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I was getting lonely and going slowly insane. I pitied myself. I felt so helpless at the time, because I couldn't call anyone. I was confused and scared. I had thought of just walking away from Jack many of times, but I had no place to run to. I didn't know anyone at all in America. That's why I stayed for so long and endured the emotional suffering that was living with Jack, just to survive. I know in my heart that there would have been a way, but all I could do every day was to pray to God to either enlighten him, change him or otherwise show me another way. I didn’t tell anyone about what I'd been through.
Not even my Filipino family knew, nor my newly found friends. I was so ashamed of myself, drained, scared, and nauseatingly confused about my situation. Jack mentally abused me and controlled my life. I knew that he didn't hurt me (yet) physically, but I just had this feeling that he would do some terrible things to me either sooner or later. Jack always put me down. Nothing that I did was ever good enough for him.
One day, when I was doing some laundry, I found 0.50 cents in his back pocket. Since Jack was withholding my basic necessities, I decided to contact my friend and I asked her to buy and bring me two postage stamps, so that I could write home to my family (postage was only 0.21 cents then). (Mind you, Jack tried to isolate me from any other worlds. He warned me not to contact my family nor friends). Although, he warned me not to contact my Filipino family, I went ahead and wrote my first letter to my dearly beloved mother, but all that I said in the letter was I was fine and that there was nothing for any of them to worry about me. (Take note, this is already five months in, since I left Philippines)
I didn't think much of what I did, but surely enough, I paid the consequences. Jack called me so many vile names, including Filipino stupid wife, idiot. You name it. I heard it all and way too much of it; I heard some of them maybe a million times. I started to believe that I was in fact stupid. I wrote to my mom, and I should have used my friend’s address as a return address, not Jack's address.
And here I was, paying the consequence for being so careless. Exactly four weeks after I first mailed a letter to my family. Jack went to our mailbox, and he handed me the letter from my mother. I jumped with joy to hear from my mother. He angrily said "You need to translate that letter into English and read it out loud to me. I need to know what they want." I told him that they simply miss me, and that they want to know if I’m okay here! He goes “That is not what I want to hear!" Jack screamed at the top of his lungs! I thought to myself, OH dear! He goes “Go on, read it." There was nothing more I could tell him, other than my mom said hello. He grabbed that letter straight from me; he then tore it up into tiny pieces and called me a BIG FAT LIAR! (I was sobbing; it was too difficult for me to bear witness to this. My first letter from my mother, Jack tore it up right in front of me, into tiny little pieces). I was powerless, emotionally numb and helpless.
Six months into the marriage, Jack seemed to know what he was doing. He seemed to keep me from running away from him, each time, after he verbally abused me. He always became so nice after wards. He did everything he could to regain control over me and keep me in the relationship. Of course, aside from that, he knew that I couldn't run away from him because he deprived me by not having my own money, and he always told me that I would be nothing without him, that I couldn't live without him.
Eight months later, I figured it was time for me to ask Jack again, for the second time, if I could get a job. I knew that he was tough to negotiate with, but I did try again, and I was so surprised that I got a nod for a response. He then took me to this huge nursery place. There were endless rows of plant pots. Ironically, Jack was the one who applied for the job for me. The owner told Jack that I could start there anytime. Jack then negotiated an hourly salary with the owner (I had no idea what in the world he was up to for letting me work finally).
I got hired on the spot! Yay for him, Boo for me (I’ll tell you why later!). This is not what I had envisioned when living in America! I was never a gardener, but I instantly took the job any way. I started working as a gardener the following day. It was cold, wet and foggy. I was wrapped up with three layers, and still I was so cold, being out there pulling weeds, arranging and re-arranging the plants, planting new ones, removing baby plants from the dirt and transferring them to the pot. Four days into my first job, I simply couldn't take it any more. I was utterly freezing! I went home that night and told Jack that being a gardener was just not for me. He just said, “Suck it up!”
At the end of the two weeks, Jack came with me to pick up my very first US paycheck. I told my employer that I was not going to be coming back; he just nodded and wished me good luck. On our way back home, Jack stopped by at a local bank branch. He asked me to go with him inside. Whilst we were there, he then asked me to sign the back of my check. I asked, “Why?” he replies, "Your money is my money, so we need to put it in our bank." Mind you, the check was only totaling $290 after tax. I asked him nicely if I could keep maybe at least $50 bucks, his reply was again, a big NO. (Remember earlier I said, “Yay” for him and “Boo” for me? He set it up. He put his plan into motion. That is why he was okay that I was going to work, because he had planned to put away my own earnings on his bank account). I was so disgusted; he withheld my hard-earned money. He wouldn’t even give me a dime.
Each time when we were at Church with the rest of the so called “Christians," I always acted like nothing was going on at home between me and Jack. Jack could hide it all very well that he is an abusive husband. He had this very sweet smile; he looked as though he was the nicest person in the church. He was very generous towards the church. He always gave tithes for an outrageous amount to the church. Each week he would give an average of $300 per paycheck to them. That’s more than 40% percent of what he makes in total. On the contrary, he couldn’t give his Filipina wife, just $50 out of $290 of her own, hard-earned money.
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