To Trust the Dawn

Epilogue (Part One)

Epilogue (Part One)

Tw: abuse, sensitive language

I didn't know that something physically whole could also shatter. I was too young and naive to realize that the cost of this so-called completeness—the family I was destined to have—was brokenness.

Broken wholeness. The oxymoron that defines us.

Everyday was a war—sometimes with the audible gunshots of shouts that loudly echo; and most of the time with the bombs of silence that would drop whenever my mother and I quietly eat our dinner, facing the empty seat of the head of the dining table.

This is one of the moments of the latter.

"Why aren't you eating, Ivan?"

I blinked my eyes upon hearing my mother's voice. Napagtanto kong nanatili lang na nakahawak ang mga kamay ko sa kutsara't tinidor, at ang mga mata'y nakatulala lang sa kabisera ng dining table.

I spaced out again. I always do whenever we eat. At breakfast, lunch, and dinner. May nakakapa akong kulang sa dibdib ko sa t'wing nakatingin sa kabisera.

I cleared the lump of my throat when I looked at my mother. She was waiting for my answer. She looks sad. As always. Kailan ba hindi?

"May iniisip lang po. I'm sorry," tipid kong sagot.

Nagsimula na akong magsandok ng kanin at ulam. As we eat, the silence was so disturbing. Palagi naman. Tanging tunog lang ng mga kutsara't tinidor ang maririnig sa gitna naming dalawa. Walang kumustahan. Walang kuwentuhan.

I cleared the lump of my throat before drinking a glass of water. I wiped my lips with a table napkin before throwing her a question, "Ma... kailan po tayo babalik sa probinsiya?"

I was perhaps six when we left the province where I was born, and went here in Manila. Dito na rin ako nag-aral. My memories there were already vague. Nakatira ako roon sa loob ng anim na taon, pero wala man lang akong maalalang kahit anong pangyayari... siguro dahil natatakpan ng mga masasaklap mula nang tumira na kami rito.

My hate for this world started the moment my father's fist landed on my Mom's face. That was the first time when we got here. That was the moment that I discovered who my most hated person is... my own father. One of the memories that probably covered the vague memories that I had in the province.

Bumalik ang ulirat ko sa kasalukuyan nang marinig ang mahinang pagkahulog ng kutsara ni Mama sa kaniyang plato. She was looking at me as if she just heard an impossible question.

"Why are you asking? Don't you like living here?" There was a slight hint of worry in her voice.

I lowered my gaze. Bumalot ang lamig sa mga mata ko nang maalala ang dahilan. Napalunok ako dahil naduduwag na sabihin.

"I..." Napapikit ako. "I got bulli—"

I was interrupted when she spoke, "You know what? Kahit saan man tayo tumira, your father will never change. If you're thinking that he will change once we live there again, then you're wrong." Nahimigan ko ang pait at dismaya sa kaniyang boses. I saw her right fist clenching.

Napakurap ako, at nagbara ang lalamunan. I don't know why everytime I attempt to tell her that my some of my classmates bully me at school, she would coincidentally interrupt me. Hindi ko na lang 'yon inisip dahil gumapang na naman ang sakit sa dibdib ko dahil sa sinabi niya.

Maybe I shouldn't have tried to share her my traumatic experience at school because she's been through worse than it. Mas nasasaktan siya, at hindi ko na dapat pa'ng dagdagan 'yon.