Na Na Nandito Lang
Maloi had always loved to create. Ever since she could hold a pencil, she sketched worlds where she could escape the suffocating reality of her home. Her notebooks were filled with fantastical creatures, serene landscapes, and abstract bursts of color. But in her household, her passion for art was treated as a weakness, a useless hobby that only distracted her from what her parents deemed more "important."
"Bakit puro drawing na naman? Kailan mo matututunan na wala kang mapapala diyan?" her mother would snap, pulling a sketchpad from Maloi's hands and tossing it onto the dining table.
"Ang weird mo talaga," her younger brother would add with a sneer, echoing the same words their parents used. "Wala kang ibang alam gawin, ano?"
For years, Maloi learned to hide her sketchbooks. She drew in secret, usually at night when everyone was asleep, huddled under the dim light of her desk lamp. But even when her family didn't see her drawing, they still found ways to cut her down.
"Ang tahimik mo kasi, parang hindi normal," her father once said during a family dinner. "Wala kang kaibigan, puro sarili mo lang iniisip."
No matter what she did, she was "weird." Her love for art, her introverted nature, her quiet defiance of their expectations—it all marked her as different, and in their eyes, being different was unacceptable.
Maloi's dream was to study fine arts and pursue a career as an illustrator. She spent hours pouring over art tutorials online, teaching herself techniques her parents refused to let her formally study. But whenever she brought up the idea of pursuing art seriously, she was met with the same disdain.
"Fine arts? Walang pera diyan!" her mother scoffed. "Mag-engineering ka kaya, o law. Yung may future!"
Her father would grunt in agreement. "Ang arte mo kasi. Kaya hindi ka seryoso sa buhay."
Maloi eventually stopped trying to argue. The last time she defended herself, her mother had accused her of being disrespectful, while her father had threatened to cut off her allowance. "Kung puro drawing ang iniisip mo, e di maghanap ka ng sarili mong pera," he had said.
What hurt most wasn't just the insults but the complete disregard for her identity. Maloi often wondered if her parents even knew her at all. They dismissed her art as useless, her emotions as overdramatic, and her personality as defective.
"Freak," her brother would mutter under his breath whenever she tried to share one of her sketches.
"Anong freak-freak? Sobrang dramatic mo," her mother would add, her voice laced with mockery. "Bakit ba ang hirap mo intindihin?"
The words sank deep, feeding the part of Maloi that already doubted her own worth. She began to internalize the labels they gave her: weird, freak, unworthy.
She started to believe that maybe they were right—maybe she wasn't enough.
Christmas was especially hard for Maloi. While other families seemed to come together to celebrate, hers only amplified the tension. Her parents' perfectionism reached its peak during the holidays. The decorations had to be flawless, the food impeccable, the family presentable.
"Walang magulo!" her mother would yell as Maloi tried to hang ornaments on the tree. "Kung hindi mo kayang gawin nang tama, huwag mo nang gawin!"
Her art was never allowed to be part of the decorations, even though she once spent hours making hand-painted Christmas ornaments. When she tried to show them to her family, her father barely glanced at them before saying, "Hindi bagay. Mukhang gawa ng bata."
That night, Maloi cried silently in her room, tucking the ornaments into a box she'd never open again.
Her only refuge was her sketchbook, where she created worlds far from her own. In her drawings, she wasn't weird or unworthy—she was powerful, free, and loved. She drew homes filled with laughter, skies painted in colors her parents would call "impractical," and people who saw her for who she truly was.
But even her escape wasn't entirely safe. Once, her mother found one of her drawings—an abstract piece filled with chaotic colors and jagged lines.
"Anong klaseng kabaliwan 'to?" her mother had said, holding it up like it was trash. "Ang gulo! Parang utak mo."
The words hit harder than Maloi expected. She didn't try to explain the emotions she had poured into the piece. Instead, she nodded, took the sketch from her mother, and ripped it apart before walking away.
It was easier to destroy her own work than to see it mocked.
Despite everything, a small part of Maloi held on to hope. She dreamed of a day when her art would be celebrated, not criticized. A day when she wouldn't have to hide who she was.
Her journal, hidden beneath her mattress, was filled with those dreams:
"Sana isang araw, may bahay ako kung saan pwede akong magpinta kahit gaano kagulo. Kung saan hindi nila tatawaging 'sayang' ang ginagawa ko."
But as the years went on, that hope started to flicker. The weight of her family's words, their constant dismissal of her passion and worth, felt heavier than ever. Maloi began to wonder if she could ever truly escape—or if she was destined to remain trapped in a house that saw her as nothing more than a disappointment.
Little did she know, her salvation was closer than she thought.
Maloi met Colet during her second year of college, at a time when her hope was all but gone. By then, she had perfected the art of blending into the background—keeping her head low, her voice quiet, and her sketchbook tucked away in her bag like a secret.
It happened during a group project in their Humanities class. Maloi was paired with Colet, a bright, confident girl with an effortless smile and an energy that seemed to fill the room. At first, Maloi was nervous. Colet was everything she wasn't—outgoing, carefree, and unapologetically herself.
