Woosh woosh
 
That's 4-year old Tintinspeak for "go, go". I started talking to myself when I was four, a year that's cataclysmic for me and my siblings, but most especially for me because that was when Mama told me "you'll help me be the Papa to TJ and Tere now..."
 
And so I started reprimanding the little me whenever I'd feel too lazy to get up from bed to prepare my baby sister's milk, or too pissed at having to wash my brother when he shouts "ateee tapos na kooo!" from the john--I'll get pissed because I'm too caught up in reading People's Journal (I read them when I was four--strange,huh. A sign of genius perhaps.Teehee).
 
But of course no matter how many times I'd have to make milk for my sister or wash up my brother, I'd do them with a fervor, a loving fervor that's partly scared of my mom and sick of my siblings' whining. I love them more than anything in the world. And I'd say, "woosh, woosh", talking to little Tintin:
 
Go stand on that stool and get Tere's feeding bottle from the sterilizer on the stove. Go get the soap and wash TJ and give him a bath. Go put that tabloid down. Go call your mom's office to remind her to buy vitamins. Go ask Nanay to change Tere's diapers. Go Tintin, just go.
 
And now these people come into our lives, pretending to be helping us, but nailing us in the end. They don't have the single right.
 
They don't have the right to imply to my siblings' faces that I mismanaged the money Papa had been sending us. They don't have the right to "give us advices" even. Our father doesn't even have the right to do that.
 
He left us and it's his obligation to support us. Fuck, his money hardly stayed in the bank for a week. It's always never enough.
 
I wish my parents never married so then we'd have Mama's maiden name instead. I wish they could all read this. I am ashamed of them. I ashamed of this name we're carrying.
 
From this day on, I am cutting off all the connections I have with my father and his family. He left when I was four. He will be forever gone.