Alex Ilusorio

Mrs. Storer

English 3 Honors, Block 4

28 October 2019

The Indirect Victim

It is mostly adults who experience the hardships of a relationship. Especially being

married, breaking up is not easy once one has already committed their life to another person.

People tend to their peers with love and hope for a new chance in life. However, there is a bigger

picture that is ignored and forgotten. People have heard of divorces, yet no one seems to

understand or recognize a child’s perspective of the situation. Children are left in the dark and

are not provided the knowledge correctly.

I for one am a child whose has had a troubled experience alongside my sisters Abby and

Anna involving my parents’ divorce. Before moving to California, I used to live in the

Philippines for three years around six or seven years old. I lived with my mom, dad, and two

sisters. My mom was a stay at home mom who planned everything for my sisters and I, making

sure that we were always okay. On the other hand, my dad worked everyday for the U.S

Embassy. I did not see him often nor did he go to many of my games and tournaments when I

played baseball, soccer, and wall climbing. I attended an international school and made friends

from countries I have not even heard of at the time such as China, India, Pakistan, Singapore,

and Japan. I thought life was great in the Philippines because I was being raised in an amazing

family. Little did I know that this would change in less than two weeks.
 About a few months in third grade I came home from either wall climbing practice or

from swimming at my school. My family’s personal driver named JoJo picked up my sister Abby

and I and we headed home to our third apartment. Once we arrived home, the overall

environment felt different. The apartment was very quiet and felt abandoned. Usually my mom is

already at the door and hugs me and asks about my day, but she was nowhere to be found.

Something was not right, but as the young and reckless kid I was, I did not believe that it

mattered. “It is only one day” I thought. A couple minutes later, she enters the living room from

her room in tears, and I was confused about what was going on. My mom instantly called me to

have a chat with her, and I assumed that I was in trouble for doing something that I never did.

This discussion was about to change my life.

I walked into my room, to which my bunk bed was directly to the left. My mom and I sat

down on the lower half of the bunk bed. Her tears went away and told me “Alex, we are going to

be moving to California. There is a lot of family that lives there”. My initial response was, “What

is California?”. I clearly had no idea what was going on, so my mom had to take a different

approach to the situation; one that was going to make better sense to a third grade. She spoke

about how beautiful and wonderful California is, talking about the benefits of weather compared

to the Philippines. Eventually, I asked the one question that my mom was hoping to avoid, which

was “Why?”. To avoid hurting my heart and breaking my family apart, she told me that my dad

did not need to work in the Philippines much longer. We moved once for his work, so I figured

that it was the same reason. Although, there was another problem. My family is supposed to

move in less than 2 weeks. How am I going to say bye to all my friends? Where am I going to

school now? Where I am going to live. So many questioned rushed through my mine, and I

realized that these questions would not be answered until the last day I lived in the Philippines.
 A week passed, and my family was ready to move. Once again, there was another

problem. Apparently, my dad was still going to stay in the Philippines for the rest of the month to

finish work. I was devastated that he was not going to move in with us right away, but my mom

reassured me that everything will be okay. Perhaps moving to California was the longest flight I

have ever experienced. The air in the plane smell terrible and I could not fall asleep at all. Maybe

this was the first sign that moving into California was not a smart idea. The second sign I

believed that moving was not smart is that my sister threw up after the plane ride. She usually

gets sick on airplanes, but this was the worse one she had in the past year. Lastly, it felt like I

was on my own. No one came to greet me, and I lost hope about living in this so-called dump.

Eventually my grandpa came to pick us up, and for the first time in California, I felt that

someone cared about my family. But later that evening, everything went downhill again. I moved

in with my grandparents, and their house was too small for my family. There was one white

couch in the living room, which only fit two people. The carpet in the room was disgusting and

had multiple stains. In addition, the table in the kitchen was intended for only four people. I had

to sleep on a different bunk bed, one that I shared with my mom. I slept in this situation for over

a year, wondering why I moved into a house like this. Making these adjustments were difficult,

and it only became worse.

It was months later, and my dad still had not moved into my new house. I began to miss

him because I felt lost and abandoned without him. I did not see him much, but this was longer

than ever before. School started, yet I was shy and uncomfortable. I was an outcast and did not

make many friends in elementary school compared to living in the Philippines. One day, my

mom decided to take my sisters and I to child therapy where we just played with potato heads

and made silly characters. We asked why we were going to therapy because I did not feel the
need of it. This is where my mom finally broke and gave us all the information. She explained

how our dad did not love her anymore and that she moved here to protect us and give us support

from family and therapy. No wonder why my dad has not moved to California yet. I was here

waiting every day for him to return from his work; however, he was going to stay in the

Philippines until who knows when (he eventually moved to the US). Why tell us this now, when

it could have been established at least a month prior. The damage was slowly going away as life

began putting itself together again, and then my mom tells me this. The idea of separating haunts

me to this day, as I do not want to experience it again.

Never wait too late to tell children about the faults and damage of one’s marriage. Even if

they are young and may not understand the situation right away, it is better to tell them sooner

than later. Adults are the direct victim, yet the children are influenced by their parents. Leaving

them in the dark for months allows other influences to enter the mind that leads them away from

truth and love. If someone does not see the perspective of the child, they will not be able to

understand where they have come from in life and how they became who they are today.