My Name is Jessie

( and this is the story of my Life)

Written by: Maria Jesusa M. Corpuz

All rights reserved
February, 2013

INTRODUCTION

I was 27, engaged for almost 3 years, on an eight-yr. old relationship, on the brink
of reaching the middle age, when prompted one morning after a cup of coffee and
lying lazily on my unkempt bed to start writing about my life. It sounds ridiculous at
first, to pen my own life. I have my share of guffaw and lots of snorting and headshaking.
Me, Jessie, unknown lass without anything to brag about but just my dignity and
pride, writing her own life? Yeah right. I am no rock star, not even a celebrity. But
after staring intently at my wall of fame ( I call it) with a dozen of pictures of me,
my fianc, my friends and all the certificates I achieved while working as a call
center agent), I just realized, why the hell not?
Nobody can write better about me but me alone. And I do have a wonderful story to
tell. I prompted myself from bed, head spinning and with so much exuberance,
excited to start this.
Here I am, with my messy hair, with an early morning breath combined with the
coffee smell, an unwashed face, with music softly playing in the background,
slouched in the floor, and typing frantically to create my story. I will always
remember this moment. Because I know that this will change my life completely.
Join me on my journey, whoever you are. Because there is no turning back once you
flip on the next page. Ready?

Chapter I

I was a freshman when it started sinking in that I came from a unique family. I was
summoned by my English teacher one afternoon outside my classroom (which
caused a great fear to me thinking that I did something wrong).Only to find out that
she wants to know more about my what-she-called unconventional family.
I am the third eldest in the family. My father was a lawyer and he had a legal wife
from an arranged marriage. Though his wife was barren and they cant conceive a
child. My father impregnated one of his scholars and my oldest brother Christian
Alexander was the result. Since his mother cannot support him (and because the
family of my brothers mother cannot accept the fact that my father is married)
then he has to get my brother to his custody. My fathers wife doesnt want to
accept my brother so my father decided to leave with my brother. I remember him
saying you can replace your wife, but can never replace your kid.
And so with the busy schedule and tending to his son, he got someone to help him
and yet he impregnated her againthis time, my elder sister Kateri was the
outcome. And since the mother cannot support her as well, my father has to take
my sister in his custody too.
My mother, who worked as my fathers secretary, was 30 years her senior. She was
young and she saw the struggle of the dignified lawyer by day, but a father and a
mother at night. She fell in love and embraced everything, and I was conceived,
along with my brothers and sisters (we were six).
My teacher was teary-eyed when I told the story of my unconventional family. I
clarified that even though we have a step-brother and a step-sister living with us,
we grew up together as if were full-blooded siblings.

Growing up with three brothers after me ( Jesus Nazareno, Constantine Maximillian,

and Cornelius Lucien) made me think that I am a boy. We used to climb trees, play
basketball together and I have the entire collection of the Ninja Turtles and the Lego
bricks. My mother was young, and she was busy with my two other younger sisters (
Virginia Cecilia, and Fredrika Angela) so most of the time she just let me play with
my brothers. I never enjoyed my Barbie dolls. I usually remove my Barbies ponytail
and will rip the limbs or legs so it doesnt look like the posh pretty girl anymore but
a lonely amputated doll maltreated y the owner.

I wasnt aware of the existence of genders, and the differences. What the heck!I was
a kid! And I am having the time of my life!
All I know, for a long period of time is that, I am a part of the dick league.
So you can just imagine how I freaked out when one day when I woke up with blood
streaked all over the sheets. And my father told me that I have to start acting like a
grown-up woman, and to be finesse. And when I was about to start high school and
learned that we will be in skirts that blew my mind away. That was a lot of
information to take for a young kid. I never thought! My mother never told me!

Adolescence taught me a million of things that molded me of who I am now. I am

not really a cool kid. I am neither into groupies nor in big crowds of ponytailed,
squealing bunch of girls. I am a shy type but I love to laugh. I usually excel when I
was in grade school but when I studied in a National High School , that made me
realized that I am not really the best. And I guess, this tiny seed of doubt was well
cultivated in my mind and I believed it solemnly and I started shying away. I just
blended in.
I saw how my teachers call the same set of students. I saw how an assignment can
be done my several people and how it spreads like viral all throughout the entire
class. I learned how to write fast. I learned to be so early just to copy some Math
assignments. And I learned how to observe quietly and just absorbed everything
that surrounds me. I felt so inferior, a weakling.
I remember I was out for 3 days because I was sick. And when I came back, we had
a pop quiz in my Home Economics class. Ms. Lopez, was known to be a terror to her
students scanned our papers and announced to the class that I got zero. I reasoned
that I didnt know we will have a quiz and that I was out for three days. She looked
at me mockingly and said, Well, that doesnt have to stop you from reading your
books.
I felt like the whole Niagara Falls was blown in my face. My seatmate casted me a
sorry look and I wish that the floor will open up and eat me alive. I was never
humiliated my entire life. And I made a promise not to experience that again.
I guess that made me sulked more and be just a face in the crowd. Even though I
am passing the curriculum, I am still a nobody in the eyes of everyone.

