Twenty-two years ago, I was born into a family living modestly. We had a humble home roofing us from the broad daylight and the cold nighttime. As I grew up, I learned the values I uphold from my beloved grandfather and grandmother, while my parents worked until the sun set for us to have a square meal three times a day. My cousins and I would play together whenever they would come over, and as far as I can remember, I would be a little down whenever it was time for them to go home.
Around fifteen years ago, I decided to stay at my cousins' place for a couple of days. I remember telling myself that I wanted to stay longer, because there were so many things to do there. There were a lot of kids playing on the streets, and it was interesting to hear their stories whenever I went out to buy some candy. I remember the ecstatic feeling of watching my favorite cartoons on cable television back then. They also had pet dogs which I often played with, since I'm a person who likes animals. Those things were the big things in my view way back then, and at that point in time, I was happy to be there, despite the heat.
Six years ago, tragedy struck our family. My grandmother, Nanay, passed away due to respiratory complications. Several years before, Tatay joined the creator as he slept. At sixteen, I cried loudly as I bade a final farewell to the person who was there when I was bullied, lulled me to sleep in the humid summer evenings, and whom I considered to be my mother. Wiping the tears away, I promised to be strong and to always keep my feet on the ground: two things she taught me as the years passed.
And that was the start of the chaos that would remain invisible to me for years.
Three years ago, talks about inheritance became clear. Nanay left with my aunt and my dad a humble sum of money and a parcel of land in the province. Pretty much a kid then, I remained in the dark about it, as I assumed everything went on well. My parents and my aunt would often meet, discuss terms, and then sign land titles, exchange documents, and accomplish other written agreements. During those times, I politely greeted my aunt with a mano, and went back to whatever I was doing. It was their business, and I thought nosing in was discourteous.
But I should have at least tried to know what was going on.
About a year ago, my mother broke out to tears as she told me what was happening. Dropping details aside, the matter was not about the things written in the documents, but a widening chasm between my parents. Apparently, my dad never respected my mom's feelings on how the way things were going. Leaving sensitive things and facts behind, it was disheartening to see that the bond they have made as husband and wife was being chipped away bit by bit. Yes, they still remain strong until this very moment, but the fact is that they never argued or fought about something and didn't resolve at the end of the day. Now, the problem is only buried by peaceful days, but as soon as the issue is mentioned, it rises from the grave and haunts us.
The wounds have never healed. They close for a few quiet moments, only to be opened again by a brash exchange of words. Things will never be the same again, as impressions are broken and unseen severances start to widen, inch by inch. Eyes cannot meet the same way as before, as the atmosphere is saturated with unease and tension.
For the moment, I don't think that we will find a peace that can be shared. I hope that for now, all of us can find our own separate peace.
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