Sir Omar dropped me off at the street corner, approximately one hundred meters away from our house. Gem Ver and I didn't have the chance to talk, and he didn't insist on giving me a ride home. He never looked at me the way he usually does. I'll let him be and live his own life since I haven't done anything wrong to him earlier.
I chose to take a narrow hallway as a shortcut to our place. I feel more comfortable passing through here, especially at night. I can reach our destination faster, and I know that I'm safer and familiar with this route. Even though it's dark, I feel confident passing through because I know everyone who lives along that concrete hallway. My steps were quick in the dim hallway towards our house. 
The smell of mud from the open sewer on the side of the road wafts as I tightly hold the food I brought for my younger brother, Oteph. I know he'll be happy because it's rare for us to have a decent meal, and this one isn't from our father.
I deeply love my brother. I am ready to make any sacrifice for him, even if it means putting my own life at risk. I would even face death itself to protect Oteph from our father's spouse. He is the only family I have, and I will not let anyone harm him.
I know he hasn't eaten yet. Usually, he waits for me so we can have our meals together. However, I'm sure he must be very hungry by now since I was supposed to be home earlier. I hope he is still awake when I arrive so he can taste the food I brought from the caterer for Sir Walter's proposal.
Aunt Alma doesn't care about providing for or supporting him. She shows no concern for us and always has a fiery temper towards us, her stepchildren. I don't even understand why she holds such animosity towards us. In order to avoid any trouble, I try my best to stay away from her as much as possible.
In just a few moments, I am already in front of our house. The front part of it is dark because the light has already gone out. The Semi-bungalow house, which I still vividly remember being built by my father when I was just five years old. Back then, my father had a good job, which made him one of the first to build a bungalow house in our area.
When our mother died, it seemed like he lost his direction in life. He became addicted to alcohol and eventually got involved in gambling, even to the point of losing his job. He lost everything he had acquired, and even we were neglected. It felt as if we lost a father too, and our neighbors even said that we were worse off than orphans.
The house has been neglected. The damaged ceiling is almost collapsing, and the broken windows with unreplaced glass are noticeable. The once milk-colored paint on the front of our house has also darkened. The towering branches of the Duhat tree have been left untrimmed, swaying over our house, which adds to the gloominess of the place.
I often don't stay at home during Saturdays and Sundays. I would rather hang out with my friends and join them in cleaning cars at the car wash owned by the parents of one of our friends. I earn money just enough for our food, including my school allowance. But often, it is still insufficient.
From the outside, our once joyous home appears overwhelmingly heavy. The laughter that used to fill every corner of the house has now been replaced by silence and profound sadness.
Less than a year after our mother's death, my father immediately got married again. Grandma Gloria got angry because my father hastily remarried without even waiting for the proper mourning period for our mother. Grandma Gloria is my mother's mother, who was forced to return to Bicol due to her ill feelings.
Our home was not only overshadowed by extreme sadness, but also the shouting and violence from my father's second wife, Aunt Alma. I often find myself arguing with Aunt Alma due to her abusive behavior and mistreatment towards my youngest sibling, Joseph.
"Drew, welcome to hell," I whispered to myself as I approached the entrance of the house.
Cautiously, I gripped the doorknob and turned it, allowing the door to swing open. Dimness greeted me inside, with only the glow from the television casting a flickering illumination.
Stepping into the room, the weight of suffering in Oteph's and my lives became apparent. The reigning queen of this infernal dwelling, where Oteph and I sought solace, fixed her gaze upon me, a single eyebrow arched in scrutiny. Oblivious to my presence, she sat watching TV while billowing herself with a fan.
"Prepare yourself, Drew, here it comes, her tirade is about to begin", my inner voice warned.
"And so, you have the audacity to come home?" Aunt Alma erupted loudly. Rising from her seat, she defiantly placed her hands on her hips. "You contribute nothing to this household, yet you dare come and go as you please?"
Refusing to be provoked, I chose to ignore her venomous words, determined not to allow Aunt Alma's outburst to ruin my evening. Silently, I continued removing my shoes, appearing unaffected by her presence.
With an air of forcefulness, she approached me, seizing my arm to bring me face-to-face with her.
"While I am speaking to you, show some respect!" she bellowed, her spittle barely missing my face. Retrieving my handkerchief from my pocket, I swiftly wiped away the remnants of her anger.
Suppressing the urge to retort, I sealed my lips tightly, mindful that any words unleashed upon her would be neither just nor kind. I hadn't been raised to be impudent or disrespectful to my elders, but I, too, had my limits.
Asserting myself, I gently freed my arm from her grasp, taking a deep breath as I sought to regain my composure. I allowed her bitter words to fall like drops into a bottomless well, unaffected by their impact. Steadfastly, I continued with my actions, determined not to be swayed.
"Just because you are streetwise, it doesn't mean you should dwell solely on the streets! Despite the opportunities for education, all you seem to prioritize is your recklessness," her spiteful words seemed an attempt to test the limits of my patience and self-control.
