Today is Thursday, I will fetch my daughter from school earlier than usual. She attends Bay View kindergarten, an exclusive school painted in pastel and is now, I assume, dancing in Jack and Jill rhyme.
The first time I went there, everyone was singing Jack and Jill unanimously, and should I say perfectly, that a passerby would think it's the school's anthem. Imaginative.
Well, I can't do anything about it, Bay View sits near the coast, they say sea breeze is good for a weak lung, and my daughter has got 2 of those.
Few more turns and I'll get to see my precious one. We had to drop by Eclia, a psychiatric institution where her father, my ex-husband Clinton, sent her few months after he won custody over her.
I wouldn't have agreed to continue sending her to Eclia if not because of some estate conditions that I have to fulfill in order for me to get my daughter back after Clinton committed suicide.
My poor daughter must be having a hard time now, having gone through her parent's divorce and now her father's death.
It could have been more reasonable if she's sent to Eclia because of trauma in response to sequence of unfortunate events such as now. But keeping a child in a psychiatric institution for half a year just because she's misbehaving? I don't think that's reasonable, nor is that a display of fatherly love.
I don't know how the people from Child and Welfare think, but I believe they wouldn't ask me to do it if it won't cause her any good. But in all honesty, I don't believe my child is misbehaving, and I still don't get why there's a need to undergo lots of legal work for a child to be with her mother in the death of her father. I just don't.
I raised my daughter until Clinton and I decided to part ways, she was 2 years old back then. I'm sure she's not mentally delayed or disturbed, maybe she's just highly sensitive compared to everyone. She's special, yes. But I'm certain she's not misbehaving.
I can still remember when Clinton raised his voice on me. It sounded like thunder, it sounded fierce and strong. It sounded like the man I fell for so many years.
We were too involved in our heated argument when a plastic cup rolled over my feet. Written was 'Keye'. Clinton had all the baby stuffs customized with our daughter's name embedded on each.
Keye, who was turning 2 that time, looked at us apologetically for spilling her milk.
Wowy, she said.
No one would expect that a kid, who doesn't even respond when called by her name, would learn to apologize for spilling her milk before she could even learn to call us mom and dad.
Both Clinton and I fell on our knees, sobbing.
During the entire 3 years of our marriage, there were multiple exchanges of I love you's, but never I'm sorry.
Just that one time, from Keye.
