It has been my personal rule that I should never blog when I am emotional.  I write emotionally, as it is, so when my emotions are already askew, I try to stay away from the keyboard.  But it has been weeks since that day, and I am still feeling the pain that I felt then.  I really feel that I have to unload this now, or I’ll never get over it.

One of the hardest things for a person to deal with is to know the truth and not be in the position to say it, if only to defend a person you love so dearly.

In the latter part of June, I came across a note that tells of a story that happened a long time ago.  It was about the second man in my life, the man who practically “raised” me.  He was the one who comforted me when I was just a fuzzy little baby, the one who held my hand when I was learning how to walk, the one who taught me my ABC’s and write my name on a magic slate, the one who walked me to school, up to my classroom door, the one who would get into a fight with anyone who would tease me, the one who would finish his ice cream fast, so he could “help” me finish mine.

They say a father is every daughter’s first love and a son’s first hero.  But I lost my father before I was two, so this man became my first love, and my first hero.

To have him described as someone who saw fatherhood as an optional endeavor was a stab straight to my heart.  How unfortunate that the one who wrote that about him did not know him the way I do.  More unfortunate is the fact that she had all the opportunity to know him, and yet failed to do so.  Because what she knows is the story that her family wanted her to believe.

I sat down here to write the untarnished truth from the view of the one closest to the scene of the drama.  Yes, I was right there.  Inconspicuous, but there. From the day when this man tried to take care of someone and protect her from her own family, to the day that same woman left him just because he’s not the prince her family wanted her to have.

Straight from the woman’s father:  “Sa gandang ‘yan ng anak ko, dapat ang maging asawa n’ya ay milyonaryo.”

Sadly, we are not even close to being comfortable, let alone be millionaires.  But we tried to provide within our means, and miserably failed.

From a letter we found, from the woman’s sister:  “Iwan mo na ang patay-gutom na ‘yan.  Wala kang mapapala d’yan.”

The standards were set so high, we could not keep up. So the woman packed and left.  Just like that.

Twenty-five years after, the man is still being blamed for that separation.  Still being called the absentee father.  Not mentioned was the fact that it was him who sent her to school, from elementary to college. When she graduated, the father was not invited.  When she passed the nursing board, no kudos to the father.  All congratulations to the mother, for giving her daughter the best education.

The writer wrote about giving credit where the credit is due, but her lopsided version of the story fails to give credence to her statement.  Oh, it is her note to write, and her story to tell.  But I have my blog to write, and my truth to tell.

I have read, so many times, about her feeling lost, about not knowing who she is, about feeling like a part of her is missing.  And again, blame it on the father who was not there.  I have tried to explain and tell her what happened.  But she’s been brainwashed well and good.

It’s sad to read about how she had to be strong because her father left her, but never cared for the fact that it was her mother who did the packing and leaving, and the reason why she did.

It’s sad to read about how she feels loved by her family, and knowing that that family does not extend to her father’s.

It’s sad to read about how she has to celebrate Father’s Day without a father, when she knows that she has but choose to believe otherwise.

Life is all about choices.  You don’t go around life saying you are the way you are because some people made you that way.  You are the way you are because you chose to be that way.  When I got pregnant, I could have forced the child’s father to marry me, if only to make sure that my child will not be born illegitimate.  But I chose not to.  When I was lambasted with gossip at the office while pregnant and unmarried, I could have talked to each one of the mongers and explained my reason for being in an unmarried state.  But I chose not to.  When I was offered my dream position to head office while Jude was still a baby, I could have made arrangements for our situation to work.  But I chose not to.

I am where I am now because I made choices.  I am not going to say that my life is perfect.  Perfection, as happiness, is a state that you choose to be in.  So I go to work in torn shorts and uncombed hair.  So I only get to take a bath after I’ve fed the kids lunch.  So I have to work on Sundays and holidays.  So I homeschool only when the kids are really up to it, which is about two hours a day.  My situation is not what an ideal homeschooling WAHM should have.  It is way too far from being perfect.

But I don’t aim for perfection.  I simply decide that what I have is what’s perfect for me.

And I am happy, because every day, I choose to be.

If you want to be happy, be!

Photo from

And this is what I call intentional living.