It’s Not A Home

To be edited...

It was one of those dreaded days of our lives.  It had been haunting us since the day I and my sister knew the meaning of the depressing aspect of our every life. It was a replay of the dark past but this time, things were different…

Monday, off from work…

It was time to go off from work. I had no idea what awaited me at home that day. I leisurely walked down the street thinking of nothing but my usual routines but things turned into chaos for the nth time…

I dropped by the store of my Aunt for a chat with them when I found out  I got home a little late of the commotion. My father wanted to chop down my mother’s and sister’s phones. We know very well our father. He cannot lift a single strand of my mother’s hair unless when severely provoked. Ooppss! Don’t get me wrong though. My father is not a sadist, of course, but he still is a human and humans have the tendency to get overpowered with anger depending on the circumstances. He just blamed their phones because my mother and sister have sort of spies near where that slut lives. As much as he wanted to break those gadgets into pieces, realization dawned upon him and sort of awakened him from being irrational. Later that night, my father went home drunk and took an early sleep. So the night passed by peacefully but it left us all drifting, searching and even demanding for truth, even for confirmation.

The next day everything went well. Just on the surface of the situation though. Beneath the pretense was the dormant tension waiting for its time to erupt.

Tuesday, Lunch time…

Lunch break for employees is such a short time to spend with either your family or friends. So, I hurriedly picked up my things and slid them into my bag to get home as early as possible and be able to be back to the office by 1:00 PM.

Nobody was in the living room when I arrived. Nobody even had just eaten their meals because I sometimes could not make it having lunch with my family. I thought that maybe they were too tired from peddling works to gather on time on our meal that day and so I decided to eat my lunch alone.

Just when I was so engrossed watching a particular tv show aired on Bio while having a lonely lunch, my mother opened the door and walked up from their bedroom. (The master’s bedroom, by the way, is now located downstairs leaving the original to me.) I noticed her eye-bags were bulging and knew instantly she had just come from crying. So I asked her what happened. There was an apparent crack in her voice when she responded but still managed to finish every single word. It was obviously a bad news, a nightmarish bad news. She said (translated),

“Your father is still seen visiting his other woman.”

Of course, my father has been good to us. He is not the expressive type. He is not good in words but he fathers us in the best way he can. He rarely gets mad at us and I can’t remember him in my childhood days lifting a hand at me. Even if he did, he was not like my mother when it came to physical discipline. He still is not even until now.  He knows how to work on his temper under pressure especially in the middle of an intense argument with my mother. For as long as he can hold on, he won’t do any drastic move that may hurt my mother physically.

He is a kitchen-man, too, and it is also one thing we love about him. You will not get starved because he loves cooking for his family and it is one thing rare among men.

I do love my father much. I do not often express what I feel but I really do more than he ever knows but as the famous philosopher quoted, “Men are born polygamous.” Unmistakably, my father is not an exception.

I am an open-minded person. I do agree with that Aristotle’s famous line but it’s one thing I hate about my father.

That news my mother just broke to me was distressing. I made no response. I just continued watching while eating but even if I did, she then turned away without waiting a word from me. She went back to their room with her words lingering. She left me with those upsetting thoughts rampaging every corner of my mind. The thought of feeling betrayed kept on nagging me. The mere thought that he had not stopped seeing that slut despite being confronted the past month and despite even risking my reputation for slamming that bottle of beer in front of his peer was infuriating. He broke his promise for the nth time and that slowly ignited the anger building up inside me. I could burst into outrage any minute if I wanted to but I kept my cool. I kept digesting my food as well as that terrible news.

Aggravating the situation was seeing my sister’s eyes swollen from too much crying. I knew pretty well she came from crying and it was obvious she was trying to hold it back when she got past me and went out. I, however, held myself still. Irritation was reflecting on my face. It was a defense mechanism whenever my father would put us to shame but I quickly brushed off what was troubling me at that very moment. I needed to because I still had to leave house for work.

I reported to the office on that afternoon acting like nothing went wrong at home. I possess a rare attitude of not bringing any angst in my life when I am in another territory. I know when to forget problems and I know when to think of them. I also know how to block the pain away from me but I have also the tendency to absorb all the negative emotions emanating from a particular ordeal, keeping them to myself until I explode on very rare days. Sad to say, it was one of those days.

It was one of the most unforgettable days of my life yet one of the saddest. Things got out of hand. My sister went out without telling anybody what her plans were. With spies in constant communication with her, she went there alone wishing she would be able to catch my father and the slut together in the latter’s house. She wanted solid proofs so badly to slap them down on their faces. Consequently, it would be hard for my father to come up with more alibis, more lies.

Things, however, didn’t go as hoped for but she was able to confront the slut.

And that slut denied all the accusations.

Depressing as it was but it was later that night that my father had unknowingly taken the bait set by my mother. He slipped and uttered the most terrible words I had ever heard. He was there when my sister confronted the slut, hiding for a couple of minutes and just listening to them. What made it worse was when he unthinkingly confirmed part of all the accusations. I didn’t know if I had to be thankful to that liquor. I know the best confrontation is when everybody is sober, when everybody is not mad but looking on the other side of it, the sudden confrontation fortunately set the truth free. That partial confirmation made me conclude it was all real. It was all true and what made it worst was when I happened to let go every anger I had kept all these times. I knew he can never forget everything that I did and said on that night for the rest of his life because I cursed the slut, wishing she’d die. I even cursed the child still inside her womb. I cursed her kid. I mouthed bad words at my father. I was screaming out every word while shedding tears. I screamed and screamed while pounding and pounding my arms so hard on the arm of the couch.  It took me a couple of seconds to release my anger and for a fleeting moment, shock reflected on my father’s eyes. It was his first time to see me go real mad. All the emotions pestering me had gone me berserk because I could no longer take it. At one point, I even threw a pillow at him so hard. It was just a pillow but the impact it had on him was unbearable that he went and grabbed my hair. Reflexively, my mother and my sister caught us before he could hurt me and that was the moment, my sister mouthed bad words at him, defending me.

Yes, it was one of the most unforgettable days of my life but one of the saddest. It was even followed when I attempted to talk to him during lunch, aiming to prevail rational minds accompanied with low voices. Things again did not go as aimed for. He raised his voice and that triggered me. Out of anger, I told him this painful line, “I do not respect you anymore!”, which he replied saying, “From now on, never call me Papa.”

I knew my violent reactions were just the reflections of what he did to us but deep within me, I knew that despite everything what my father had done wrong, he still is my father. I knew I went out of the boundary but I still love him more than he ever knows. My respect for him has not gone vanished despite throwing those harsh words at him. I knew it was only because I was so mad at him for hurting us so many times but I deeply regret having said all those cruel words.

No matter what, a father is always a father. Your father is always your father. My father is always my father. I just hope and pray that someday, things will turn out fine again.

Anyway, my mother and sister are now in good terms with my father, slowly working things out but unfortunately, I and he are still not. 

I know this post is too much of a public diary but I hope my revelations will help you realize many things in your lives.

Thanks for droppin’ by and reading some of my thoughts. Just by doing so, it’s like you’re listening to everything that’s troubling me.

*Unedited post

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