DBS#3: Mending the Scars

IKA-APATNAPU

Despite Gianna’s text, dumiretso pa rin ako sa bahay. I want to know what’s really happening. Pinapapunta ako ni Dad pero pinipigilan ako ng kapatid ko? What’s wrong with these people? Ngayon pa nila ako lilituhin kung kailan pagod na pagod ako at gustong-gusto ko nang magpahinga.

“Brother!” hinihingal at balisang salubong sa akin ni Gianna nang makita niya ako sa entrance. She looked scared and uneasy. “Why are you here? I told you, huwag ka na munang pumunta rito! Just go back to your pad, please.”

I furrowed my eyebrows and scanned the house with confusion. “What’s wrong? Dad ordered me to come here so we could talk.”

“Hindi muna ngayon. I’ll tell you later what’s happening. Just listen to me first and go back to your—”

“Nandito na pala ang kanina ko pang hinihintay.”

Sabay kaming napalingon ni Gianna sa malakas at baritonong boses na iyon ni Dad na kakababa lang sa hagdanan. He looked at me with nothing but anger and disappointment.

What’s happening? Did I do something wrong?

“D-Dad? What’s the matter?” I asked and walked closer.

Gianna followed me and faced our father. “Dad! I’m telling you, once Mom find this out she’ll freak out. Mag-usap kayo ng mahinahon, please…”

Ano bang pag-uusapan namin?

“Ano bang nangyayari?” tanong ko at bahagyang tumaas ang boses. I’m pissed. Hindi ko maintindihan kung anong nangyayari at bakit kakaiba ang mga kinikilos nila. “Where’s Mom?”

“She’s upstairs. Wait, and I’ll call her, so please…” she said and went upstairs to call Mom.

Humarap akong muli kay Dad nang kaming dalawa na lang ang naiwan, he’s still looking at me the same way. Walang ibang emosyon kung hindi galit. “What did I do this time? Ano naman ang  hindi niyo nagustuhan sa mga nagawa ko?”

Aaminin kong hindi na ito bago sa akin, dahil noon pa man, sa tuwing nakakagawa ako ng hindi niya nagugustuhan, madalas niya akong pinapagalitan, pinagbubuhatan ng kamay at sinasabihan ng kung ano-anong masasakit na salita. When I was a kid, for me, this was hell. Standing in front of my angry father was my hell. Either he’ll scold me or, worse, he’ll get his stick and hit me on both of my hands. There were no wounds, but the scars were there—not in my palm, but carved in my heart. The way they disciplined me was too much, to the point that they’d either get my phone or lock me inside my room. I never had a chance to enjoy the childhood I once had.

Ngayon, ang kinatatayuan ko habang kaharap ang aking galit na ama, ay parang nakapagpabalik sa akin sa nakaraan. Kung paano niya ako i-trato bilang anak.

“Nasaan ka kahapon?” he asked, and I blinked twice, holding myself together.

“I didn’t go to school. I wasn’t feeling well.”

“I went to your school yesterday, and guess what? Nalaman kong may record ka na pala sa guidance office! What’s wrong with you, huh? All this time, I thought you were studying well—”

“I am!” I quickly responded while my eyebrows furrowed.

“Talaga? Kaya pala may binugbog ka raw na senior student? Ganiyan ba ang gawain ng nag-aaral ng mabuti? Hindi mo pa talaga sinabi sa amin at nalaman ko pa sa iba! Unbelievable!”