This is my siblings back in 2014
My Diary Autobiography
I was born on November 20, 2003, in the quiet town of Lantapan. My mother, Janice Jovelyn, gave birth to me at home with my grandmother, Alecia, assisting her. My father was not there, and throughout my life, I never had the chance to know him. Growing up without him felt like something was missing, yet it became normal because it was the only reality I knew. Later, when my mother met the man who would become my stepfather, I finally experienced what it felt like to have someone I could call a father. I carried his surname, and in my heart, I considered him my real dad because of the genuine care he showed me.
My early years were far from stable. Because of my stepdad’s work, we moved constantly, transferring from one place to another. This meant changing schools repeatedly, never staying long enough to feel settled. Each time I started to adjust, make friends, or feel comfortable, it was time to leave again. When my mother went abroad to work, more responsibilities fell on my shoulders. I was still just a child, yet I had to take care of my younger siblings while juggling school and house duties. We didn’t have much, and there were moments when we relied on borrowed goods from stores just to get by. At an early age, I already understood struggle, survival, and sacrifice.
There was also a time when I became seriously ill, forcing me to stop attending school. The illness, combined with a traditional “hilot” massage near my eye, caused lasting damage. According to my grandmother, a nerve may have been affected, which led to my eye condition. My eyes began to cross whenever I wasn’t wearing glasses and my vision gradually worsened. Because of this, I became a target of bullying. Children stared, mocked, and laughed, making me feel ashamed of how I looked. I often wished I could disappear rather than endure the judgment. But even with embarrassment and isolation, I pushed forward, continuing my studies despite the emotional weight.
In 2014, another major chapter began when my grandmother took me and my siblings to Manila. The journey took four days by bus and ship, and I spent most of it motion sick. I cried the night before we left because I did not want to be separated from the stepfather I loved. At first, Manila seemed promising, but soon problems surfaced. We lived with relatives, and over time, money issues and arguments became constant. We were often blamed and treated like burdens, no matter how hard we tried to behave or help. School life added more challenges. I understood Tagalog but struggled to speak it fluently, so I grew quiet and withdrawn. I was bullied again for being Bisaya even by student leaders. Teachers noticed my silence but never understood the reason behind it. Still, I focused on my grades, determined not to fail. Despite the loneliness, I found comfort in church and made two genuine friends who became my safe space—people who listened without judgment and accepted me fully.
Not all memories in Manila were bearable. One of the darkest moments of my life happened when my uncle attempted to take advantage of me. I escaped and told my grandmother, but I was never sure if I was truly believed. The experience left a scar that made me fearful, anxious, and wary of the people around me. In 2021, we moved again, this time to Isabela. But instead of peace, conflicts grew worse. I was constantly blamed, silenced, and made to feel unwanted. Eventually, I decided I could no longer stay in an environment that crushed my spirit. Leaving caused anger and judgment from relatives, and even my own brother betrayed me by denying he once agreed with me. That betrayal hurt deeply, yet I chose myself and moved into a boarding house in Panaga. For the first time, I felt a sense of freedom. I often dreamed of flying, and to me, it symbolized peace. My favorite song, “I Think We’re Alone Now,” became the soundtrack of my newfound independence.
When I entered college, solitude felt natural. People misunderstood me, assuming I was unfriendly or rebellious because I preferred to sit alone. But I was simply quiet, introverted, and cautious. Over time, a shy classmate approached me, and that small moment opened the door to new friendships. Today, I have only a few friends, but they are genuine, and with them I can finally be myself. Looking back, my life has been filled with hardships bullying, illness, instability, betrayal, and loneliness but also resilience, growth, and self-discovery. I learned that it is okay to be different, to walk away from toxic people, and to protect my peace. My story may not be perfect, but it shaped me into someone strong, independent, and unafraid to stand alone.
My early years were far from stable. Because of my stepdad’s work, we moved constantly, transferring from one place to another. This meant changing schools repeatedly, never staying long enough to feel settled. Each time I started to adjust, make friends, or feel comfortable, it was time to leave again. When my mother went abroad to work, more responsibilities fell on my shoulders. I was still just a child, yet I had to take care of my younger siblings while juggling school and house duties. We didn’t have much, and there were moments when we relied on borrowed goods from stores just to get by. At an early age, I already understood struggle, survival, and sacrifice.
There was also a time when I became seriously ill, forcing me to stop attending school. The illness, combined with a traditional “hilot” massage near my eye, caused lasting damage. According to my grandmother, a nerve may have been affected, which led to my eye condition. My eyes began to cross whenever I wasn’t wearing glasses and my vision gradually worsened. Because of this, I became a target of bullying. Children stared, mocked, and laughed, making me feel ashamed of how I looked. I often wished I could disappear rather than endure the judgment. But even with embarrassment and isolation, I pushed forward, continuing my studies despite the emotional weight.
In 2014, another major chapter began when my grandmother took me and my siblings to Manila. The journey took four days by bus and ship, and I spent most of it motion sick. I cried the night before we left because I did not want to be separated from the stepfather I loved. At first, Manila seemed promising, but soon problems surfaced. We lived with relatives, and over time, money issues and arguments became constant. We were often blamed and treated like burdens, no matter how hard we tried to behave or help. School life added more challenges. I understood Tagalog but struggled to speak it fluently, so I grew quiet and withdrawn. I was bullied again for being Bisaya even by student leaders. Teachers noticed my silence but never understood the reason behind it. Still, I focused on my grades, determined not to fail. Despite the loneliness, I found comfort in church and made two genuine friends who became my safe space—people who listened without judgment and accepted me fully.
Not all memories in Manila were bearable. One of the darkest moments of my life happened when my uncle attempted to take advantage of me. I escaped and told my grandmother, but I was never sure if I was truly believed. The experience left a scar that made me fearful, anxious, and wary of the people around me. In 2021, we moved again, this time to Isabela. But instead of peace, conflicts grew worse. I was constantly blamed, silenced, and made to feel unwanted. Eventually, I decided I could no longer stay in an environment that crushed my spirit. Leaving caused anger and judgment from relatives, and even my own brother betrayed me by denying he once agreed with me. That betrayal hurt deeply, yet I chose myself and moved into a boarding house in Panaga. For the first time, I felt a sense of freedom. I often dreamed of flying, and to me, it symbolized peace. My favorite song, “I Think We’re Alone Now,” became the soundtrack of my newfound independence.
When I entered college, solitude felt natural. People misunderstood me, assuming I was unfriendly or rebellious because I preferred to sit alone. But I was simply quiet, introverted, and cautious. Over time, a shy classmate approached me, and that small moment opened the door to new friendships. Today, I have only a few friends, but they are genuine, and with them I can finally be myself. Looking back, my life has been filled with hardships bullying, illness, instability, betrayal, and loneliness but also resilience, growth, and self-discovery. I learned that it is okay to be different, to walk away from toxic people, and to protect my peace. My story may not be perfect, but it shaped me into someone strong, independent, and unafraid to stand alone.