when they tell me those things when my sisters are present. I feel sorry for them. I feel sorry that they are always reminded of their mistakes. I understand that my parents are mad for what had happened but they have to move on. I hate to think that my siblings are defined by their mistakes. I chose not to make the same mistakes. Eventually, I proved to everyone that I am not like someone   that they think I would be. And I am proud of what I have done so far. I hope I have made them proud too.

                If my sisters have not committed those mistakes, then maybe it would be me. I am not happy that it happened to them but I am thankful that it had happened 'cause it reminded me of what I must not do. Plus I am happy to have my nephews and nieces. Having kids running around the house is always a good and fun thing to see. The bad thing is, the careless-and-irresponsible thing is passed on to them. I think it will live on forever as long as somebody can remember. I just hope that my nephews and niece would also know what to do to shake it off their shoulders, to let everyone know their own identity. -C