Grade 11 ‘Till Graduation

I loved math. I always had loved math since elementary in the Philippines. I once got a medal for being the best in math when I was in first grade. I always got an A letter grade in my report card. However, by the time I got to high school, my love for math became uncertain, and a bit of hate grew, ok maybe more than that, filled in my heart. I liked the teachers who taught them all, but I didn't like how they taught it. My eighth-grade math teacher continuously used the word "Um" at every beginning, middle, and last of his sentence. My ninth teacher was excellent – he didn't give a shit! My tenth-grade teacher in my summer class was my boring, old science teacher – he was utterly dull, and I always dozed off to sleep when I was with him. Now he's teaching us math... I feel sorry for others who didn't know him. I sucked it up. There was nothing much going on about grade 10. Just getting bad grades in pre-calculus 11 was all. My math teacher was very, how should I say this, he was very vague, but straight to point at the same time. He didn't ask questions related to the textbook questions and build his question to make students 'understand' how it's done. I was not sure if I was making sense here, just that it's the most detailed description I could make of him.

Yeah, all of my math teachers so far were all men, can you believe that? I was relieved that I didn't get him the next year! I liked her the most - the new teacher. Her teaching fits with my ideal education!

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There, now let's jump to Grade 11. Pretty much everything had crumbled down to the abysmal hole. An endless hole that stealthily dug its way to my feelings. My parents and my sister, whom I fought almost every day – mostly with my mother.

When I re-read this diary, I realized my word choices are very optimistic yet have this sadness to it... I realized that I was avoiding the topic of my family. I realized that I was running. I was running away. I was running away from reality and myself. I had enough. I had to tell it. I wanted to yell it out.

I yelled to my mother out of frustration and anger, "I wish everyone would drop dead. We're better off dead and not have to deal with situations we can't solve like this. You said, 'I wish I'm dead,'" I mimicked her voice. "You thought that you were the only one? No! I wish you were dead as well. Or better, I wish I wasn't born in the first place. Because that way, maybe life would have been better for you. I wish I could kill myself right now. I wish you would take a knife and stab me in the chest already because I'm tired of you stabbing my heart multiple times with your words as the knife that I'm astonishment and miserable that I'm not dead."

She said, "I wish you're dead? I don't believe it."

After hearing her reply, I lowered my voice, "You don't? Well, maybe because you don't know me. Nobody knows me. Maybe because you don't see my scars; you don't see me cut my wrist – you don't see cuts and bruises anywhere. Of course not."

"You did?!"

"Of course not! Why would I ever do something low as that?! Is that the only way for you to at least notice me?! You don't know me. You don't even know that I like this girl, nor the fact I like women. Do you know what's worse? It's being cut down and stabbed with a fucking painful knife by someone I trust and love. For fuck's sake, I wish you didn't criticize every single thing about me! When I was happy about getting high grades, you ripped it the minute you said, 'You should keep it that way and make your English an A,' you didn't praise me one bit."

"Baby, I'm-" I held up my hand like a traffic officer.

"And you know what's even worse than that?" I tapped my head, violently, "Me. I've continued thinking how much of a disappointment I am to you, how I'm not smart for you, how my body is not average enough for you, how I wasn't enough for you, how I kept reminding myself that I was a mistake, how better it would have been if I died. I keep thinking and thinking, wishing that you would ignore and leave me alone, hoping you to already kick me out of the house. I'm continuously hurting myself, thinking about suicide, even planning and attempting suicide!

I used to feel uncomfortable thinking about them, but now I'm beginning to feel a sense of pleasure and relief just thinking about it. I cried alone in the dark, I tried to change, but you kept me from it. Have you ever noticed me fast? I sometimes do, and most of the time, I eat, forcing the food down my disgusting stomach that wants to vomit it all out! I feel guilty for eating your meal, that was supposed to be for your 'good' kid." I tried not to talk back or yell at you, but you make me do it. I tried to be best in school, but you keep on wanting more. Fuck, I had to rehearse this in my mind over and over. You don't even know I can't make a full sentence when I'm fucking infuriated like this! You hate what I love; you make me throw my happiness away. Anime kept me entertained and happy. Music kept your hurtful words from coming in and out of my mind, shoplifting made me feel alive and noticed, books opened a short getaway. Online friends kept me busy and temporarily happy. How shallow my happiness was and still is. My depression just kept on growing. I hatred (that I don't want) for you just kept on growing. To the point that I also want you DEAD! I WANT TO DIE!"

