hindi ko alam title

“No turning back miss, ‘you sure with this?” said by the woman in front of me. “Yes I am.” I said back, not looking on her eyes. “How many months is it now?” the woman said while taking the apparatus from her bag.


Sta. Barbara, this is where I was born and where I grew up. For every one, hometown is where their fondest memories were made. But for me, this is the place where Satan must’ve decided to flee when his kingdom in inferno burned down after it had been severely affected by global warming.
Here, you’ll see the typical stories you love to watch in your half-baked telenovela- live in action. A drunk man beating his wife, a mother who gambles from morning ‘til dawn, a teen age mom, kids smoking dopes, group of young men exchanging bullets on each other’s head, children of four to six years of age looking for scraps on a dumpsite, robbers, hookers... name it. Every element needed by a writer to make his story dramatically-tragic resulting to a spectacular rating is here in Sta. Barbara- my place, and I am Veronica. You might’ve seen me in one of your telenovela marathons, but I am no actress, not with this over used body and a tarnished name nailed on my forehead.
I was in third grade when mama left us, leaving me, my four younger brothers and my bed-ridden father. In my young mind, I knew then that a great responsibility has been put on my frail shoulders- putting something on our mouths in order for us to live. I quit schooling and tried various jobs, but none has given me money enough to take my family out of this filthy basin we’re in.
It’s been seven years now, there’s no any trace of sweaty neck or dirt on my innocent face, just scent of cheap cologne and lustrous make-up painted on my face. I am no longer taking leftover from garbage bags of fast food restaurants for our meal, I am no longer selling cigars on the streets to buy papa his medicines... for pulling off my underwear can buy a kilo of rice and few bags of fish crackers dosed with vetsin and salt, and making a man moan in ecstasy is enough to buy papa two tablets of his medicine... and this two-month old angel in my womb is the price I got to pay for striving to feed my family’s throbbing stomachs.

“This won’t hurt that bad, but will bleed pretty much.” The woman then parted my legs. Tears rolled and dried on my cheeks. I’m sorry little angel; I won’t have the chance to hold you... kiss you... I’m sorry...
My name is Veronica and I live here in Sta. Barbara.
A place cursed by its patron. Slaved by poverty. Overlooked by the government. Victim of fate. Forgotten by your God.
I am Veronica, living in a box of cruelty. Long been killed by rotten system of the society.