Winning Essays

Ragged breaths echo around the room, the musky scent of sweat accompanied by the constant banging of the headboard to the adjacent wall. Cries of pleasure resonate throughout the four walls of the dilapidated bedroom. Two beings synchronized in an unpredictable yet rhythmic pattern, naïve to the possible consequences. Yet nine months later, she holds a miniature hand in her palm, but no one to hold hers. She’s only fifteen.

December 8, 2020. I thought it was just another lazy Tuesday afternoon at home as I scrolled through the news feeds of my different social media accounts. It was apparent that 9 months of COVID-19 lockdown had taken its toll on me as I stared, glassy-eyed, at my phone’s screen. Suddenly, a news headline jolted me out of my boredom-induced trance.

To quote the late Ruth Bader Ginsburg, “The decision whether or not to bear a child is central to a woman’s life, to her well-being and dignity. It is a decision she must make for herself.”1 Making the decision to bear and raise a child is not an easy task - it requires great amounts of effort, perseverance, and determination, if one wants to do it well. Mothers often struggle through sleepless nights and have to deal with the responsibilities that come with properly raising members of the next generation. This being said, while motherhood is an honorable thing, one problem arises within the Philippines - the rising number of women who have the unwanted responsibility of becoming mothers thrust on them.

I am a constant reminder of my mother’s mistake. There have been many incidents wherein she’d tell me, out of anger, that I am worthless and that I should just pack my bags and live elsewhere. But the most striking times are when she would not have heightened emotions at all. My mother would tell me casually, “You are the root of my suffering. I wish I never had you.” My eyes would lock onto her and I would nod slowly, and walk away as I let the words of rejection fragment the foundation of my childhood, bearing fruit to insecurity and self-hatred.

As I stood precariously on my desk, I reached for my copy of Filipina author Cristina Pantoja-Hidalgo’s Catch a Falling Star, which was tucked into the very side of my upper-wall bookshelf. What possessed me to revisit the short story collection from my Grade 7 English class, I’ll never know. Surely it wasn’t for escapism, as the stories are undeniably realistic. When I first read “Beautiful Beth,” (96-110) my memory was already saturated with news of women kidnapped and raped and murdered. A high school sophomore being married off to her rapist after her being abducted was, however, shockingly novel to me.

It was the summer of 2013 and I was 10 years old.

The season was a golden time filled with the sticky sweet syrup of childhood idealism. These days were a peculiar transition, the times before I was thrust into womanhood and the brutal expectations that came along with it. The days of childhood were gone, and the welcoming world as I knew it began to change. Unfortunately, my naivety did not change along with it.