how am I going to start writing what I feel? I am mad. no, I am furious. I am disappointed. with myself, with my brother. and I thought that I am, but I am, I am disappointed with this life tonight.
my brother and I had a very big fight. I am 22 and he is 12. he has this habit of not listening to me. I don’t know if he inadvertently do it or he just a tough nut to crack. or maybe, I am not getting my across to him.
last night he has a slight fever. until the wee of this morning he cannot find his sleep as he finds it hard to with a slight cold. I can even hear him cough his phlegm out at 3 in the morning. this morning when he woke up he was feeling a bit better but he said that he is still feeling the hang up of his cold. but he was relatively ok.
just after lunch he went out of the house. having been scolded the night before, I thought that he was just going to stay at the garage. when I saw him went out of the gate I thought he was just going to buy some junks at a nearby store. but six hours passed he has not returned. worst, it is raining damn hard outside. stupid me to have thought that he aunt gonna be any farther than the sari sari store.
I have scolded him the night before for going to his friends without letting anybody in the house know. was I being unreasonable? I don’t think so. every time he messes up, the blame is on me. every time I scold him, the blame will still be on me.
I was so furious at him. I am not stupid for him to act as if I am! I punched him on his shoulder. I hit the book I was holding on his head. I have laid my hands on him. was I being reasonable? no I was knot, I know. I know it was bad to lay my hands on him. but what can I do? I was fuming hot with anger.
my mom used to tell me not to hurt him but instead talk to him nicely. so I did, but to no avail. I don’t know what to do with him anymore. if only he is not my brother id let him ruin his life. but the problem is cant let that happen! the bigger problem is that he just wont listen to me. the biggest problem is that I can lay my hands on him every time I lose my temper big time.
I am mad at him because I am so damn tired of telling him to straighten himself up. I am so mad at my mom to put most of the blame on me every time he messes up because I was older and that I should discipline without knowing that my brother is what basketball coaches call as "uncoachable." I am so mad at my grandmother for being so lenient at my brother to the point the she already spoil him.
am I just jealous? nah!
I am not asking for understanding. I am not asking for whatever. I know I was wrong to have hit him and that I cannot ask the society "kasalanan ko ba?"
I too was a battered kid. my parents were already going in and out of the country when I was only 5 years old. at first they have entrusted me to my father's cousin. she used to him me with anything that she got hold of. a broom, a belt, a belt with its buckle, a one inch thick stick, a mop handle, with her bare hands, a construction log, with her closed fist. I was locked up by my yaya inside my room for hours for not sleeping the required hours of siesta, I was beaten up for failing to get a star in school, I was beaten having difficulty in consuming the food she put on my plate, I was beaten for a lot of reasons which I have already forgotten.
no one knew what was going on because I never had the guts to tell to my parents about it. I was afraid that my yaya might get back on me if I do. for years I was trying so hard to consume the food that she puts on my plate, I was acting as if I was sleeping for hours just to avoid being locked up in my room. I can remember when I was in grade one I was begging my teacher to put a star on my wrist to avoid being hit by a stick. I was begging for toys from my playmates because she does not want to spoil me by buying one. Christmas of 1989, I hanged a sock with a wish list of toys and bags of pop rice for Santa. The threw it the morning after without letting me know. I spent hours looking for the sock. I spent hours looking for my pencil in our classroom for fear that she might hit me if she learns about it.
And I hate it that no one was there for me. I hate that lola was never there for me the way she was there for my brother. I hate it that no one told my yaya not to hit me the way my mother tells me not to hit my brother. I hate it to have hurt my brother. I am not a good kuya, but I am not bad either. I cannot ask if it was my fault to have hit him. It was bad, I know.
I have grown to become this mad at the things that disrupts the normalcy of my life. I have grown to become this mad at my childhood. This time, kasalanan ko ba?