I hated my parents; I hated life; I hated myself more. I was currently suffering from severe depression (family), stress (school and expectation), anxiety (future). I've had enough of this bullshit life. I wanted myself dead.

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The Text 'I love you.' From you

"Hope you understand that I love you, Romie, and also your sister."

Could you believe what she fuckin' said? Plus, she said that in a fucking text. Holy mother of Fucker! Then she talked about god and how much of a gift 'that a daughter of God will ever give to her parents.' HYPOCRITE. She went on about, "humility is a good virtue that God the Father wants us to do when it is needed so that we can avoid conflict." Utter hypocrisy.

You wanted me to fix this? How was I supposed to do that when you weren't following any of it? Had you ever thought of the mistake you have made? How much humility were you willing to give to fix this shit? The words you say would never convince me anymore, though it would make me hate you and your hypocrisy even more. Damn, I was just a mistake!

I stayed at my non-related aunt's, let's call her 'Annabelle,' house for three weeks. I wanted to get away for a while. My mother wanted me to stay over at my relative's home for a while, but I didn't want to hear my aunt's advice and take care of my two little cousins. I was not in the mood. I asked Annabelle if I could stay there and sleep on the couch if there were no room. I didn't want to go to my relatives, especially back to my parents' house.

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Instead of my body found in a forgotten place, or dead in a bath with both wrists cut, or made a scene going to a high building to jump and commit suicide or many other dumb ways to die, I found my parents dead.

Wow, could the world be any crueler than that? My thoughts were going haywire. Considered that I should have apologized, I should have spent more time with them; I should have been a good child. Then, other thoughts came. Thinking that there's no point of crying or mourn because what's done was done, the pain was already there, and it's too numb to feel more; they were better off dead because if they didn't, they would have to deal with their rebellious daughter. Accidents happen, and it sucks. All the ceremony or the burial process was massive. Many of my parents' families came, and our religious ex-friends came as well. I didn't dare to speak to anyone of them. I wasn't sad; I was more frustrated and happy at that moment. My serious expression gave them this serious vibe and respected it.

I inherited all my parents' possession and their families and friends' gifts for condolence. I inherited all my parents' property because my sister gave her share to me. She said, "I know you are going through a lot. But I'm going to get married soon with your brother-in-law, this is the only comfort I could give. Feel free to ask help for us if anything comes to mind." My sister tried to smile but miserably failed, as tears poured down on her cheeks again to mourn for our parents. I didn't get it. Back then, I didn't cry, and I was very lenient for some reason.

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No. If that's what your thinking, no. I didn't ask or need for some mental or any psychological help. A few days later, after my parents' burial, my sister and I moved away from home. I was currently alone in a small apartment near my school and my sister was with her fiancé's family.

I'd asked my brother-in-law to help me with how the business world work. I know that you, Diary, are thinking, 'why don't you ask someone else? You shouldn't bother your brother because he is a businessman, and he's busy!' Ok, maybe not. I asked because he was in the business world, and he's my brother-in-law, who had the time in his hand (he owns a successful company, and it's an easy job for him, or so he says). Not to brag or anything, but a genius like me knew he could handle it. Whatever my brother had said about investing, the people's wants and needs, the license, the knowledge, fucking every business facts that my brother-in-law stuffed in my head took no less than one sleepless day. Yeah, you might as well sit there and accept the fact that I memorized it all. My brother-in-law was so admiring. I envied my sister for finding such a catch.

I confessed! Ok, I was not your average – worthless – Teen. I was pretty confident about my ideas, and I was done pretending; I was done pretending to a reckless and retarded child. I wanted my voice to be heard. My computer knowledge and skills were off the chart! I won cyber contests and was placed 1st worldwide while still being anonymous. I knew more than my high school teacher – maybe even more than the creator of technology themselves, I knew how to build all kinds of machinery by hand – oh, I knew beyond more of what you can imagine. What I was saying was that I'm gifted with the knowledge of technology. You see, I'm one of those protagonists who have experienced dreadful shits and have been in terrible shits – evening it out with extraordinary talents and achievement.

