The Essence of Me

I was with my family for the weekend, and of course, in one of our family discussions the subject of my mother came up again. I was, as always, quick to condemn her, to say hurtful things about her. I just can’t help myself. No matter how many times I tell myself that I’ve forgiven her, there’s still a bitterness inside me that persists. It’s been almost a decade, and my heart is still closed to her.

When I was in fifth grade and my mother was cooking up one of her schemes, I almost ruined her plans with my carelessness. She was so angry with me that she beat me up. Well, she didn’t use her fists, but she did slap me plenty, pulled my hair, and pushed me hard against a wooden cabinet. Oh, I almost forgot, she also threw my brother’s walker at me. She was shouting all the time and when my dad asked why she was so angry with me, she lied to him. Of course she couldn’t tell him that I almost botched up her plan to swindle money from my grandmother.

It was at that moment that I discovered hatred… and that I have the uncanny ability to lock myself in, and shut a person out of my heart. The whole time she was hurting me, I did not cry. Not even one drop of tear escaped me. I held my head high and took the blows, the hurtful words. I knew that I did not do anything wrong, and though it seemed that I was the underdog, I had the satisfaction of knowing that my mother was scared of me. When she stopped to catch her breath, I looked her in the eye and asked her casually if she’s done with me. That one sentence brought another fit of anger, and she took it as my request for a repeat performance.

When it was all over (don’t worry, there wasn’t any blood), I asked her again if she’s finished. Then, I took my uncle’s big bag and slowly put my clothes inside it. I had made up mind to run away. When she saw me packing calmly, she cried and asked me again and again "Bakit ba ang tigas mo?" (Sorry, I don’t know how to put it in English). Then, she said she’s so sorry, that she was only worried that my dad and my grandmother would find out what she’s doing and she’d be forced to leave us. "Do you want me and your dad to separate? Do you want that to happen??" She asked me. She cried and asked for forgiveness, and I forgave her. I even helped her. What a mistake. 

The lies and schemes were repeated until finally, I decided never to let her hurt me again. I shut her out of my life. It scares me when I think of how easy it was for me, to give up on my own mother. Now, I feel nothing for her but the occasional bitterness. I feel no pity, no anger, no love. In the unlikely event that she decides to reunite with my dad, she could only come back as his wife and perhaps, a mother to my younger siblings. She is dead to me as a mother, but maybe through time, when she proves that she’s worthy, we can be friends again.

Some people say I’m too hard on her, and that I’m so unforgiving. Some admire my strength and will. Some think I should be pitied. Maybe they’re right.

Or, maybe, my heart’s just too fragile. Another heartbreak and I might not be able to put it back together again. Building walls is the only way. After all, prevention is definitely better than cure.