"Hi! So, ikaw pala ang partner ko," Colet said with a grin, extending her hand. "Maloi, right?"
"Uh, yeah," Maloi replied, avoiding eye contact.
For the first few meetings, Maloi kept her distance, unsure how to navigate Colet's warmth. But Colet had a way of breaking down walls without even trying. She made jokes that had Maloi stifling giggles and asked questions that made her feel seen.
One afternoon, as they worked on their project in the library, Colet noticed Maloi's sketchbook peeking out of her bag.
"Uy, ano 'yan?" Colet asked, pointing at the notebook.
Maloi instinctively clutched her bag tighter. "Wala. Just... doodles."
"Patingin naman!" Colet said, her eyes lighting up. Before Maloi could protest, Colet gently pulled the sketchbook out and flipped it open.
Colet's reaction wasn't what Maloi expected. Instead of criticism or indifference, her face lit up with awe.
"Ang ganda nito! You're amazing, Maloi!" Colet exclaimed, holding up a detailed sketch of a surreal landscape.
Maloi's cheeks burned. "Really? Hindi naman..."
"Ang humble mo naman," Colet teased, grinning. "Pero seryoso, you're really talented. Bakit hindi mo 'to pinapakita?"
Maloi hesitated, the words catching in her throat. "Kasi... they don't get it. My family thinks it's useless."
Colet's smile faded, replaced by a look of quiet understanding. "Then they don't know what they're talking about," she said softly. "Your art is beautiful. And so are you."
For the first time in years, Maloi felt seen—not as a disappointment, but as someone worthy of admiration.
Over the next few months, Colet became a constant presence in Maloi's life. She didn't just praise Maloi's art—she celebrated it. She encouraged her to join art clubs, submit her work to contests, and even dream of pursuing fine arts again.
At first, Maloi was hesitant to open up, fearing judgment or rejection. But Colet had a way of listening that made her feel safe, as if she could finally let down the walls she had spent years building. Colet became her sanctuary, offering words of affirmation when Maloi doubted herself and quiet companionship when the weight of her family's expectations felt unbearable.
Colet began to notice the little things—the way Maloi flinched at raised voices or how she constantly apologized for things that weren't her fault. Slowly, Colet pieced together the reality of Maloi's home life.
"You don't deserve this," Colet had said one night, holding Maloi close as tears streamed down her face. "You deserve to be loved, not controlled. I'm here for you, always."
Colet wasn't just a source of encouragement—she was also a safe haven. Whenever Maloi had a rough day at home, Colet was there, ready with a warm hug and comforting words.
"Okay lang 'yan," Colet would say as she held Maloi close. "One day, makakaalis ka rin diyan. And when you do, I'll be right here."
It wasn't long before Colet introduced Maloi to her group of friends—Aiah, Mikha, Jhoanna, Stacey, Sheena, and Gwen. At first, Maloi was hesitant. She wasn't used to being around so many people, especially ones as lively and close-knit as Colet's friends.
But the group welcomed her with open arms.
"Hi, Maloi!" Sheena greeted her with a big smile during their first hangout at a coffee shop. "Finally, may kasama na si Colet na hindi kami ang iniinis!"
"Uy, tama na," Colet said, rolling her eyes but laughing.
Mikha leaned in, curiosity in her eyes. "So, Colet tells us you're an artist? Patingin naman ng gawa mo!"
Maloi froze, but Colet squeezed her hand reassuringly. "No pressure," Colet whispered.
Taking a deep breath, Maloi showed them a few pieces on her phone. The group's reaction was immediate—words like "Wow!" and "Ang galing!" filled the air, and their praise didn't feel forced or fake.
"Grabe, Maloi," Mikha said, staring at one of her sketches. "You're so talented! Pwede ba kitang gawing album cover artist someday?"
Their genuine support warmed something inside Maloi she didn't even know was still alive.
Over time, Maloi realized that Colet's friends were becoming her friends, too. They weren't just kind—they were fiercely loyal, always ready to stand up for one another.
When Maloi confided in them about her toxic family life, they didn't judge her or dismiss her feelings. Instead, they offered her solutions, encouragement, and a shoulder to lean on.
"Hindi mo kasalanan na ganun sila," Aiah told her one evening during a heart-to-heart. "You deserve so much better."
"Alam mo," Mikha added, "Kung gusto mong umalis, we'll help you. You don't have to do it alone."
Their support gave Maloi the courage to start imagining a future outside of her parents' house—a future where she could breathe freely, create without fear, and live without constantly being told she wasn't enough.
And through it all, Colet was her rock, her safe space, her biggest cheerleader.
"Maloi," Colet said one evening as they sat under the stars, "you don't have to fight this battle alone. Nandito kami para sa'yo. Lagi."
For the first time in her life, Maloi believed it.
It was past midnight when Maloi's phone buzzed, shaking her from her uneasy sleep. The familiar light on her screen revealed an incoming message from Colet.
"I'm here if you need to talk, Maloi."
