by Jonah Leigh Ramos, BSA 1-2
And the evening was as sympathetic and as nefarious as it can be— the starless abyss as dark as my thoughts, and the heavy downpour of rain as weighty as my stone heart. I saunter my way to the abandoned park, through the road made non-visible by the heavy rain. Despite the fact that I cannot make anything out, I continue to walk with my hand firmly grasping the half-empty bottle of beer I’ve set aside for my “quiet time” tonight.
I position myself under a big tree standing nearby, where I know I’ll somehow be covered from the rain, where I know will at least be someplace where my drinking will not be too interfered. For a moment I hold myself still, concentrating on the rhythm of the large raindrops heavily tapping the earth. Then I open the bottle and drink in the alcohol. I think about Father, and all those hurtful memories accompanying him which I can’t seem to put into oblivion.
I wonder what he’s doing at this point of time; how he now looks like, how he’s managing after leaving Mother and me broken. I wonder how his daughters from that woman treat him. Are they angry at him for having another beloved besides their mother? Or have they accepted him already for whoever he’s been? I, myself, am not certain of what I should feel towards him. There’s no ire engulfing me at all, because for an unexplainable reason, Father had become just a distant fragment of my past, an untouchable shadow with whom I had no connection at all.
Something must be wrong with me. Why don’t I feel a bit of hatred for him, for him who had long since shattered my life?
I realize that I’ve been swearing under my breath. I take another gulp of alcohol and feel it chill my throat, then burn my stomach. As I fix my gaze upon the rusty swing placed on a distance, I picture Dad and myself bonding like a normal “father and son” and try to feel the merriment it’d bring. With that I later find myself preferring the situation where Father would hide from us his second family (I suppose that would be a lot better) than Mother and I being that “second” to him. It would at least be lighter if we are the legal family, but then we aren’t.
I’ve come to understand why he insisted on not getting married. It was smart of him to reason that such a ceremony would be costly; that we, who are poverty-stricken, will not be able to afford such kind of event. He is annoyingly witty, and perhaps impressively heartless to leave us crying for him; to easily detach from us who can’t likewise easily let go.
His leave had left us feeble, but in order for us to survive I urged myself to fight. I studied harder out of my strong desire to prove that we can manage without Father; and worked part-time to support our living. The outcome was good, so I expected Mother to somehow get over it. I want her to stand dignified and proud, but then that wasn’t the case.
She pushed all her efforts to compose herself in my presence, but I won’t be fooled with such behaviour. I can see the fragility inside the seemingly strong woman before me. Every night I hear her bitter cries from her room, her grief echoing down the hallway. I tried and wanted to understand that the pain she felt is perhaps greater than that in me. And so I tried to ignore the way she acted and continued to fight myself.
But then I grew tired, exhausted of all the non-gaining-anything efforts I give. I felt stupid. I don’t even know this woman I’ve been living for anymore— so cold, so distant, so not the mother I used to know. Everything I did seemed just a chasing after the wind.
And so I broke myself free from any bond of responsibility to feel the freedom so long been kept from me. I felt idiotic to have spent my years learning at school, I mean, why do I have to burden myself with impractical matters? I can live without it. For years I’ve been keeping myself from associating with anyone. I’m not going to take the risk of being abandoned once again. Only this bottle in my hand will be my partner in all my escapes, the only on to keep me carry on.
I enjoy watching Mother try to connect with me again. Her attempts of reaching out to me with those pitiful eyes provide me entertainment. As much as possible I ignore her. I want to make her feel as miserable as I’d been the time she was with me but far away. This would be fine— I’ve lost my affection for her anyway.
Returning to reality, I realize the smirk formed on my face. The rain hadn’t yet ceased. I drink in the remaining content of my bottle as I stare upon a nonexistent point far ahead. Then some sort of a figure begins to materialize. I halt my drinking and squint in the darkness, foolishly trying to make out the figure.
A man.
I stand up and take a few steps forward. The man had a familiar body frame. Now I don’t know if my imagination is cunning me, or if the person under that umbrella is real. Either way, the sight is painful.
The rain begins to pour heavier. I take a few more steps forward, forgetting the bottle in my hand. My voice seems to have been stuck in my throat that I can’t manage to call out. Ignoring the large raindrops heavily tapping my head, I stand up as stable as I could to watch him go to wherever he’s going. He seems to be in a hurry, throwing back glances on the road where he came from.
And then as he focus his eyes back to the street ahead, his eyes meet mine.
Father begins to decelerate. For a few seconds he held himself stock-still looking at me. “Father!” I call out and slowly make my way towards him. I try to clear my perception of his face, its features— I want to remember. “Father!” I call out again.
I begin to run, calling out his name louder and louder as I get nearer to him, but then he begins to run, too, as fast as he could to get away from his son who perhaps is a curse to him. But I don’t care. I must get to him quickly.
I trip but I stand up immediately. Desperate to make him stop, I call to him louder, but my irritating sobs won’t cooperate.
I begin to feel dizzy, and feel myself go slowly. Aggravated, I swear under my breath before tripping once more and this time now helplessly falling on the ground. I try to search for him as I lay on the ground, but there was nothing my eyes would see through this rain.
The heaven’s cries wash away my tears, as if understanding my want not to let anyone witness the vulnerable side of me… shattered by perhaps, a painful illusion I’ve longed to make real.
