Hi, I am John Michael, 17, a college student. Family members called me “Bok” (for a very historical reason), while classmates and close friends fond of calling me trough my family name- I don’t know why but they are really addicted to that. Others call me as John/John Michael and Michael and just a few call me, JM. But then, whatever they are used to call me, I am very sure that they are having fun in my company for a long receipt of reasons. But what they don’t know is that behind those laughter and the so-called “the forever smiling gentleman” (according to one of my professors) hides the real me in a thick and plastic face mask which covered all the scars that happened for the 17 years of breathing.
I always remember my favorite lines from the happiest person in this world- Mr. Bean. He said “I always want to walk in the rain, so no one can see me crying.” From what I have seen and experienced, the statement have always been true. I don’t want people to recognize my weakness. I don’t want people to notice my tears clogging out of my smiling eyes. Yah, it’s really embarrassing. I’d rather die on my own than people notice my defeat against the lord of failure.
I really know myself; from who am I to what I am, and even to where I am right now, and every little aspect of my individuality from head to foot. I have a multiple personality. I am the energetic, the clown, the fun to be with, and the man who bears all the positive aspects in life. That was who I am in my “comfort zone”. But from the moment I step out of the door and hear my father’s hellish shout, I bow and change my personality- the total opposite of who I am outside. I don’t know, why? But what’s certain is that I am not comfortable living in this kind of world.
As early as the wake-up call of the alarm clock, a wave of shock creates an image in our heads of a growling father ready to attach his weak prey, our crying mother. I admit that my parents argue over the usual thing. But there’s this particular argument that I am still unable to digest; that is the question that above everything else, why should money matters be on the top of their list? They always blame each other. They shout as if we aren’t in front of them. They don’t even care whenever our neighbors heard them quarrelling.
I remember one time, because my temper started to fire, I answered back to my irresponsible father. And guess what his reply? It was his thick and heavy fist that landed on my right face. Then I gave my left, expecting to balance the fist marked on my other cheek. It drew a great impact to create the word “anger” to my father. I din’t know why that word kept on boosting my strength to fight for what I knew was right which were supposedly, or undeniably, wrong to his perceptions.
I entered college. I enrolled in a public state college in a nearby city. I did a lot of jobs. I am a dean’s lister in the morning, a varsity player in the afternoon and a fast-food crew in the evening. I did all of these to financially support my education. I busied my self. I am too persistent to persue my studies, to establish my dreams and to help my parents despite what I’ve experienced. I did all those things day-by-day but lived one day at a time and didn’t rush things. I went home late at night to avoid those blaming words. (Well, if that leads you to think that I escaped from my reality, I’d accept that. But I won’t lead myself towards another embarrass because I have ben tired of these.) I started to build my own comfort zone on my friends’ nest. They really cared for what was feeling.
There are times I decided to give-up my studies. We couldn’t even support our everyday living. I am the third child and I was the only one who volunteered to stop, not because I didn’t want to pursue my studies but because I felt all the hardships we were tying to defeat for a long period of time. I cared for my parents even if the feeling was not at all mutual; even if they accused every so often that I have been the reason why my brothers and sisters failed to do certain things; and to top all of these, they treat me as if I was just an extended son.
It lead me to a ask myself if I was really part of this family. Do they love me? Do they care for me when I am still out at night? Do they show me how much they value me? Why do I look different to their eyes? In time, I started to learn the possible answers.
It was November when I had a close encounter with the real me. The tears I have been hiding to my family for the longest duration started to pour down. I tried to avoid it. But I failed to hide it. A man standing in front of me was reflecting my image. I wore a black shirt like what he wearing. He approaches me and asked my name… “John Michael?” I immediately replied to him right away. He drew me a big laugh. I was insulted. “Really?” He was asking my assurance as if he was in his biggest doubt. “Michael John is my name… What a coincidence to think that we almost had the same name and we share the same surname.” We started figuring each other’s aura. And after a few seconds, he interviewed me.
“Are you the one, who has been my friend in Facebook since last month?” he eagerly asked.
