A MILITARY WIFE

LIFE BEFORE IT STARTED

It was a not-so-lovely day when I woke up. It’s very usual for me to wake up at 5 in the morning to cook food for my siblings (oh, when I say siblings, I mean my half-sister and half-brothers). My parents got separated a long time ago when I was in seventh grade, and they started their own families without asking permission from my brother and me. As the eldest child, I can’t control them. It’s not that I want our family to be broken, but my parents chose this. Who am I to stop them anyway? I’m just their child; I’m not the one who built a family. Anyway, back to the present. I am here outside our house, making a fire so that I can cook food. Our dirty kitchen is outside our house, just to make it clearer for you guys, hahaha. Let me describe our house. Our house is made of light materials—wood and bamboo. We only have two rooms. The floors of our rooms are made of bamboo, and the living room area is just plain soil without any cement flooring.

As I was cooking food for my siblings, I heard my father talking on the phone. From the tone of his voice and the way he was speaking, I knew immediately who it was, it is his wife, my stepmother. Our family has been in a very difficult situation for a long time now, and most of it stems from her. She is currently working abroad as a domestic helper, and she called to say that her bosses are not treating her well. She even claimed that they are mistreating her and that she needs to be rescued immediately.

"Lea, come here."

Whenever I hear my father call my name like that, my heart sinks. I can't help but think, what is it this time? Is it another plan to sell something we own? Another excuse to blame me for their financial problems? I have learned to expect the worst because disappointment has become a regular part of my life.

"Yes? What is it, Dad?" I responded, but I was hesitant. My voice was quiet because I still carried a heavy heart toward my father. Since his wife left to work abroad, she hasn't been around to take care of their children. Instead of finding a solution together, they have simply transferred all the parental responsibilities to me. They never stopped to think that I also have dreams I want to pursue. I had dreams of finishing school, of building a future for myself, but those dreams were put on hold.

They stopped supporting my education even though I was a scholar at the university. Their reason was that they were drowning in debt from multiple lenders. What hurt even more was that they tried to make me the reason for their debt, which I highly doubt. When I was at school for almost four months, they only sent me a total of $30. They did not pay for my dormitory, my school projects, or even my daily allowance. They gave me barely anything, even though I knew they had extra money. I never confronted them about it because my aunts were helping me in small ways. Those small contributions meant the world to me. But now, look at me. I have become one of those out-of-school youths, and on top of that, I carry the heavy responsibility of taking care of my siblings.

There are so many things I want to say to my father. I want to tell him that this is not my job as a daughter. I want to ask him, "Why did you and your wife have children if you cannot raise them properly?" But I cannot bring myself to say those words because, despite everything, he is still my father.

There are people in my life who have told me that it is not my responsibility to take care of my half-siblings. They encourage me to chase my dreams first, because time moves fast, and opportunities do not wait. But my father is a master of manipulation. He has told me that he wants to commit suicide because he cannot handle our situation. He has told me that I do not respect him if I refuse to obey him. He insists that it is my role as his eldest child to watch over my half-siblings. He even keeps a mental list of everything he has done for me in the past and uses it against me whenever I try to assert myself.

Every time, I want to say no. I want to scream, "What about me? What about my future?" But in the end, I chose to obey him because I care about my siblings. I cannot bear the thought of them being neglected or abandoned.

"We need to sell our house."

I was so shocked by what he said that I almost dropped the spoon I was holding.

"Sell the house again, Dad? Come on, where will we live after selling it? We already did that before. Do you plan for us to become homeless, Dad?" I could feel the anger rising in my chest. I already know exactly how this will end. It has happened before. We sell the house because of debt, then we either buy a smaller one or rent a place for the meantime, and nothing ever gets better.

"Your stepmother needs money so she can come home," he said, as if that explained everything.

I could not hide my frustration. "Wow, just two months of being a domestic helper, and she already wants to come home again, Dad?" My stepmother went abroad only two months ago. Now she is claiming that her bosses are mistreating her and that she needs to come back. But I find it hard to believe because just last week, she was telling us how generous her bosses were. She said they gave her plenty of food, clothes, and even a separate room for her privacy. She mentioned that her bosses were elderly. So how can elderly people mistreat a grown adult who is physically stronger than them? Something about her story does not add up.

"You know the situation, Lea. It is a matter of life and death! After selling the house, we will go to the north and start a new life again."

Again? We start a new life every single year. Nothing ever sticks. Nothing ever improves.

"Really, Dad? Are you going to fall for your wife's manipulation again and again? You know her personality, Dad. She can make up stories just to make herself look pitiful." Here I was again, speaking my mind, hoping that this time he would listen. But deep down, I already knew the outcome. He never listens to me.

"Don't talk about your stepmother like that, Lea! Whether you like it or not, I need to sell this house. It is up to you if you want to come with us or not." There it was. My father is being authoritative again, giving me ultimatums as if my loyalty and obedience are things he can command.

"But what about your debt?" I asked because I had a sinking feeling that he had no real plan to deal with it.

"About that," he said, lowering his voice slightly, "After selling it, we will leave this town immediately so that they cannot come after us." What? Did I hear that correctly?

"What? Are you insane, Dad? Aren't you afraid of what you are saying?" I could not believe the words coming out of his mouth. This is dangerous. Not just for him, but for all of us—especially the children. Running away from debt does not make it disappear. It only makes things worse.