If I could choose another direction, I would.

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Duhaylonsod, the oldest of six children, grew up in Ewa Beach, and graduated from Campbell High School in 1978. She worked at a bank for four years before becoming pregnant with her son. She quickly married, and quit her job at the urging of her husband. A daughter followed a year later.

Tension was severe between Duhaylonsod and her in-laws, however, because they couldn't accept a "local girl." In 1986, she moved with her husband to California to get away from his family, but things only got worse.

Her husband became suspicious, Duhaylonsod explains, suspecting an affair that never happened.

After "two months of absolute terror," Duhaylonsod -- a Catholic who fervently believed a family should stay together at all costs -- couldn't take it any longer.

She found helping hands at various shelters for abused and battered women, but still lost 70 pounds within a year. Suffering from anorexia and bulimia, Duhaylonsod recalls she couldn't even muster the strength to hug her children.

"That's what an abusive relationship does to you," she says. "It strips you from everything you are worth, and it leaves you with just skeletons and bones."

It was then that she applied for welfare, meanwhile moving from shelter to shelter. A month later, she flew back to Hawai`i, and a week after that, she was granted full welfare assistance.

She finds the office, and checks in an hour early for her interview with a state social worker.

In the ten years since, Duhaylonsod has slowly worked to put her life back together. Unsatisfied with the life clerical work would provide, she quickly decided she was going to get a college degree. Her goal: to work as a reporter for one of the local papers, earning $32,000 a year.

She started at Leeward Community college in 1993, and wrote for Ka Mana`o, the school's monthly newspaper. Like other welfare recipients, she got invaluable assistance from the JOBS program. It allowed her to hold a work-study position at the LCC library without her benefits being cut because of her income.

But the JOBS program suffered several cuts and was eventually converted into the First to Work program, which required participants to obtain regular employment.

Duhaylonsod, caught in the midst of the transition, ended up working at Walmart before getting a different job back at the library. But the income meant her welfare benefits shrunk. After she was awarded a $1,000 tuition scholarship last spring, she stopped receiving benefits and let her account lapse.

Ironically, she was encouraged to apply for the scholarship -- offered by the local chapter of the Soroptomists Club -- after she testified against the recent tuition increase, arguing that it would put education out of the reach of those that needed it most.

She was fortunate to have gotten the scholarship, she says.

"It's supposed to be for high-class people," she laughs. "The rich."

Still, the money, followed by other financial aid awards, has kept her in school. While her breakdown last month led her to drop two of her four classes, she says she's gotten a handle on things.

Now, Duhaylonsod shares custody of her children with their father, who is also back in Hawai`i and living with his family. But she requested and got the bare minimum in child support -- $30 a child, or $60 a month -- in part to minimize contact.

"I felt the less I asked, the more he'd leave me alone," she explains.

While she suspects his family dislikes her children, she says she is thankful that their father has the resources to provide for some of the things the children need.

"He buys stuff like shoes and clothes, and takes them out, like to the movies," Duhaylonsod says. "He does things with them that I cannot afford to do."

But she never wants to be unable to feed them.

She's at the welfare office today because she has to be, she says -- not even her fierce pride could keep her away. And with a part-time job, college courses and two children to raise, she says she will get help. She deserves it.

"I'll get something," she says, then repeats it as if to reassure herself. "I'll get something."

"Jenny?" calls a middle-aged man waving a clipboard.

Duhaylonsod stands up and takes a deep breath. She follows the man into a small office, where the two of them go over the stack of documents she's brought.

Fifteen minutes later, she comes out.

She walks out of the applications office and remains tight-lipped until she starts down the stairs to the street.

"I have to come back tomorrow," she says.

While her paperwork was in order, Duhaylonsod explains, the counselor wants to see a statement for her Christmas Club bank account. An account she'd forgotten she had.

In the midst of rush hour, she gets on another bus and heads home.

Four days later, after she dutifully returned with the missing documents, Duhaylonsod's help arrives in the mail. For November, $185 in food stamps and $381 in financial aid. For December, $205 in food stamps and $565 in aid.

Wondering if she'll be able to afford Christmas presents this year, she says she's relieved and thankful for the help. Nevertheless, Duhaylonsod says she'd still rather not have to depend on the government.

"If I could chose another direction, I would," she says. "It's only for the sake of the children."

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