The Truth Between Our Lies

A Life in Pieces

Thinking that I wouldn’t be with them for long tore me apart. I didn’t know how to live without them—especially my grandma. She hugged me at night, prepared my food, carried me up the mountain when I was tired, and made orange juice whenever I was sick. Whatever it took to make me feel better, she did it without hesitation.

On the bus, I cried so hard, knowing there was nothing I could do. I was just a kid, powerless to change my situation. I promised myself that I would come back to them one day.

When we finally reached my mother’s hometown, she left me with her mom and siblings without saying a word. I felt abandoned, hurt that she had brought me here only to leave me again. My aunties took care of me, but it was clear that I was never their priority. Her child always came first. I felt like an outcast.

Yet even in that loneliness, my grandma—my mother’s mother—filled the gaps in my heart. She made me feel loved, and that softened the sadness just a little. I also embraced my grandmother Nerissa, but in my heart they were different.

When school started, Auntie Nadia, my mother’s eldest sister, took care of me for a couple of years. Then, in sixth grade, Auntie Natalie took over. Their care was good, but the feeling of being an outsider never left me. I knew there was unequal treatment, and I accepted it. My cousins spent their days playing computer games while I did chores. Their money, their snacks, their privileges—they all outweighed mine. And yet, at least they treated me like a human being.

My grandma, my mother’s mother, was there too, but of course, I felt sad and incomplete because, for me, no one could replace my grandmother Beatrice and my granny Francois.

As years passed, I hardly saw my mother. At first, I held on to the hope that she would come for me, but by the time I reached high school, I had let that hope go. I even started to forget her presence in my life. Money sent through my aunties and uncle no longer mattered; what I longed for was presence, not gifts.

During summers, my gay uncle Edmund would take me on vacations. One day, after another trip, he told me that I should move with him to the city for high school, because my aunties were too busy to care for me. I agreed.

We rented a place in Manila for a few months. His best friend, a wealthy man who owned a school, allowed us to stay in his home—which was also inside the school. My uncle worked part-time at the school, and I studied there.

But in the city, I fell into the wrong group. I had a girl best friend named Jana, who introduced me to drinking and partying. She and her friends led me into trouble, and soon my uncle could no longer control me.