Tears

I stumbled upon this phrase while I was studying for my Theology exam. 

But yes, I guess this is home for me. I was crying while reading this. Written by my older sister. Click on the title for the original text.

"1 year (or 22 years?) on:"

The parents, they're at it again


I don't know if Mum still reads this page, I know she used to, pretty regularly maybe? But then I stopped updating and readership dropped.. who knows

But Ma, if you happen to read this, I just want to say I worry about you. So much. I worry about both you and dad, but even more for you. Papa, he's a hard-ass, whatever happens, happens, and dare I say that although he has his own health issues or whatevs it's your headaches, your insomnia, your weakness, your vulnerability (in every sense of the word) that makes my heart beat a little more anxiously whenever I hear about what went on--and apparently, what's been going on--at home. 

Did I really think my coming home for the summer hols last year would fix the problem? No. Actually, I really didn't, but I got encouragement, I got advice, and somehow I was willing to believe that hey, maybe I can do something good for the two of you this time around. No harm in trying. I was never the confrontational type, but maybe for my family's sake I could just step out of my comfort zone a little bit and try to force change to happen. I couldn't take how my younger siblings were being emotionally strung along, how they had to restructure their lives just so they could accommodate all the ridiculousness that was happening at home. As their ate I guess I had to take it upon myself to try and make things all right for them; I couldn't possibly let one of them shoulder the burden themselves.. I didn't think they'd be able to handle it.

I'm sorry for calling it ridiculous, but that's how the kids and I really feel, Ma. The whole thing, it's just ridiculous. From the beginning. Why have you and Dad let it go on for this long? Aren't you tired? (Rhetorical question because I'm sure you must be.. I know Papa is.) Aren't you fed up with having to be so angry and depressed all the time, even inside your own house, surrounded by your own family? Why can't you just let go of all that anger? It's been years, Ma, and I admire your ability to be so.. steadfast, even if it is in anger, but at the end of the day, a grudge is a grudge is a grudge, and nobody's telling anyone to keep one, so why should you? Does it make you feel better, being angry? I know I'm that way sometimes, and I guess there's a certain satisfaction in harboring such feelings against something or someone, but don't you feel it wearing you down and wearing you thin? Don't you go to Mass, read the Bible, isn't there supposed to be all this big hoo-haa about forgiveness, seventy times seven? 

Maybe I'll never be able to understand what it's like for you. Maybe I'll never understand your reasons. And I feel like if I tried to reason things out with you, we'd end up just frustrating each other, the way it always happens with Papa. But I really had hope for that time last summer. I wasn't sure if it would really work, but just that little bit of hope, and I guess a huge amount of exhaustion, and the end of a summer that had gone on way too long, kind of made me just throw my hands up and take whatever we had managed to work out as a family.

So, Ma, nganong mao ra man gihapon? It really is the same crap all over again, and quite frankly, we're almost at the point of giving up on you guys. You might have already noticed that. You might have already seen how Kikits and Lala just roll their eyes and snigger between themselves whenever another shouting match erupts between you and Papa. You know, whenever I ask Lala how you guys are doing at home, she's always like "Hay. Ambot nila. Mao gihapon. Kapoy. Wa na koy labot nila." And it really pains me that they have to deal with this at home, while they also have to worry about school and studying and getting homework done in a house that always, always, has a hint of tension and apprehension in every corner.

Ma, I just don't know what to do with you now. The kids don't. Papa doesn't. I feel sorry for him but I feel even more sorry for you, because I feel like it's really just you who could turn all of this around, but somehow you can't. Or maybe you refuse to. I don't know. 

Ma, I really do look up to you, even if it doesn't seem like I do and I'd never ever shown it. I feel like I'll never be as smart or hardworking as you are. I don't think I'll ever be able to bring up kids the way you did the four of us. But, Ma, all this pain and anger, you do know it's not doing you good, right? Did you know, that night when you were wailing and shouting and I was pretty sure all our neighbors could hear us, did you know that that was the scariest and saddest sight I'd ever seen in my life? I will never forget how you looked so weak and defeated while my sisters were trying to take you into their arms and calm you down; the utter desperation I heard in your crying will always remain with me whenever I think of home. I don't think I'd be able to handle seeing you like that again, if once again worse comes to worst. Nganong mao ra man gihapon? Nganong dili man gyud ka pwede mag-forgive? Makalagot na ba. Dili gyud ko ganahan maglagot sa akong ginikanan pero you're not giving me much of a choice here.

Maybe I should write all of this in a proper letter to you instead of posting it here. But, I don't know, the fact that you may not ever get to read this, it makes me feel like I can be a little more honest with.. myself. And it's probably not fair that I'm putting most of the blame on you and not Papa--he's at fault too. Pero Ma, feel man gud nako na sa imo na lang gyud ang kulang. Si Papa, he's stubborn, he always thinks he's right, pero I think you can work something out with him. Pero Ma, as for you, I don't know, somehow I don't feel that way with you.

I just feel incredibly guilty that I'm here, having an easy time of it, while things are going that way at home to the point that everyone's calling it a "cursed" house. The house of my childhood, where I learned how to ride a bicycle, where I'd eat pan de sal and dip it in orange juice or coffee on a hot summer day, where at night I'd lie in bed for ages to read until I'd fall asleep, where I used to be, simply, completely happy. Things weren't all right between you and Papa, I still remember the fights, me shutting my eyes tight, trying to will your voices away but at the same time helplessly trying to listen to every word. But I was just a kid and I had every excuse not to try and fix things. Now I'm an adult, and should probably take some responsibility, but sometimes, you know, it's just.. I don't want to have anything to do with it anymore. I hate feeling this way, but I can't help it.

I don't want all of us to grow older and still have to carry all of this crap with us. I want to graduate, make money, try to take care of you and Papa, buy you a house, a vacation, whatever. Take my husband and my kids to see the grandparents, let them get to know you and like you. Get you to tell them stories of me being an insufferable, mischievous little kid, while I pretend to protest but let you entertain them with the gory details anyway. Maybe you can even read to them just like how you would patiently leaf through those big picture books with me when I was small and just about to begin a lifelong love affair with reading. Simple things. Just these simple things. But right now they may be too much to ask.

Is this STILL a happy world?