cincinnatiyue
death sentences are often executed through decapitation, lethal sedation, or any means done brutally—i faced mine by being a first born daughter attending a family reunion at our provincial hometown. being the eldest daughter in the household resembles an image of christ carrying a cross in jerusalem; bearing an indispensable weight wherever my feet takes me. at kindergarten. at highschool. at university. at work. even at my graveyard, the title fades away with me.
in family reunion, the dine is bountiful of mouthwatering dishes. of course, everyone's apple of the eye, lechong baboy is always presently served alongside afritadang kambing, humba, kinilaw, any familiar handa one could name that increases a person's cholesterol count. but despite having a table of plenty, our relatives don't feast on the scrumptious banquet arrayed in the long table—they prefer having me as their main course. as soon as i take a seat next to my ma with their eyes solely shifted towards mine, it's an impending doom coming right at me. and before i could even take a bite of the crispy lechon skin and taste its excess oil soaking on my tongue, my titas begin catapulting series of questions that have already been asked and heard years ago. questions that sound like irreparable broken vinyl tape scratching through my ears.
“naa nakay boyfriend, gang?”
“kanus-a man ka magka-boyfriend?”
“unsa may makaibogan nimo na lalaki?”
“kon ikaw makabana puhon...”
“kon ikaw magminyo na...”
they hold obvious expectant look upon asking the questions, while i am itching to leave the room mid-supper because i can't stand listening any longer.
(1/2)
cincinnatiyue
because how could i toughen up and ever tell them that
i would only want to wear a ring around my finger if it's given by a woman that promised me eternal life with, and dare walk down the long aisle if it's her waiting to receive my hand at the altar. that i would only exchange raw yet heartily written vows with the woman my heart yearns for.
that i never see myself anchored in a man's arm nor shall i be pursued by one, because the very thought of me with a man himself is repulsive— an absurd delusion disturbing my reverie.
that marriage is just a fairytale dream unless i am with the woman i see as my happily-ever-after.
i have heard of it a lot like it has become a family tradition everybody should count in. but regardless how many times it has been shoved into my face, it will only remain unanswered and forsaken. unless i finally swallow my guts and speak my truth without getting choked up.
denial is the form of chastisement i chose, plunging it straight towards my chest. this is how i realize my slow death: keeping my mouth in a tight shut, eating in quiet until no crumbs are left to be eaten on the plate.
and this kind of death sentence is much worst than other ways of killing—i do not stop breathing instantly after i got killed—i only end up having to experience death in a vicious cycle.
(2/2)
