Anonymous Confession

Okay, so here it is. I grew up like a princess—not the kind who lives in a palace with butlers, servants, and a crown. I grew up living a good life. In our family, I was their princess since I was the only daughter of my parents. My father worked in another place, so I only saw him once a year, and my mother was a housewife. But she had a business—people pawned their lands and other properties to her, and she also lent money to those in our town.

Since I grew up in the province, I was what they called an island girl. I grew up feeling like the world revolved around me. Even in school, I knew I stood out, but I wasn’t like the spoiled brats you see on TV. My parents and grandparents raised me well—I was a kind child, a true dalagang Pilipina, a Maria Clara in short, haha.

Every birthday of mine was grand. Cake? Seven cakes. My feast? A lot. That’s why even some relatives who weren’t invited still showed up.

Fast forward—I was eight years old when my mom got pregnant. So there, I was going to have a sibling. Everything was fine, everything was still okay.

Not until my brother turned two and I turned ten.

2016—the nightmare, the worst event of my life.

My grandfather noticed that my brother had been looking pale for months, which was unusual because ever since he was a baby, his lips and cheeks were always red. So my mom took him for a check-up, and according to the doctor, he needed to be rushed to the hospital immediately because there was a problem with his blood. They couldn’t confirm what it was because the hospital didn’t have advanced technology. So, they brought him to a bigger hospital in our province, which was very far from us.

I was with them at the hospital. That was the first time I experienced being left behind, being alone, and feeling like I didn’t matter.

Maybe others would think, “You’re too much. You’re a useless sister. You knew your brother needed your mom’s attention more, yet you still let jealousy take over.”

Did I want this? Did I want to feel that way? No, I didn’t. Because he’s my brother—I love him. But what could I do? I was just a child back then.

Weeks passed, and my aunt had to take me back home to our island because I wasn’t allowed to stay in the hospital any longer.

Fast forward—that was my nightmare.

That afternoon, when I finally arrived at our house, I didn’t know it would be the last time I would ever see my grandfather.

I was with my two female cousins. We were inside the bedroom of our house when we suddenly heard someone shouting, cursing at our grandfather, challenging him to a fight to the death, yelling that he should come out because he was going to kill him.

We panicked. My cousins and I immediately ran outside, but we were too late. Our grandfather had already stepped out—carrying a bolo.

And that was when I saw how my grandfather fought for his life.

I saw it. We saw it—how he was stabbed multiple times with an ice pick, how he struggled, how he gasped for air. And despite everything, he still managed to tell us not to cry.

My grandfather always had a favorite line—he would always tell us not to cry when he dies because he wasn’t afraid of death.

But that day, as we surrounded him, crying, we saw the fear in his eyes. That was when I realized—he was afraid, but not of dying. He was afraid for himself.

He took off his glasses because his vision was already blurring. We saw his clothes—full of holes, soaked in blood.

That was where it all began—the suffering, the fear, the endless nights of crying. Name it.

That was where my almost perfect life started to fall apart.

The once cheerful child, surrounded by happiness and warmth, would one day reach a point where she would wish to disappear—where she would wish for death.

But God is good—I rose above it all.

For seven years, I endured pain, countless nights filled with tears and fear, and moments when I wanted nothing more than to end it all. My heart was drowning in resentment, hatred, and bitterness. But I survived—by God’s mercy.

I am happy now. I’m in college, taking the first steps toward my dream of becoming a Cabin Crew. I am stronger, unshaken. Everything I went through, I overcame. The seven years I thought would destroy me—I made it through.

Nine years later, my grandfather is gone, but my sibling survived cancer. And I, too, survived. I conquered depression. I became a trauma survivor.

Now, I can finally say—the old me is gone. She died so that I could live.

A Final Farewell – Meracris Casabuena

To the girl I once was—this is our goodbye.

You carried so much pain, so much fear. You held onto wounds that never seemed to heal, nights that felt endless, and a heart too shattered to hope. You were strong, even when you didn’t want to be. You fought, even when you had nothing left. And for that, I honor you.

But now, it’s time to let you go.

I am no longer the girl who begged for love, who was swallowed by grief, who feared being left behind. I have risen from the ashes you once laid in. I have learned to breathe without the weight of yesterday crushing me. I have found joy, purpose, and peace.

So, rest now. Thank you for bringing me here. But from this moment on, I walk forward without you.

I love you.

Goodbye, Meracris.
The girl you saved is finally free.