It was after my father had abandoned us to seek a fortune in Manila when I was very little, when we truly believed that his sacrifice was worth it for us. I remember my mother, constantly waiting for his calls and hoping for any kind of support that would help sustain us, day after day, month after month, year after year, with nothing.
It was like they just left us with life he was no longer obligated to take responsibility for.
And since there was never enough to survive on, my mother decided to work as a maid, very far away from our home. She had no choice. I can distinctly recall seeing my mother leave while holding back tears under a fake smile, telling us she'd be back very soon.
But 'soon' came three months at a time.
Most of my childhood was spent with my grandparents. Despite the fact that they have given us their best care, being poor is a very heavy burden, even on loving hands. There were even days when there was not enough food on our table, days where the constant pangs of hunger was our normal. Days where other children had fathers present in their lives while mine disappeared into thin air.
I carried hatred within me for a long time.
Not because of poverty but because of abandonment; by a father who should be protecting the woman he loves and the children he conceived, but instead was making his wife endure it all. I have watched my mother endure and work herself to the bone just to ensure we were alive, while he was entirely gone from our lives.
Such trauma changes children.
I have come to realize that it is something that has continued to linger in me even to this day, in the form of my inability to trust; in how I now view love and marriage. There are times I'm asked why I fear commitment, why I falter whenever someone speaks of "forever".
The answer is simple.
I am scared that I will become my mother;
That I will end up loving someone so much, only to be left behind once they realize I am more of a burden than I am an asset once everything goes wrong. That I will have children in the future and then one day find myself alone again, solely responsible for carrying the weight of three lives, while the one who promised to stay is already far away, gone without explanation.
Because I've already seen that story before.
The worst part is that my father never visited or spoke to us again until the day he passed away.
There were no words of explanation, no reconciliation, and most especially, no chance for me to ask him why we were not worth staying for.
I grew up blaming myself for his absence, asking myself why we were not enough. But growing older made me realize one important truth:
No parent's failure is ever a child's responsibility.
My father's choices have left wounds on my heart that still hurt today, but at the same time, they made me discover the immeasurable strength of my mother and grandparents who raised me. I survived the abandonment, the poverty and the grief because of them.
Though trauma still lingers, I am slowly learning that not everyone will turn out to be like my father.
Some people leave,
some people stay.
Healing begins when you stop carrying the weight for the ones who decided to walk away.
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