Though my early life was shaped by struggles of language, heritage, and familial turmoil, a profound shift came when I was 10 years old. It was 1975, and the hippie movement was in full swing, a wave of cultural change that brought with it unexpected revelations. My oldest sister, who became a guiding light in the family, found Christ as her Savior during this time. Her discovery was not just a personal transformation but a catalyst for our family, one that introduced us to a new way of faith. Converting from Catholicism to Born Again Christianity was no easy journey, especially for my mother, whose roots in the Catholic Church ran deep. Both sides of my parents' lineage traced their devotion to Catholicism back to the 1700s, steeped in rituals, traditions, and a profound reverence for the Church. To question these beliefs, let alone abandon them, was considered blasphemy. Yet, my sister's conviction and the truths revealed through archaeological findings of biblical scrolls reopened doors we hadn’t even known existed within our faith. With this newfound perspective came a transformation within our household. The drinking, partying, smoking, and fights ceased. While not all disagreements disappeared, the violence that had been a constant shadow lifted. It felt surreal, like peering into the lives of another family entirely. The stark contrast between our old selves and this new chapter was undeniable. As for me, my baptism in the Catholic Church and my Holy Communion were milestones of my childhood, but they were now overshadowed by a deeper, more intentional decision. I, along with my family, chose to be baptized again, this time as a symbol of adult commitment—a choice to die to our sins and rise with Christ in His resurrection. Communion, too, took on a new meaning. We no longer confined it to church rituals; instead, we embraced it in simplicity, sometimes with crackers and juice on Sundays, or even in the intimate settings of our home, replicating the actions of Jesus with His disciples during the Last Supper. This spiritual awakening didn’t erase the challenges of my journey but added another layer to my identity. It offered a guiding light that illuminated paths of healing and resilience, shaping me into someone who could transform adversity into strength. Through faith, I found another facet of who I was becoming—a person capable of embracing both the scars and the triumphs of life. On the other hand, school was getting worse. The bullying was extreme to the point that I almost lost my life because of it. I begged my parents to enroll me in a Christian school. And, after what felt like endless pleading, my parents finally relented. I was enrolled in a Christian school, a sanctuary that promised not only spiritual nourishment but also the hope of escaping the torment that had nearly consumed me. The shift was profound. The new environment, steeped in faith and kindness, so I thought, provided me with a sense of safety I had never known before. The bullying did diminish to some degree, but not enough. With each taunt from my peers the echoes of those dark days lingered in my mind. I approached new friendships with caution, my trust fragile. Through scripture lessons, group prayers, and moments of collective worship, I found solace in faith and began to understand the presence of hope even amidst life's trials. This chapter marked the beginnings of a personal renaissance. While not all wounds healed overnight, I started to see that resilience wasn’t about denying the pain but about finding meaning in it. My identity—woven with threads of adversity and spiritual awakening—started to become clearer. I was no longer defined by what I had endured but by how I chose to rise above it. In 10th grade, I transferred to a different Christian school, one that was significantly better than the previous one. To my surprise, a boy began to show interest in me. It was almost unbelievable, considering my past experiences—being bullied, not just by girls but by boys as well. The words they hurled at me stung far more than any physical pain. The saying, “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me,” turned out to be a cruel falsehood. Even now, those names resurface during moments of emotional triggers, stirring up a defensive reaction I sometimes struggle to control. But this boy—he was different. His kindness broke through my guarded exterior, and before I knew it, I allowed myself to be vulnerable, not to sex, something more fragile, my heart. He turned 19 and I 16 just a few months before our wedding. My parents were initially against the idea, but over time, they came to accept it. They were, after all, more concerned about the possibility of me marrying someone who didn't share our Christian faith and to them that was more concerning than letting me marry at such a young age. After all my mom was 17 when she married my dad. Finally, with their consent, they signed the papers allowing me to marry the love of my life. How deceived I was! Now I was beginning the new chapter of my life being a child bride.