And the evening was as sympathetic and as nefarious as it can be— the starless abyss as dark as my thoughts, and the heavy downpour of rain as weighty as my stone heart. I saunter my way to the abandoned park, through the road made non-visible by the heavy rain. Despite the fact that I cannot make anything out, I continue to walk with my hand firmly grasping the half-empty bottle of beer I’ve set aside for my “quiet time” tonight.
I position myself under a big tree standing nearby, where I know I’ll somehow be covered from the rain, where I know will at least be someplace where my drinking will not be too interfered. For a moment I hold myself still, concentrating on the rhythm of the large raindrops heavily tapping the earth. Then I open the bottle and drink in the alcohol. I think about Father, and all those hurtful memories accompanying him which I can’t seem to put into oblivion.
I wonder what he’s doing at this point of time; how he now looks like, how he’s managing after leaving Mother and me broken. I wonder how his daughters from that woman treat him. Are they angry at him for having another beloved besides their mother? Or have they accepted him already for whoever he’s been? I, myself, am not certain of what I should feel towards him. There’s no ire engulfing me at all, because for an unexplainable reason, Father had become just a distant fragment of my past, an untouchable shadow with whom I had no connection at all.
Something must be wrong with me. Why don’t I feel a bit of hatred for him, for him who had long since shattered my life?
I realize that I’ve been swearing under my breath. I take another gulp of alcohol and feel it chill my throat, then burn my stomach. As I fix my gaze upon the rusty swing placed on a distance, I picture Dad and myself bonding like a normal “father and son” and try to feel the merriment it’d bring. With that I later find myself preferring the situation where Father would hide from us his second family (I suppose that would be a lot better) than Mother and I being that “second” to him. It would at least be lighter if we are the legal family, but then we aren’t.
I’ve come to understand why he insisted on not getting married. It was smart of him to reason that such a ceremony would be costly; that we, who are poverty-stricken, will not be able to afford such kind of event. He is annoyingly witty, and perhaps impressively heartless to leave us crying for him; to easily detach from us who can’t likewise easily let go.
His leave had left us feeble, but in order for us to survive I urged myself to fight. I studied harder out of my strong desire to prove that we can manage without Father; and worked part-time to support our living. The outcome was good, so I expected Mother to somehow get over it. I want her to stand dignified and proud, but then that wasn’t the case.
She pushed all her efforts to compose herself in my presence, but I won’t be fooled with such behaviour. I can see the fragility inside the seemingly strong woman before me. Every night I hear her bitter cries from her room, her grief echoing down the hallway. I tried and wanted to understand that the pain she felt is perhaps greater than that in me. And so I tried to ignore the way she acted and continued to fight myself.
But then I grew tired, exhausted of all the non-gaining-anything efforts I give. I felt stupid. I don’t even know this woman I’ve been living for anymore— so cold, so distant, so not the mother I used to know. Everything I did seemed just a chasing after the wind.
And so I broke myself free from any bond of responsibility to feel the freedom so long been kept from me. I felt idiotic to have spent my years learning at school, I mean, why do I have to burden myself with impractical matters? I can live without it. For years I’ve been keeping myself from associating with anyone. I’m not going to take the risk of being abandoned once again. Only this bottle in my hand will be my partner in all my escapes, the only on to keep me carry on.
I enjoy watching Mother try to connect with me again. Her attempts of reaching out to me with those pitiful eyes provide me entertainment. As much as possible I ignore her. I want to make her feel as miserable as I’d been the time she was with me but far away. This would be fine— I’ve lost my affection for her anyway.
Returning to reality, I realize the smirk formed on my face. The rain hadn’t yet ceased. I drink in the remaining content of my bottle as I stare upon a nonexistent point far ahead. Then some sort of a figure begins to materialize. I halt my drinking and squint in the darkness, foolishly trying to make out the figure.
A man.
I stand up and take a few steps forward. The man had a familiar body frame. Now I don’t know if my imagination is cunning me, or if the person under that umbrella is real. Either way, the sight is painful.
The rain begins to pour heavier. I take a few more steps forward, forgetting the bottle in my hand. My voice seems to have been stuck in my throat that I can’t manage to call out. Ignoring the large raindrops heavily tapping my head, I stand up as stable as I could to watch him go to wherever he’s going. He seems to be in a hurry, throwing back glances on the road where he came from.
And then as he focus his eyes back to the street ahead, his eyes meet mine.
Father begins to decelerate. For a few seconds he held himself stock-still looking at me. “Father!” I call out and slowly make my way towards him. I try to clear my perception of his face, its features— I want to remember. “Father!” I call out again.
I begin to run, calling out his name louder and louder as I get nearer to him, but then he begins to run, too, as fast as he could to get away from his son who perhaps is a curse to him. But I don’t care. I must get to him quickly.
I trip but I stand up immediately. Desperate to make him stop, I call to him louder, but my irritating sobs won’t cooperate.
I begin to feel dizzy, and feel myself go slowly. Aggravated, I swear under my breath before tripping once more and this time now helplessly falling on the ground. I try to search for him as I lay on the ground, but there was nothing my eyes would see through this rain.
The heaven’s cries wash away my tears, as if understanding my want not to let anyone witness the vulnerable side of me… shattered by perhaps, a painful illusion I’ve longed to make real.
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