The old game.

I’m finally starting to see things going my way until things went back to “normal”. By normal, I meant living without a father and having a brother sulk over this as an excuse for being alcoholic. I thought I couldn’t be any happier that our family was complete this Yuletide season only to find out that my dad left us (yet again) a couple of days ago. I texted him and tried to convince him to return but he just said that he wants to stand on his own feet and start over. I would like to believe him but based on his history, this is just another pattern–he’s said this before and just ended up even more wrecked than when he left. Still, we’ve given him as many second chances as he needed because families do that. Next time, however, I’m not sure if I or any of us will ever be able to do the same for him, even if we’re family.

Everything he’s doing is for himself. He always says that he’s finding out a way to make a living for us and all those other crappy excuses but we all know none of that was true and none of that ever became true. If he genuinely wants to help, he should’ve just given the money he kept to pay my brother’s tuition fee. That’s more practical. And that should temporarily alleviate the problem. But instead, he chose to use it to move away from us and live on his own only to come back when? When he has nowhere to go and nothing’s left of him again? Oh please, that game’s getting old.

I actually had a feeling that he was planning to leave and it felt stronger and nearer when he left for the Church’s parking lot quickly after we prayed (though he knew we still had to pay our respects to the holy images on the side of the Church). For a time, I tried to shut it off because the thought was too negative it was ruining our moment. I just wanted to indulge in the moment, which was, as we know it to be, once in a lifetime. I’m just glad that there was one person who I shared my burden with and it did help my heart feel lighter.

Right now, it’s easy for me to say that if given the opportunity to work away from home, I will, because that way I can (hopefully) be more focused on myself and my career. However, when I think about the family that I’d leave behind, especially my younger brothers, I don’t think I can, not until I’m sure that there’s someone I can trust who can guide them and look after them while I’m away.

Dealing with hurt.

When you know your partner is hurt because of something wrong you did…

Do you meet her sadness with anger? Do you call her to say that she’s getting to your nerves and that you’ll explode anytime if she doesn’t stop? Do you say that you’re too preoccupied with work or studies that you don’t have time for her nonsense? Do you tell her not to be that way, at least not now that you have other more important priorities to think of? Do you send her angry text messages demanding her not to dwell on the little things you said that didn’t really mean anything to you? Do you ask her if she wants you to leave and dare that you can do it anytime she says so?

Or can you not last a minute without knowing she’s fine? Do you say sorry for whatever it was that hurt her and vow that you’ll be more mindful next time? Do you pursue your apology even if she disregards your messages because you can’t sleep like this? Do tell her how much you love her and why you can’t live without her? Do you, instead, go out of your way to meet her, to apologize face to face, and give her a tight hug, despite a very busy schedule? Do you hold her hand to make her feel at ease, promise that you’ll never leave her and beg that she’d do the same?

If you were the partner, what would you do?

Glasses

I had fever the other day ’til yesterday and I’m still recuperating today. It was the first time I got sick in a long time and I felt weak and helpless. My temperature ranged from 38.1-39.5˚C, my head was crushingly painful, my joints were aching, my gums were swelling, everything I ate tasted bitter, there were episodes when my fingers and lips felt numb, and I suddenly had rashes on my limbs and torso.

Naturally, I found it hard to move so I lied in bed the whole time. Standing was a total effort, but I had to make trips downstairs where the kitchen and bathroom were. For some reason, I kept all signs of pain in my room and looked normal in front of people (save for my disheveled hair) whenever I’d make the trip, which could be why they found no urgency in my condition. So yeah, no one thought of bringing me to the hospital.

I’m always the one who takes care of my brothers when they’re ill. Not because I was asked to, but because I thought I had to do it. When my mother was the patient, I’d visit her in her room from time to time to see if she needs anything. I would squeeze fresh fruits for juice or clean her room even without her telling me to. As the eldest who happened to be a woman, I was somehow able to develop motherly instincts perhaps because I was too scornful of mom’s own insufficiency as a mother. And for the longest time, I thought I could proxy her for my brothers. When I got sick, however, this mindset changed.

I somehow grew to understand that boys do not do the caring, so I can’t expect my brothers to bring me food or anything. At my state, I only had my mom to rely on. Since she had work, it was perfectly clear to me that the very least she can do was to check on me before she leaves in the morning and when she comes home at night, to make sure that I have eaten in time for medicine–but these she failed to do. Every time she went in my room to bring food (i.e., oatmeal, which I ate for breakfast, lunch, and dinner), it was because there was something she needed from me. If it wasn’t for my girlfriend who came over yesterday, I wouldn’t have gone to the hospital for some tests and medication.

At night, mom came in my room asking for something again. As I was getting my purse, she asked about the doctor’s findings. Holding my anger, I said, “why bother knowing when you don’t care anyway?” Upon hearing this, she walked out of my room and didn’t take the thing she was asking for. Despite her horrible mothering, I knew I was wrong for saying those hurtful words. Regardless of what she has (not) done, she’s still my mother who deserves respect. That’s as far as respect goes. But then again, she’s spending the night at the beach with her friends about 3 hours from here, completely oblivious of what her daughter is going through. And there goes my point.