BADA LEE as Your Deranged Stalker

t w e n t y f i v e

My mother's fingers clamped onto my hair with a vice-like grip and she thrust my face into the water-filled bathtub. At the tender age of 5, I couldn't fathom how I had managed to endure five years under her care.

"Mamatay ka na! Dahil sa'yo wala na kami ni Anthony! Iniwan niya 'ko dahil sa'yo! 'Di ka na dapat nabuhay!"

My desperate screams and tears, loud and unrestrained, appeared to fall on deaf ears as far as my mother was concerned. My pleas, for her, they were mere background noise.

Fear held me in its icy grip, rendering me utterly powerless.

Back in her best days, my mom was the most admired lady in our town. People loved her for her beautiful skin, smart mind, and the kindness she showed to everyone. Many really looked up to her because she was so attractive.

I vividly recollect that she was just 16 when she gave birth to me and my father deserted her the instant he discovered her pregnancy.

"Ma?" As I stepped into the house, I instinctively called out for my mom. At 9 years old, I was growing more independent.

"Ma?" I called once more before making my way inside and gently shutting the door behind me.

With a sense of responsibility, I carefully placed the food I had purchased from the nearby store on the dining table – tonight's dinner for my mother.

"Ma!" I turned around and saw my mother holding a knife. My eyes widened, and I instinctively gripped the table tightly behind my back.

"M-ma! A-anong ginagawa mo?" Her sudden, frantic rush to the door, followed by her swift action to lock it, left me startled. As she approached to me, she clutched my arms with an intensity that revealed the depth of her distress. Her eyes bore the heavy burden of exhaustion, as if she hadn't slept for hours.

"H'wag kang lalabas! Sinasabi ko sa'yo!" She brandished the knife erratically, her gaze darting around in all directions.

In response, I let out a frustrated sigh.

These episodes, while she's not physically violent toward me, were deeply unsettling.

She insisted there was a threat lurking within our home, someone who meant to harm me.

She claimed to want to protect me from any harm, but at the same time she had both destructive and protective impulses towards me. It was a paradox that sometimes seemed absurd.

I struggled to understand her actions, but I still cared for her.

"Ma? Please ma, pakawalan nyo na po ako. Gutom na gutom na ako ma," I pleaded, my voice tinged with desperation.

How long had I been confined in this room? My hunger had become unbearable, and my strength was waning with each passing moment.

Though I knew my words wouldn't reacht mom, but I still clung to the hope that she would somehow enter this room. It had been days since I'd had a morsel to eat, and I longed for even a sip of water.

I cast my gaze downwards, surveying my hands tightly bound with ropes by my own mother. My feet were similarly restrained and the room enveloped me in impenetrable darkness.

How long can I still endure this? Was this truly the cruel fate that awaited me?

It seemed that way, perhaps.

Gradually, I shut my eyes, surrendering to the grim reality.

Suddenly, mom made her entrance.
I startled as I beheld her standing before me bearing a tray.
Her eyes, cold and emotionless, bore into me.

She slowly sit directly in front of me, she placed the tray on the floor.

"Kumain ka," she uttered, and the tray held a glass of water and a plate of plain rice.
Just rice.

My hunger overwhelmed me and I began to consume the food using only my mouth. I hesitated briefly when the rice tasted spoiled, but I persevered with my eyes closed.

I yearned to survive.

I refused to accept that this is how my life would end. I was determined to fight, to overcome this nightmarish ordeal, and I wouldn't allow myself to die in these dire circumstances.

>>>

A single teardrop, like a ruby gem, descends unhurriedly to the floor of my room from the paint brush I used.

I find myself gazing at the wall of my room, my lips curved into a triumphant smile as I fixate on its surface. This wall has become a canvas for my inner chaos, a chaotic yet heartfelt artwork that encapsulates the intricate tapestry of emotions I harbor for my mother.

In this abstract composition, I've woven threads of great care, relentless fear, abhorrence, despair, overwhelming frustration, longing, and joy. Though I lack the formal skills of an artist, this creation serves as my self-offered tribute to the deep connection I share with my mother.

As I stand here, rooted before this wall, I've engraved the contours of my mother's essence into the very surface.

Yes, her dismembered body lies concealed within this very wall.

The thought of her remains being entombed here carries an intense weight of emotion and memory.

I've harnessed her life's essence, her blood, to craft this extraordinary masterpiece.

It's a tribute to a mother whose memory I will forever hold, an unending testament to the emotional complexity that defined our relationship, a masterpiece of love and pain.

"I love you mom, rest in peace,"
I whisper.