“Yes! It’s me. It just happened that I felt the urge to look and search for my possible relatives and people with the same name as mine. It sounds weird thinking that we’re cousins and we almost had the same name.” I then clarified.
We had to end our conversation because it’s too late in the evening. But with an hour and a half together, I failed to ask him one more question, “Who is his father? Or shall I say, who among my uncles is his father?” With this question, I walked alone going to our house.
Upon entering the wooden antique door, my father welcomed me with a spoon of shouts, and a cup of curse. Again and again he blamed me for all the faults, even those that I don’t know.
“Are you drunk? What happened to you? Did I do something wrong? What are you saying Papa? Why you keep on blaming me for such thing that I truly didn’t understand? Will you please tell me the truth, the root of this inequality?” I shouted even I knew that Papa wasn’t under the spirit of alcohol. And I tasted again the sweetness of Papa’s hand. He slapped me and said, “Now you’re telling me that you whan me to tell the truth?”
“Papa, please calm down.” my mother screamed and held Papa’s hand.
“Now papa, tell me the truth that I’m starving for. Tell me! Tell me all the answers that I need to complete my own identity.” I shouted to papa, not minding the tears that showered my body. I noticed mama’s crying while my sisters and brother were all numb.
“You are not…..”
“Papa…” Mama kneeled in front of Papa as if she’s trying to cover up something.
“No mama, he needs to learn the truth.” Papa then insisted.
“You are not part of this family. You are not the real you, you are not John Michael.”
As papa uttered these words,m my world started to break into pieces. “You are just a guy who replaced our long lost son. You are not our own.” Papa continued while blood of tears run down from my eyes.
“Who’s your real son then?” I asked him with the lowest and huskiest tone.
“Our real son was named Michael John” said papa. That time, I felt that I was betrayed by someone for an unexplainable reason. His name echoed in my ears.
I ran out of the house, ran, and ran as fast as I could. I didn’t even care wherever I was heading to.
Now I was alone in the dark, alone in the rain. I sought all the answers I was craving for but after those answered questions, a new set of questions was formulated.
“Who am I? Where is my mother, my mather? Where do they live?”
The next day I entered again the door I used to slam. My mom hugged me, asking for forgiveness.
“Mom, thank you for all. You have taught me to all the things that I needed to learn. Please tell papa that I am very sorry for what I’ve done, for answering him back. I knew it was wrong. Now, we end up to this point. It was really hard to think that for 17 years of existence, just by a snap, the world where I used to belong to was not totally mine. Mom this is not the end. This is just the start of a new life. Thank you for everything Mama, and I love you!”
As I leave MJ approached me and said, “JM, don’t go, will you please stay?” Mom agreed on what MJ said.
“MJ, sorry, I have to move. I have to find who really I am. I have to search for my family. I know they are all looking for me right now. I have to, sorry.” Then, I walked straight with no apprehensions.
Mom held my hands, crying. She handed me a piece of paper and said. “Here’s the address where you can find you family.” I thanked her but I didn’t pay any glimpse because I didn’t want her to see me crying.
I walked alone, again.
I opened the folded paper and I saw an address. It looked familiar to me. It was the nearby cemetery in the city. I searched for them- my mother, father, brother and sister. They were all dead for 17 years because of an accident.
I moved to my classmate’s dormitory, continuously searching for my own life, my studies, my work and my dream.
I loss my family- the surname which of my classmates are fond of calling me, my identity and my individualit. I lost all the things I started to plant since I was an innocent kid.
Years quickly passed and I’ve started to learn how to stand on my own as an individual. I don’t blame papa for what Iam not holding on right now. But the respect, love and care remain. I thank him even more for teaching me how to stand and most importantly, for unveiling the truth which has been hidden from me for almost 17 years.
XXX
(Unang nalathala sa Utak Berde taon 9 bilang 1 (publikasyong kabilang sa LAVOXA Group of Publications ng De La Salle Lipa) gamit ang pangalang Paul John, PJ (John Michael) at John Paul, JP (Michael John).