"Stay calm, Drew. Keep your cool. She's not worth it. You're not on the same level." This is what I repeatedly remind myself to maintain my composure and avoid engaging with her.
I made an effort to steer clear and headed to the kitchen. Picking up a plate and silverware, I transferred the food from the styrofoam container to the plate. The tantalizing aroma wafted from the plate, assuring me that Oteph would relish the meal.
"So, you actually have the means to indulge in delicious food? Well, it seems that all your flirting has finally paid off, hasn't it?" tita Alma's relentless barrage of hurtful words continued.
"Just a little longer..."
I restrained myself. Just a little longer, and the spirit of Gabriela Silang would ignite within me.
I opened the refrigerator to retrieve cold water. Taking hold of the filled pitcher from inside, I felt her presence behind me, growing increasingly irritated by my refusal to acknowledge her hurtful remarks.
Once again, she forcefully grabbed my hand, causing me to accidentally release the pitcher filled with cold water. It crashed onto the concrete floor, shattering into fragments and dispersing water across the surface.
"I already told you not to be rude! Face me properly when I'm talking to you! Just because you and your mother are the same!" tita Alma's unyielding verbal assault continued.
Swiftly, I grabbed the fork, raising it menacingly towards her neck. "What did you say?!" I pushed her away. "What did you say?! Huh?! Are you suggesting that my mother and I resemble each other?!" I screamed at her, my chest heaving with anger and resentment as she dared to malign my deceased mother.
Aunt Alma froze, her fear evident by the expression on her face as she noticed the fork pointed directly at her.
"I can endure anything. I can take all the hurtful words, but don't you dare involve my mother!" I yelled at her, feeling a surge of emotions and rage coursing through me.
I am overwhelmed by an intense anger towards my stepmother, making it hard to catch my breath. My hand trembles as the fork remains pointed at her neck.
Slowly, Aunt Alma distances herself from the fork I hold. As she withdraws her imposing figure, she quickly rushes towards her room, putting more space between us.
"Shame on you, you ingrate! You want to kill me! Prepare yourself! When your father arrives, I will tell this to your father!" Aunt Alma angrily shouts, her voice filled with tears, as she disappears into her room.
After Aunt Alma leaves, I tremble and release my grip on the fork. Taking a deep breath, I give in to a torrent of angry tears. I cover my face, trying to regain composure and suppress my sobs. I summon my courage because I need to be strong for both Oteph and myself. It is my sibling who empowers me to be brave and resilient.
I wipe away the tears from my eyes and take a deep breath. Oteph must not see me crying. He must not witness my sadness.
"Sister (older sister)?"
A familiar voice calls out to me. Swiftly, I wipe away my tears once more. I turn around and attempt to offer a smile.
"Oh, Oteph, you're still awake," I reply to him, while continuing to prepare the food I brought for him.
"Ate, why are you crying?" he suddenly asks. I am at a loss for words. I have exhausted all my excuses whenever he catches me in tears.
"N-No, Ate isn't crying. I just rubbed my eyes, and I didn't realize I had held a chili earlier, which made it seem like I was crying," I lie to him.
He rushes towards me and envelops me in an embrace. I can feel his tears mingling with mine.
"Why are you crying?" I asked him. I tried my best to hold back my tears, especially in front of my younger sibling. He is still too young to experience life's hardships.
"I overheard Aunt Alma scolding you again," he said.
"It's nothing, don't worry about it. Just hang on and stop crying," I consoled him. I sat in front of him and wiped away his tears. I looked directly into his eyes and smiled. "Have you eaten? Ate brought some food. I'm sure you'll like it, it's delicious."
"Wow, Ate! Is that true?" he responded, his eyes filled with tears. "My stomach hurts from hunger. Tita Alma's food earlier was tasty, but she said it was only for her and none for me," he added.
I felt a deep sorrow for my sibling. I couldn't help but cry, considering our situation at home. If only we had somewhere else to go, Oteph and I would have left this place a long time ago, never to return.
"Come, let's eat. Let's bring it to the room and you can eat there. I'm sure it's much more delicious than what Tita Alma had earlier," I suggested.
He nodded, and I saw a smile return to his face. In that moment, my bitterness faded away, because that smile is the reason I never gave up on my studies and worked hard for him.
He took the food to the room. After a short while, he came back to get some water.
"You can go back to the room, Oteph. I'll bring you water," I told him.
"I'll wait for you, Ate," he responded.
If it wasn't for the shame I feel towards our parish priest, Father Jowie, I would have stopped studying long ago. I would have just worked for the sake of my sibling. But continuing my education for Oteph was the right decision.
I was granted a scholarship by Father Jowie, the Parish Priest in our area and the current Chaplain of our school. I was one of the recipients of the scholarship to pursue my studies.
"You go ahead to the room, Oteph. I'll clean up the spilled water in the pitcher," I told him.
Oteph immediately went to the room to have his meal.