Be thankful for the hard times

I always believed that hardships can teach a person a lot of things.

I was never ashamed to say that I went through really hard times growing up. I came from a lower-middle-class family, with my parents working so hard to make ends meet. Sometimes, I wonder as to how they were able to do it, or maybe I do know: definitely with blood, sweat and tears.

My parents managed to send me and my two brothers to a private Catholic school, in what my mother would always deem as, “Bayad-utang-bayad-utang”—or that never-ending cycle of loaning money and paying it off in order to loan again.

My cousins who went to the same school were better off, either because both of their parents were working or because they own a small business. In our household, it was only my father who was working then, getting a low-wage government salary. Later on, my mother got a job at the Assessor’s Office of the City Hall, in what they call a “casual” basis (If you don’t know what that is, it is somewhat similar to contractual employment, but may differ in the bureaucratic jargon used). That didn’t really change how things were when you have mouths to feed and needs to fill for meager pay.

I resented our situation when I was younger. I even thought my parents were not working hard enough to give us the best of things. If my Dad finished school he might have gotten a better job. If we have a business then we can have more money. Growing up, I was envious of my classmates and friends who seem to have everything. I often ask why we were having it tougher than most people I know.

I don’t recall ever getting an allowance. Since my school is just within walking distance from our house, I was only given a certain amount of “pocket money” every day, around five to ten pesos—enough to buy me snacks and a small cup of soft drinks. During the worst of times, I’d go to school with no money at all. My mother would make pandesal with whatever spread we had available (like cheese, butter, coco jam or liver spread) and that’s all I have. By lunchtime, I’d wait for my Dad by the school gate as he was the one who brings my food.

If money is needed for usual student expenses like photocopying fees, group contributions, school supplies or the like, then I have nothing to give. I’ll be the one who’d usually “pass” and pay the next day if I could.

It’s not just the money, I don’t have the excess kids my age enjoyed. I only get new things at the beginning of the school year (the good thing was that my Mom always made sure we had good quality—not necessarily expensive—things in school). If lucky, my shoes and uniforms were hand-me-downs from older cousins, so my parents need not spend more for it.

I didn’t get to have the popular toys back in the day or wear branded clothes, except ones sent via Balikbayan Boxes from relatives in the States. It’s somewhat funny now when I remember how we had to strike the TV to make it work (until it eventually conked out for good) or had to tie our refrigerator door so it will shut. We never had a Betamax player (only VHS, but it was a lot later) or a Nintendo Family Computer. I only owned one Barbie doll ever: The Sunsational Malibu Barbie, while my classmates would show off their large collection in rare times we were allowed to bring our toys to school.

There was a time in Grade Six when I was asked to step out of the class during a major exam because I don’t have the exam permit yet. My father was still at the cashier’s office trying to secure it with a promissory note. I had to stay at the library where Dad saw me crying in self-pity. He was able to get the permit, alright, but going back to the classroom while all eyes were looking at me can be very humiliating even for a little girl.

If it weren’t for the full scholarship in High School, I’m pretty sure I would have transferred to a public school. It was truly a blessing, but even if all my tuition including miscellaneous fees were paid for, getting by was still tough.

It wasn’t easy being a scholar as I never felt that we were held in the esteem we deserve. If for anything, the faculty made me feel I had to work for it. Apart from maintaining my grades, I was also expected to do extra work for teachers like checking of test papers, cleaning of rooms, ushering for school events or helping with practically any task assigned even during the weekends. There were moments I feel like I was a lackey running errands for them.

My resentment grew even more during my teenage years. It’s the time I want to fit in, and I can’t since I don’t have the things most of my classmates have. I may have been part of a clique or a barkada, but I don’t have close friends growing up because I was somewhat ashamed of people finding out how tough my circumstance was. I wasn’t given money for the mall or movie (aside from the fact that I wasn’t allowed) that perhaps out of pity, well-meaning friends would chip in for me so I can get to join them.

It didn’t help that there were some teachers who treated me unfairly like it was my fault that I was not as well-off as most students studying in that school. I remember this one time when my class adviser slyly implied that I was the classroom thief.

Stealing in the classroom had become so rampant at that time that my adviser had been throwing insinuating blows my way that had been going on for days. I initially ignored it under the rationale that it wasn’t me who was taking the things and the money anyway. In the long run, shrugging it off was not a good idea, as she might’ve mistaken my lack of reaction for guilt.

One morning in front of the whole class, my teacher asked me when I could pay for the field trip. I don’t recall what my reply was, but I will never forget what she said. She said I shouldn’t give her any more excuses on why I can’t pay because she’s very sure I have “lots of money”.

It wasn’t what she said, it was more how she said it. I was young and maybe lacking discernment, coupled it with the fact that I was thrown off and too shocked to say anything. A concerned classmate pulled me aside and told me that our adviser was obviously hinting something malicious. That’s when it all became clear to me that I have all the right to be offended with her underhanded comment because even other people noticed I was being singled out.

I came home for lunch that day and my parents sensed that there’s something bothering me, so I told them what happened. Furious, they rushed to the principal’s office that very afternoon and lashed out on my class adviser who, of course, denied everything. I got my vindication weeks later when rumors spread that they finally caught the one responsible and that someone belongs to another class.

I never got an apology from my adviser. Maybe she thought she doesn’t owe me anything because after all, I was going to that school for free. And to this day, I don’t attend school reunions as I don’t want to cross paths with that teacher again. Heaven help me—I might not have the self-restraint to remain civil. I would highly likely remind her of what she did to me and slam her for it.

The tough times went on for years and only slightly improved when I reached college. At that time, my older brother was already working so it eased the situation a little. Nonetheless, it was pretty clear that there are still so many material things my parents couldn’t afford to give me even if they wanted to.

It was only when I got older when I realized that even with all those things I went through, that I’m luckier than most people. I was bitterly busy comparing myself to people who’re obviously from a higher social class and have more than me, forgetting that there are still those who were having it worse. I mean, I didn’t have to go and beg for money; I still eat square meals a day; I didn’t have to stop school; I didn’t have to work or be of servitude so I can send myself to school.

I know I said that I thought my parents didn’t give their best for us, but I was so wrong. They gave us the best they can and I was just too young to understand their sacrifices back then. I still tear up when I remember seeing my mother borrowing money from a coworker just so I can pay for a school requirement already due. Or how my dad would leave his office before lunchtime so that he could bring my baon to school and he never missed a day. Only God knows how they managed to do that all those years.   

I have seen people who went through low points end up bitter, selfish and spiteful because they feel life has been unfair to them. The truth is, hard times teach us a very valuable lesson: Gratitude.

This may not be a rags-to-riches story, because I’m anything but wealthy, but it’s worth saying how important those experiences were for me. When you come out of a tough time, it will humble you in ways you can never explain. It taught me resilience and made me so much stronger in handling problems knowing that there will be better days. It made me thankful for the things that I can now afford even if there are still a lot of things that I can’t.  I mean, when I look back on how I was then and compared to how I am now, I sure have come a long way.