When I was in Grade 4, some of my relatives started calling me “swapang.” I can't remember my exact age, but that word stuck with me. Sobrang sakit pakinggan, especially for a kid who was just trying to adjust to a new life.
I was just a typical probinsyano boy who moved to Manila because my parents were reviewing for the Bar exam. Honestly, I didn’t like Manila at all. I was culture shocked. Iba sila magsalita, iba ang lifestyle. In the province, I could just walk to school. In Manila? I had to ride an FX just to get there.
We stayed at my Tito’s house — he was a single dad with two kids. Kasama rin namin doon ang isa pang Tito ko, kasama ang asawa niya at dalawang anak. He was my dad's older brother.
In our family, “mabait ka” kapag sunod ka lang nang sunod sa gusto ng mga tito at tita mo, no matter how you feel. One time, I was just playing sa open space ng bahay when Tito C (let’s just call him that) suddenly called me. He had arranged for a barber to cut my hair — a taxi driver who also did haircuts at the back of the house.
He didn’t even ask permission from my parents. He just did it "out of kindness," pero ang masama, the barber started complaining. Sabi niya, “Ang likot mo masyado kaya pangit tuloy gupit mo!” That pissed me off. Ang feeling ko, pabida lang siya para bayaran agad.
Back then, toys were a luxury. I rarely had new ones. But one day, I got an action figure. I’m not sure kung si Mama ba or si Tita ang nagbigay, but I cherished it. It was brand new, and I wasn't tired of playing with it yet. Then, my cousin wanted to borrow it — but he didn’t ask me directly. Instead, sinabi niya sa tatay niya, and suddenly his father expected me to hand it over like it was nothing.
I said no.
And just like that, his father exploded: “Ang swapang mo!!!”
That moment really stuck with me. Kasi in our clan, pag hindi mo sinunod ang gusto ng matatanda, ikaw ang masama. You’re expected to always give way, to always think about what they feel.
That’s why sometimes I feel like I have sugat ng kabataan. Wounds from childhood that came not from outside people, but from my own family. I know this story may seem vague or small to others, but for me, this is where it all started — the feeling of being misunderstood, of being labeled without being heard.
This is just the first of many stories I want to share.
Reflection:
Looking back, maybe I wasn’t really swapang. Maybe I was just a kid learning how to protect what little I had. I wasn’t used to the rules in Manila, to the expectations in that house, or to the idea that being mabait meant saying yes even when it didn’t feel right.
Sometimes, what adults see as katigasan ng ulo is actually a young mind trying to make sense of boundaries and fairness.
I guess this story reminds me that some wounds from childhood—yung tinatawag kong sugat ng kabataan—don’t fully go away. But sharing them helps. Telling the story helps me own it, not as a moment of shame, but as a part of how I learned to speak up, even if my voice was small back then.