Maloi stared at the message, her heart racing. She had been lying awake for hours, trying to hold back the flood of emotions that had built up over weeks of mounting tension at home. Her parents' endless demands, their dismissive words, and the weight of being constantly criticized for things that were out of her control—it was all too much.
The argument that night felt like a knife to the heart. Her mother’s voice was cold, mocking. “Wala kang kwenta, Maloi. Hindi ka talentado, hindi ka matalino. Wala kang mararating.” She paused, her eyes narrowing. “You’re a waste of space, living off of us, nagbabalak ng mga walang kwentang pangarap.” Her father’s voice followed, sharp and unforgiving. “Tignan mo, anong nagawa mo? Walang silbi ang lahat ng perang ginastos namin sa’yo. Bobo ka lang. Walang magmamahal sa’yo. You’re a failure.” Each word felt like it dug deeper into Maloi’s soul, each insult sinking in until she felt like she didn’t even know who she was anymore. Hindi nila ako nakikita, she thought, ang tanging nakikita nila ay failure. And she couldn’t take it anymore.
In a moment of pure desperation, Maloi had grabbed her things, slipped out of the house, and ran. She wasn't sure where she was going—just away. She was overwhelmed, shaking, and she couldn't breathe.
She didn't know how long she had been walking when she realized she was standing outside a small 24-hour convenience store, her body trembling from both the cold and the fear. She had nowhere to go. No safe place.
"Help..." she typed, her fingers shaking as she dialed Colet's number.
Colet picked up immediately. "Maloi? What's wrong?"
"I—Colet, I..." Maloi's voice broke, and she could barely get the words out. "I... I ran away." She started crying, the sobs spilling out uncontrollably. "I-I don't know what to do, I... I'm scared..."
Colet's voice was calm but firm, filled with concern. "Maloi, stay with me, okay? Just breathe. We're here for you. You're not alone."
"I'm... I'm outside a store, I don't know where to go, I don't..." Maloi stuttered, panic rising in her chest.
"Listen to me," Colet said, her voice full of reassurance. "We're coming to get you. I'll call Aiah, Mikha, and the others. Don't move from there, okay? Just stay where you are. We'll be there in a few."
Maloi could barely process the words as she stood in the cold, her mind spinning in confusion and fear. How had she come to this point? She had always been the one to bottle things up, to stay silent and carry the weight of everything alone. But tonight, she couldn't hold it in anymore.
A few minutes later, Maloi saw headlights approaching. Colet's car, followed by Mikha and Aiah's, pulled up next to the store. The moment the doors opened, Colet was the first to rush toward her.
"Maloi, hey," Colet whispered, pulling her into a tight embrace. "We've got you. You're safe now."
Aiah and Mikha came up behind them, their arms offering warmth and support. "You don't have to explain anything right now," Aiah said gently, brushing a strand of hair from Maloi's face. "Just come with us. We'll figure this out."
They drove for what felt like hours, though it was only a short trip to Colet's apartment. Colet and the others didn't ask questions immediately. They let Maloi cry in peace, offering words of comfort but not pushing her to speak.
When they finally arrived, Colet led Maloi inside, guiding her to a cozy corner of the living room where they had set up a small blanket fort, as they often did during their late-night hangouts. The familiar sight of their playful, carefree setup was a stark contrast to the heavy weight on Maloi's heart, but it was exactly what she needed.
"Here, I made some tea," Mikha said, handing her a warm mug. "We're not going anywhere, Maloi. You're home now."
For the first time in a long while, Maloi felt a deep sense of relief, like a burden she hadn't even realized she was carrying had been lifted.
Colet sat beside her, her hand resting on Maloi's. "I know this isn't easy. But you're stronger than you think, and you're not alone anymore. We'll help you. I promise."
Maloi looked around at the faces of her friends, her heart swelling with gratitude. They had taken her in without hesitation, without judgment, offering her a place to rest, to heal.
"Thank you," Maloi whispered, her voice hoarse from the crying. "I don't know what I would've done without you guys."
"Don't mention it," Mikha said, shaking her head. "You're family now. And no one gets left behind."
Aiah nodded in agreement. "We're with you every step of the way, Maloi. Whatever you need, we've got you."
Maloi allowed herself to relax for the first time in what felt like forever. Surrounded by her friends, she felt a warmth and safety that was foreign to her. For the first time, she didn't have to hide. She could be herself—broken, vulnerable, and healing.
The next few days were a blur of phone calls and plans. With Colet's encouragement, Maloi reached out to a counselor, someone who could help her process everything she'd been through. Together, they made plans for her to stay with Colet for a while, until she could find a more permanent living arrangement away from her parents.
Maloi began to realize that running away wasn't the end—it was a beginning. It was the first step toward reclaiming her life, her art, and her future.
With Colet and her friends by her side, she knew she could rebuild. They had shown her what true friendship was—love without conditions, support without judgment, and the strength to keep going even when everything felt impossible.
And for the first time, Maloi truly believed that she was worthy of all the love and safety they were offering her.