CHAPTER II

The

inferiority complex maybe is the reason why I started bullying some of my

classmates. Or maybe I am really a naughty, wicked kid since then. Outside the
class I am a different person. My best friend, Ines was my partner in crime.
We had a classmate; his name is Kristian who will sometimes hang out with us. He is
quite and good-natured and we usually kidnap his bag and will ask him to treat us
fish balls and chips as a ransom to get his bag back. We do it most of the afternoons
when some of our classmates are cleaning our class room; we normally escape and
do our mishaps.
There was one time when I got his bag and we started running and he was chasing
us in the corridors. We were in a newly inaugurated Centennial building and in the
middle of that building is a balcony with the head of a lion as the ornament. I put
Kristians bag in the lions head and took off laughing. He was able to get his bag
but he cried for what I did. I felt sorry afterwards. The next day, he is already
ignoring us.
And so we have to make fun of other students after Kristian. Again, I, as one of the
suspects diverted our attention to Jonas. He is a tall lanky guy who is so lame that I
have a fancy notion that when you blow some air to him he might collapse any
moment. He talks slow, he is sluggish and really an easy target for bullying since he
was just transferred from second section to the top section.
I normally write things in a paper like Hit me baby one more time and will stick it
on his back. And sometimes I put some masking tape on his hair, or a long strand of
tissue behind him and when he stands everybody will see it and they will laugh.
More often than not sometimes I put some stones in his backpack when we transfer
to another room. He never fight back which is so surprising. I guess, he is scared or
something.
We always make fun of our teachers as a payback time. I will collate some of the
cardboard papers and will tally and write the mispronunciation of our teachers and
students can take turn and write them down. Those are the moments I feel as if I

am on top of the world. I love the attention, being the author of some of our
crimes. I feel beastly as if nobody can touch me.
But I guess Karma will strike back vivaciously. I was wearing one time a high pair of
clogs and it was raining hard. We have to transfer from one class to another in an
opposite building. In the middle of the quadrangle I was walking and the pavement
was slippery. I had a terrible slip. I stumbled and got myself wet. There was a roar of
laughter all throughout the surrounding buildings as a lot of students saw it. I turned
beet red.
There was even a time my stomach was upset that If Ill go home I might not be
able to make it, I have to ask help from one of our classmates, Rosalyn and thank
God their house is just so near so I pooped there. But that was pretty embarrassing.

My father wasnt generating much

income when I was in high school. My oldest

brother and sister were both in college and its too much to support. I have a very
meager allowance and this heightened I guess my inferiority once again.
I will secretly look at the clicks that are well-off. Most often a group of clones with
Jansport bags and Skechers shoes).And I just look down at what I have, a pair of
cheap ones and a bag with the sling almost being ripped off and was just sewn
altogether by my mother since we cannot afford to buy another one in the middle of
the school year. My uniforms are hand-me-downs from my aunts who studied on the
same school. I dont have any extras for a can of Coke, or a bag of chips. I dont join
the fieldtrips as my father cant afford it.
I lived on comparisons and what-ifs.
There was an instance that I had enough. It was a Christmas Day. I remember my
father promised that he will buy me a pair of shoes. Several weeks already passed
and he hasnt done it yet. I raised it to my father that Christmas day and he
answered, not today Maggie, we dont have any extras. I was upset that I started
crying and screaming because he promised to buy me. My father looked at me
forlorn, controlling his anger yet with full of bitterness in his eyes. I felt sorry at
once, seeing that I hurt my father. I felt the pain of helplessness that he cannot
afford to buy his daughter his promised shoes. And I wept harder for causing him so
much pain.
We have a tight budget and most often we cannot afford to buy fancy meals. I
dreaded going home in the afternoon after school.
Being at home is a different story. It is another world to be with. My fathers way of
bringing up his kids is very authoritarian. We follow the 6pm curfew. His voice is
booming and he easily gets mad.

I most often have verbal clashes with him to the point that it became so physical.
Thick-headed by nature I strike back especially when he is doing his sermons and
every little thing I do is always wrong in his eyes. I guess we were both in a stage
wherein changes are so difficult to embrace. I am an adolescent (confused and
emotional) and he is growing old that we dont want both to listen and stoop down.
At first I just fervently pray and just cry while tracing all the raw welts of his leather
belt in my arms. But when he keeps on doing that and it seems as if I am not doing
right, then my heart turned like a stoned and I learned how to strike back. I was full
of anger and animosity.
I learned how to raise my voice and answer back. And I didnt mind the pain
anymore so long as I let him know that I am stooping down
I am rebellious in nature, and I guess I got it from him, or maybe he made me
become one. I unabashedly throw angry words at him and there was a time that he
used the buckle of his belt and hit me on the head. That was the worst thing he did.
And I will never forget it.

There were so many times I attempted to run away. Pack my things and just run
away. And there was a time out of despair, I even prayed for his death. Which I
knew is so wrong. He thought himself as the God in our house.
Our house became a hell house and the notion of suicide even crossed my mind. No
wonder adolescence is considered to be the most dangerous period of ones life . If
a teenager wasnt able to cope up with all the emotional changes then he might
succumbed to just end it up, outright. I have a lot of peers who took their own life.
And I am sorry that along the crusade a lot fell of the ground.
Life started to unfold in my eyes. And there were millions of questions that I longed
for answers. Most of the afternoons I climbed up the roof and will just stare at the
blue clear sky and will talk to Him.
I know that someone Up there is watching, and He listens. And I feel His presence
when I start this talk. It was so powerful that sometimes I cant help but sob. Maybe
that is the reason why I love the afternoons. The time before the sunset when the
wind gushes in my face and the suns light is not painful anymore. That solitude is
beyond words and the world has as if stopped. I guess TRANQUILITY is the best word
to describe the feeling and I love how it even stays in my thought. Even now, just
the thought of it will bring me back to those moments that I was up high the roof
and nothing matters but just me, the wind, the blue sky, the silence, Him and the
contentment. I feel so invincible. I never felt so alive!