IS IT HARD?
Is it hard?
A friend once asked me, referring to my situation being a member of a broken home. Oftentimes, I just give the question a cold shrug as I don’t really put much thought about it, until recently after spending another weekend at my boyfriend’s home in Nueva Ecija.
I caught myself staring at the plaques that are proudly hanging on their wall. “Family of the Year” both plaque says. Four words that melted my indifference towards the subject and made me asked myself, Is it hard?
I don’t quite know how to put my thoughts into words. And so I ended up listing the difference of his family with mine.
My boyfriend is lucky to have both parents who stand firm by their wedding vows. Whether or not they are still bounded by love, the fact that they are still together after almost two decades of marriage is already something that I find astonishing enough. They are gifted with seven children, and the love and caring that each children received (whether equally or not) from their parents manifest in their refined characters.
On the other hand, my parents who after countless times of separating and being together again and can no longer endure pretending to get along well after almost 20 years of marriage, had decided to part ways for the better. Every now and then, the picture of them fighting over some recurring arguments over the years has been my constant childhood memory.
I don’t see any signs that my boyfriend’s mother is cursing or scowling at them and calling them filthy names attributed to their father’s clan. And I doubt it too if his father ever hurt and abused them or his wife physically. And if his father had remained faithful and did not cheat even once to his wife is something that I’d rather not ponder on. (Maybe for the fear that if his father, being a good man that he is, was able to commit it once, there will be a fat chance of my boyfriend, inheriting the same sin in the future).
On the other hand, my mom’s nagging is the best alarm in the world that you can find. She also has a rich vocabulary of curses (which I am happy I did not learn). Both my parents are neither musicians nor magicians, but they can turn almost everything in our house into “musical instruments” (blag, boom, pak, krrrrssssshhhh) while both of them are screaming on the top of their voices. At a very young age, I have learned and became aware that no matter how holy the matrimony is, it can never be an assurance for the husband’s fidelity.
My boyfriend once told me that her mother used to be a plain housewife who looks after their every need. From the stories that her mother told me, it is quite obvious that she has also been her children’s first teacher.
On my side, it was either my lola who attends the PTA meeting for me, or I go home with a note with me wherein the highlights of the meeting is written. When I am to compete for a quiz or oratorical contest, my mom is sure to review and train her students first before me. The same goes with my father. He even wrote the same oratorical piece for me and his student reasoning that we are competing at different district levels. It’s good that both of us landed second on our respective districts, else we’ll end up fighting for the ownership of the piece at the division level.
Theirs was a humble home, big enough to give shelter to a family with 9 members. And for the times that I went home with him, I witness how close they really are. I do not know if the case is always like that, but then, they made me feel like a new born child finding comfort through the warmth of their home.
Ours isn’t really spacious at all, but the distant treatment towards one another and the absence of one member, feels like there’s so much room to house the iciness and loneliness in each hearts. There’s no place like home, they say, but for me, the place is just a house wherein I find comfort and warmth from my own bed, my pillow, my blanket and the stories I read from my books. Lately, I had even lost the eagerness to come home and spend the weekend since my two youngest siblings had developed the habit of spending theirs at my father’s home. Nobody wants to go “home” in an empty place and spend the weekend alone.
Again, I reckon…Is it hard?
I have been living this way since I first heard my own thoughts… and this has been a normal life for me. If it was changed half-way maybe that would make it difficult to live.
If the events in my life had been smooth and perfect, there’s no way for me to learn and appreciate the kind of family my boyfriend has.
Despite the circumstances, I had been good in my studies. I graduated from a prestigious University, landed on a job (although far from what I really want to have and do) where I learned many things and honed the skills I lately realized I have.
I am cold and distant towards others often times. I am contented to just stay within my comfort zones never letting my guard down. I am feeling awkward and may prefer being alone than let others meddle with my life. But that’s just the way I am. That’s what I am used to do. One thing I’ve learned from the coldness in my family is to be independent enough to deal with my own fears and difficulties. And I am proud of it.
When the times are hard and I get wounded by other people’s biased judgments, I did not opt to mingle with the wrong people and engaged in doing the wrong things. When gossips are being talked about in my presence, I have learned to just shrug it off knowing that the world was never fair to anyone. After all, none of the people who talked rudely of my family is living a holy life.
I eat three times a day. I still find time to go out and treat myself with some of the many things that life has to offer. I laugh. I play. I enjoy life just like my “normal” friends do. I feel left-out at times when they talk about their families, but then I am still thankful that I still have people to call my family, although mine is not the same with everyone else.
And out of the many people living in this world, even if most of the people that I am very close with have an almost perfect family, I know that I am not the only one that came from a broken home (I have my siblings to start with).
There are many others, who in my opinion are living a much difficult life than mine. So why do I bother living mine the way I am living it now?
For the last time, let me conclude… is it hard?
No it’s not. It’s just different from the rest of the world.