I may as well be a genius in martial arts because when I tried out karate, my coach was amazed. After all, on my first day there, the training was a breeze.

"Are you sure you haven't done this before?" My coach said, doubting every word I said. Yes, I hadn't done this before because my parents wouldn't let me. They said, 'Violence was an evil thing hated by God!' I couldn't blame 'em, though. I blamed my raw desire and talent. I realized that I've already mastered all the techniques in less than a week. Then, I tried their test. We had to do this strength and techniques stuff. My muscles were excellent – they can lift and punch more than 100 kilograms. I graduated with a black belt. I needed to protect myself.

I passed every martial arts in less than six months. 

***I can guess what you're thinking, 'Ok... Now you're just adding shits in this fucking story.' This is a story, and it happens.***

Though, I still suck at English. I'd never been good at English. I knew it's essential, but never fear; my English grades were average enough to start a company.

'Wait... weren't you fat before?' Yeah, I was fat, but my depression ate my appetite, which was just sugar's fault and baby fat!

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Hey Diary,

Do you remember I had to suck up one sleepless night with my brother-in-law talking non-stop? He was so pleased and even cried a bit because I listened to him seriously and commented back as if I was paying attention. Whenever my brother babbles, everyone ignores him; my sister nods, tired of him talking unnecessary topics. I also didn't pay attention most of the time; acting was my backup and my specialty – I learned that the hard way. I moved him; he assumed that I really wanted to start a company of my own. I was delighted to have him as my brother. Not because he bought me a small company (but he did) to start, but because he understood me.

Not even half a month before I turned 17, not even a month after the company was built, the small company that my brother-in-law gave me, became busy and hectic. God, I was tired. And of course, it's worth it; countless money and customers were coming into my company. It was a pleasure to have them. However, running a company alone was not smart, nor was it possible. I had slight difficulty in finding 'these people.' Trusting people was not on my quota. And since I was a lazy person, I decided the internet will do its job and do them for me, or people come to me.

To my surprise, thousands of mail came forward, sending me their resumes and picture profile. A bunch of them worthless. They came flying in my email as fast as they were flying into my trash bin. I selected the most unique and eye-catching resumes here and sent them a reply of 'let's have an interview.'

I didn't do the interviewing; my brother-in-law did – duh. People would assume this was just a prank pulled by a child; some would take advantage of this situation. I sat next to him, pretending I was doing my homework while secretly jotting down notes at the maybe-future-employee as my brother interviewed them. Why? To see their reaction. I needed to know them a little before doing anything absurd. My brother-in-law introduced me as his little sister, who works part-time in the company.

Many were excellent, many were irritating, many were boastful, many were fucking assholes at heart. Those assholes were staring at me with their disgusting eyes, with their revolting ideas that if they have my brother's favorable side, they would have me. That's something impossible to gain; I was not a thing. So, fuck it, out of the line for sure. Now, everything was on the right path. More money came in. The business was a success, and the employees loved the company.

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Let's skip grade 12, shall we? To be honest, the only thing good about grade 12 was our grade 7 and grade 8 letter. Prom was just for kids who were dating their girlfriend or boyfriend. Though, before the dance, many confessed and tried to invite me to prom as their date. Typically, for high school girls, it would be an honor. I hated prom. I hated how people would spend their money on something shitty like this. They wasted money and pressured those poor people in front of many peers. Didn't they think about what others would feel? What if they said 'no,' – no? Ha! If that person on the spot refuses, they might get booed on. Bet they wouldn't refuse unless they liked the person too or just plain scared.

For fuck's sake, I didn't care and said no. People booed at me, figures, but I didn't fucking care. I loved the humiliation in guys' face. Just seeing them making an effort made me cringe and grimace... They're just a piece of shit who only took notice of me when I lost weight. They didn't bat an eye when I was overweight, and I always wore boys' clothes – though, that's a plus for girls. Besides, I was not worthy of their interest.