Bobo doll
My father was a man of strength. He did hard labor to provide food and shelter to our family. He was strict and strong but a devil in disguise whenever midnight strikes.
The whole family would wake up from his thunderous voice abusing our mother until she bled. He would blame us for being unlucky and miserable. And then he would shut the door with my mom inside the room, pleading for him to stop. Bang. Blag. Bang! Those were the sounds of his fist and kicks.
I was terrified for myself. The sounds of my mother's muffling cries rang in my ears repeatedly like a broken record. The sight that followed had been successfully engraved in my memory.
Bruises. Blood. Eyes that had been emptied. It was all because of father who showed no remorse. After that night, my father stopped closing the door behind us. I would frequently see my mom kneeling like a doll while my father was shouting insults and throwing random things to mother's body who never flinched despite collapsing numerous times on the rough tiles.
It became a routine in our little dark home until I finally became father's exact copy.
11:11 , the time I had the tendency to imitate my father's method to a stray dog who was barking in our front yard. The dog had a name tag. Bobo...
Bobo became my doll from then on.
BINABASA MO ANG
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