A friend once asked me, referring to my situation being a member of a broken home. Oftentimes, I just give the question a cold shrug as I don’t really put much thought about it, until recently after spending another weekend at my boyfriend’s home in Nueva Ecija.
I caught myself staring at the plaques that are proudly hanging on their wall. “Family of the Year” both plaque says. Four words that melted my indifference towards the subject and made me asked myself, Is it hard?
I don’t quite know how to put my thoughts into words. And so I ended up listing the difference of his family with mine.
My boyfriend is lucky to have both parents who stand firm by their wedding vows. Whether or not they are still bounded by love, the fact that they are still together after almost two decades of marriage is already something that I find astonishing enough. They are gifted with seven children, and the love and caring that each children received (whether equally or not) from their parents manifest in their refined characters.
On the other hand, my parents who after countless times of separating and being together again and can no longer endure pretending to get along well after almost 20 years of marriage, had decided to part ways for the better. Every now and then, the picture of them fighting over some recurring arguments over the years has been my constant childhood memory.
I don’t see any signs that my boyfriend’s mother is cursing or scowling at them and calling them filthy names attributed to their father’s clan. And I doubt it too if his father ever hurt and abused them or his wife physically. And if his father had remained faithful and did not cheat even once to his wife is something that I’d rather not ponder on. (Maybe for the fear that if his father, being a good man that he is, was able to commit it once, there will be a fat chance of my boyfriend, inheriting the same sin in the future).
On the other hand, my mom’s nagging is the best alarm in the world that you can find. She also has a rich vocabulary of curses (which I am happy I did not learn). Both my parents are neither musicians nor magicians, but they can turn almost everything in our house into “musical instruments” (blag, boom, pak, krrrrssssshhhh) while both of them are screaming on the top of their voices. At a very young age, I have learned and became aware that no matter how holy the matrimony is, it can never be an assurance for the husband’s fidelity.
My boyfriend once told me that her mother used to be a plain housewife who looks after their every need. From the stories that her mother told me, it is quite obvious that she has also been her children’s first teacher.
On my side, it was either my lola who attends the PTA meeting for me, or I go home with a note with me wherein the highlights of the meeting is written. When I am to compete for a quiz or oratorical contest, my mom is sure to review and train her students first before me. The same goes with my father. He even wrote the same oratorical piece for me and his student reasoning that we are competing at different district levels. It’s good that both of us landed second on our respective districts, else we’ll end up fighting for the ownership of the piece at the division level.
Theirs was a humble home, big enough to give shelter to a family with 9 members. And for the times that I went home with him, I witness how close they really are. I do not know if the case is always like that, but then, they made me feel like a new born child finding comfort through the warmth of their home.
Ours isn’t really spacious at all, but the distant treatment towards one another and the absence of one member, feels like there’s so much room to house the iciness and loneliness in each hearts. There’s no place like home, they say, but for me, the place is just a house wherein I find comfort and warmth from my own bed, my pillow, my blanket and the stories I read from my books. Lately, I had even lost the eagerness to come home and spend the weekend since my two youngest siblings had developed the habit of spending theirs at my father’s home. Nobody wants to go “home” in an empty place and spend the weekend alone.
Again, I reckon…Is it hard?
I have been living this way since I first heard my own thoughts… and this has been a normal life for me. If it was changed half-way maybe that would make it difficult to live.
If the events in my life had been smooth and perfect, there’s no way for me to learn and appreciate the kind of family my boyfriend has.
Despite the circumstances, I had been good in my studies. I graduated from a prestigious University, landed on a job (although far from what I really want to have and do) where I learned many things and honed the skills I lately realized I have.
I am cold and distant towards others often times. I am contented to just stay within my comfort zones never letting my guard down. I am feeling awkward and may prefer being alone than let others meddle with my life. But that’s just the way I am. That’s what I am used to do. One thing I’ve learned from the coldness in my family is to be independent enough to deal with my own fears and difficulties. And I am proud of it.
When the times are hard and I get wounded by other people’s biased judgments, I did not opt to mingle with the wrong people and engaged in doing the wrong things. When gossips are being talked about in my presence, I have learned to just shrug it off knowing that the world was never fair to anyone. After all, none of the people who talked rudely of my family is living a holy life.
I eat three times a day. I still find time to go out and treat myself with some of the many things that life has to offer. I laugh. I play. I enjoy life just like my “normal” friends do. I feel left-out at times when they talk about their families, but then I am still thankful that I still have people to call my family, although mine is not the same with everyone else.
And out of the many people living in this world, even if most of the people that I am very close with have an almost perfect family, I know that I am not the only one that came from a broken home (I have my siblings to start with).
There are many others, who in my opinion are living a much difficult life than mine. So why do I bother living mine the way I am living it now?
For the last time, let me conclude… is it hard?
No it’s not. It’s just different from the rest of the world.
posted by feeling blogger @ 2:08 AM
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