Letting You Go

CHAPTER 2 (OPEN FORUM)

“Good morning, class. Since it’s only the start of your first semester, we won’t be having formal classes today. Your subject teachers will just introduce themselves to you, and after that, we’ll do some psychosocial activities,” said Miss Paltiano. She’s our adviser and one of our subject teachers.

She explained more about what would happen throughout the day. She also told us we were going to have an open forum later, which made me really nervous.

What if I cry? What if I can’t hold my tears back? Just the thought of it already embarrasses me. Don’t be dramatic later, Ashie.

After all the teachers had introduced themselves, we began the activities. We were asked to write our life stories, the things we hoped for, our dreams, and anything else we felt like expressing.

This school is truly impressive. It focuses so much on the students and genuinely cares about their mental and physical health. They also have great programs that strongly discourage bullying, shaming, and all forms of violence in school.

When it was time for the open forum, I shared just a little of what I felt.

“I wish I could still be someone who finds joy in everything. I wish I could still be that girl who smiled at the simplest things. I wish I hadn’t grown older. I wish I could stay young just so I could feel whole. I regret growing up—it haunts me to see people leave. I hate being left behind, but I always find myself letting people go,” I said, trying to hold back my tears.

Some of my classmates hugged me, while others offered comfort. I didn’t even tell them I wasn’t okay—but here they were, showing up for me.

Maybe it was the way I spoke, or maybe they could tell I was just barely holding it together?

I don’t know. I didn’t care anymore.

It’s only in moments like these that I can speak about what I carry inside. Not because I have to—but because I know I’m not alone. Hearing others talk about their own struggles made me feel like we shared the same pain, somehow.

Why couldn’t Tita and Gwen be like this? Why do they have to be so cruel to me?

I didn’t cry during the open forum, but my chest felt heavy. I’m not the type of person who likes crying in front of others. I always feel like I’m being overly dramatic or too soft.

That’s what Tita always tells me—and I guess I’ve grown used to hiding my emotions.

Whenever I cry, I lock myself in my room—or I go to visit Mama’s grave. Those two places are the only ones that bring me any peace after more than five years of grieving for a family that was shattered by someone else’s sin.

I wasn’t born from sin—but why am I the one suffering? I wasn’t the one who did wrong—but why am I the one getting hurt?

After classes ended, I rode with Jebelle on her way home—she passes by our house anyway.

“Are you okay?” she asked. I didn’t even notice I had been staring off into space.

“Ah, y-yeah. I was just thinking,” I answered.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked gently. I shook my head.

“I’m okay, Belle. I’m probably just tired,” I said and gave her a small smile.

Even though she still looked worried, she smiled back at me.

“Are you sure? Just call me if you need anything,” she said as I got out of the car. I gave her a thumbs-up. “Yes, Master!” I joked.

Once her car left, I let out a deep sigh.

Here we go again. Time to return to that hell I call home. Time to go back to surviving—just so I can still pretend I have a family.

“IT‘S good that you finally came home,” Tita said the moment I stepped through the gate.

“Ah, yes,” I replied weakly.

As I passed by her, she grabbed my arm.

“After you shower, come down to the living room. We need to talk,” she said curtly. I nodded, and she finally let go.

I went straight to my room to change. When I got to the bathroom, I let out a deep sigh.

What now? I’m so tired of all their favors.I hate it when people only use me for their benefit. I hate being used. I hate being treated like I belong to them. I don’t want to be their puppet, but I have no choice. Just to keep some form of "family," I have to keep lowering myself and giving up my own principles.

I quickly showered, changed, and went downstairs. I found Tita and Gwen waiting for me in the living room. They looked like they’d been waiting for a while.

As soon as Gwen saw me, she smirked.

“She’s finally here, Ma,” she said mockingly. I just lowered my gaze.

“D-Do you need anything from me?” I asked Tita. Tita’s smile widened.

“Your father called,” she said, and my brows furrowed.

So?

“Why did he call?” I asked softly.

“Nothing much. He was just checking in,” she replied briefly.

“Ah… is that all? Uhmm, okay then. I’ll just go back to my room,” I said and turned to leave.But Tita stopped me with one sentence. ”Ask him for money.”

It was short, but it felt like it shattered whatever was left of my self-respect.

Why do I have to be the one to do that?

I don’t want to ask that man for anything. I haven’t spoken to him in years—and I don’t plan to. The wounds he left haven’t healed. No matter how many years pass, the pain never really goes away. It was too deep to ignore, and I feel every cut he left in my heart.

“Can’t you do it instead? He listens to you anyway,” I said quietly. I didn’t mean it to sound sarcastic, but Gwen clearly took it that way.

“What did you say?! Have you forgotten that you’re living in our house?” she snapped.

I looked down again.

Your house?

No—it’s mine. Mine and Mama’s. We’re the rightful owners. You just had the nerve to claim it.

“That’s enough, Gwen,” Tita scolded, stepping toward me.

“Ask him for money, Jenniel. What he’s been sending for Gwen’s allowance isn’t enough. If only you were giving me the money he sends you, we wouldn’t have this problem,” she said.

“And besides, you’re his daughter. He’ll give it to you. Gwen already asked for extra last week. Now it’s your turn.”

My turn? So now I’m the one to blame when I barely get anything myself. If Gwen wasn’t so reckless with money, maybe she’d have more than I do.

And why do I have to look like I’m the greedy one? Gwen already asked for money! Where is all that going? Why is it always gone so fast?

Even though I hated it, I nodded.

“I’ll try, Tita. I’ll call him later,” I said, turning my back on them.

I didn’t say another word. I went straight to my room. I’d just eat later, maybe around midnight. I didn’t want to eat with them—I felt sick just being near them. I may hate them, but I still needed them… just so I could pretend I had a family.

I buried my face into my pillow.

I just got home from school, and now here’s another burden to carry.

Why is it always me? Why does it have to be me?

I quickly messaged Jebelle. I always talk to her when I’m feeling down.

Me: Are you busy?

Belle: Not really. Why, what’s wrong?

Me: Am I bothering you?

She replied right away. Looks like she really isn’t busy.

Belle: Of course not! Come on, tell me what’s going on?

Me: Do you still talk to Papa?

I sighed as I typed it. I didn’t want to talk to him, but right now I had no choice.

Belle: No, not really. Why?

Me: Ahh, I just thought maybe you did. Heheh.

Belle: Is something wrong? Did that wicked Tita of yours make you do something again?

I frowned. She really knows me too well. She always knows when I reach out like this.

Me: What’s new? That’s just how Gwen and Tita are. I’m used to it.

Belle: Still! What did they do this time?

Me: Do you have Papa’s number? Or maybe his f*******:?

Belle: I have his number. Not sure about his f*******:, but I’ll try to find it for you.

That made me smile a little.

Me: Thank you!

Belle: But why do you need it? Are you really going to talk to him? I thought you didn’t want to. Are you being forced?

Me: I’m sure, Belle. I don’t really have a choice, do I?

Belle: sigh Okay. I’ll send you Tito’s number later. Are you really okay with this?

Me: Yes, thank you!

A few hours later, she sent me both his number and his f*******: name.

Should I call him right away? Should I message him?

But I’m still scared...

The fear of facing him is still here.

What if the trauma comes back? What if the pain I’ve been trying so hard to bury resurfaces?

Even now... even now that I’m older, the pain he caused is still here.