The moment I realized they had twisted the narrative against me, a fire ignited within. It was as if the weight of their lies had catapulted my courage into overdrive. I was done being a puppet in their twisted game. With each breath, I prayed fervently for clarity, and in that desperate plea, I felt a profound revelation wash over me: I needed to fight with everything I had for my freedom or perish trying. I refused to be a victim of their deceit and manipulation any longer.

For three long months, I was confined to that one bedroom prison. Some days, it felt as if my body was slowly consuming itself, the weight of despair pressing down with an unbearable heaviness. The meals were sporadic, and I could still hear the haunting sound of that bell, signaling the fleeting moments of nourishment that felt more like a chore than a relief.

I remember the weight of emotions crashing over me like a relentless tide, each wave pulling me deeper into a sea of uncertainty. As I sat in that vehicle, every bump jolted me, amplifying the anxiety of the unknown ahead. Silence wrapped around me, thick and suffocating, interrupted only by the cacophony of my racing thoughts. It felt like a battle—one that raged not just outside but within my very soul. I was trying to summon strength, reminding myself that this struggle was far from over.

I can’t begin to convey the suffocating darkness that enveloped us in that dungeon. Each day felt like an eternity stretched into infinity, a relentless purgatory that seemed to mock our very existence. The air was thick with despair, and our bodies were mere husks, battling the relentless assault of heat, hunger, and fatigue. The oppressive darkness was a constant companion, wrapping around us like a shroud, as sunlight was a distant memory, barred from our wretched reality.

I wish I could describe my feelings as a part of me was leaving Tita Mi behind in the Philippines. The weight of her final goodbye lingered in the air, heavy and bittersweet. I packed my bags with a sense of hope, believing I would soon return to my family in the United States. Little did I know that my life was about to take a turn I could never have imagined.

The time had come after yet another long flight, and I found myself back in the Philippines, this time alongside Mo. Agnes. The journeys had become a blur of airport lounges and cramped seats, each one stretching into what felt like an eternity. Yet, in that chaos, I had carved out precious moments to catch up on sleep—a luxury that had become foreign to my intense schedule and bustling lifestyle.

There are moments in life that carve themselves deep into our souls, moments that leave scars far beyond the physical. I found myself in one of those profound experiences after speaking up against the injustices I witnessed, especially concerning Tita Mi. It was a turning point that shattered my world, sending me spiraling into an emotional abyss.

This next installment may be the hardest one yet for me personally. After the Novitiate, I was taken back to the United States, back to the Dover, DE house. It was a transition filled with uncertainty, yet I knew one constant awaited me: Tita Mi.

Public humiliation became a bitter companion in my novitiate life, a constant echo in the chambers of my heart that I had to navigate but there was one moment that stands out—a moment that encapsulated the essence of my pain and resilience when faced against it.

During our postulancy, we were introduced to the concept of spiritual warfare, guided by a priest identified as the Exorcist Priests within our order. Regular deliverance ministries became a part of our daily routine, where we not only observed but also received deliverance as a means of protection and healing.

The flight to Dover, DE was a blur, almost like a dream that I couldn't quite grasp. If you've ever driven somewhere and arrived without remembering the journey—navigating traffic lights and turns on autopilot—you'll understand how I felt. It was surreal.

The next 60 days seemed to pass in a blur, like a fleeting moment that left me both relieved and unsettled. I found myself spending a lot of time with the LIHM sisters at their mission house in South Sioux, seeking solace in the warmth of their community. Yet, beneath the surface, I was grappling with a storm of turmoil and emotions that I struggled to process.

The moment had arrived. Stepping off the plane back in Iowa after a transformative 30-day journey, I could hardly believe that senior year of high school was just around the corner.