HAIR
Posted: Friday, April 27, 2012 by RoNRoNTuRoN in
They used to tease me as tomboy.
Maybe it's with my accent. Growing up in Batangas, I speak words with a certain sharp weight. Or maybe it's the way I dress. Or maybe its the way I act... or look.
Or maybe it's just my hair.
I don't have any problems or issues with it. I like it extra short. More than the comfort it brings me during the hot and humid summer days, it makes me who I am, and it's a painful reminder of what I have been through.
He has been my boyfriend ever since college. My hair was long back then. We are together for eight years now, and within those eight years of being together came a series of happenings that shook my life and turned everything upside down.
He works as an international seafarer. I work as a nurse in the Philippines. We are used to days and months of being away from each other, which were all compensated by the sweet moments during his vacations in the Philippines. I thought the years of staying so much in love would be endless.
Until 1 day in 2010, he slowly drifted away. No, not really. He did it in an instant. I was caught off guard. It didn't even cross my mind, not even once, that one day, he'll be saying goodbye without a clear promise of ever coming back. He just vanished, and that was it. I was left clueless, and that was the most painful part. Having to wait for an answer to a question that was never given the chance to be asked was really a torment. I tried my best to contact him, but the closest explanation I got was a simple message that he is not yet ready to speak to and face me again.
So I was left with the paranoia on whatever his reason was for being so. The days crawled into weeks and then into months. I learned to move on. Each monthsary that passed, I was alone. Each monthsary, I cut my hair short. Then shorter. And shorter. My friends started calling me names like "pare" or "tol". It's ok for me, I was never pikon (or so...). I slowly learned to live my life, but God knows how I cried every night still thinking of our relationship that was left hanging. Life went on but my feelings didn't move on.
One day in 2011, he came back. I was really shocked. It was a pot of emotions that enveloped me. And then he said the truth to me.
He impregnated.... a prostitute. and that she recently gave birth...
Ouch.
He said he'll be taking responsibility for the child. His parents already learned to love the child and that made me feel like I was suddenly out of the picture. But he said that he's still in love with me and he'll not marry the prostitute mother of his child. I so wanted to slap him that moment, but I felt so defeated that I found myself bursting in tears and crying in his arms. I was weak, yes. You may call me stupid, I am. I am also deeply in love. And that's what mattered to me that time.
One busy day at work, he came out of nowhere. He asked me to go with him. I said I'can't and he has to wait until my shift ends. I turned my back and went the opposite way. Then he shouted, he shouted so loud that all of the people in the nurses' station went silent and looked at us. I even saw some patients' visitors went out their rooms to check about the commotion that was happening. He wanted me to come so bad that he actually made a scene and I was left with no choice but to go with him just to prevent him from making further commotion.
I left my patients. I left the hospital without any explanation to where I was going. I also didn't know. When I asked him, he said: basta.
We took a cab and arrived at a famous hotel. It was only then that I noticed he was holding a brown envelope. I wondered what was inside. We went in, and was met by a lady in a formal dress and a girl (which I guessed was the prostitute). The purpose of the meeting became clear to me.
The lady in the formal dress was a lawyer and the document inside the envelope was the DNA result of their child. The child was not his. Everything was just an overload and I surely can't process all the facts that unfolded that moment. My mind went blank and all my thoughts were just a salad. He too was really wasted and I saw his eyes staring blankly at nowhere. If it was hard for me, I can't image how hard it could be for him.
We spent the night at a cheap motel in Sta. Mesa. My conscience bothered me and wouldn't allow him to go home with a pool of wandering thoughts.
Nothing happened there. We just laid on the bed, silent, barely speaking. I found myself crying silently, and so did he, I sensed.
When I sensed that he fell asleep, i stood up and sat in front of the dresser. I looked at myself on the mirror and saw the pain as it crumbles me down. No words could explain how I felt that night. How painful it was to think all we've been through was because of a lie. That moment, I don't know if I could still love him the same way as before. My mind was really clouded by the pain. I can't be sure If I'll look at him the same way as I did before, or if he still deserves my love and respect. I realized the thin line between love and self respect. I felt defeated by the circumstance and it's as if there's no way of climbing up the surface. I wondered if this event was a wake up call for me or just a challenge we have to win together. I wondered if this event was destined to make us part ways to two individuals made stronger by their experiences. Or was it a test to make our relationship stronger?
Minutes passed and I was still looking at my reflection in the mirror. I reached for the bandage scissor in my bag. Then I looked at myself for a couple of seconds. Then I began cutting my hair. Crying, I released my emotions and let it fall to the floor together with my hair.
My only prayer that night is that someday, I'll die living as free as my hair, for it's all the glory that I have.
I'm as free as my hair.
*****
this narration is dedicated to a female friend and former work colleague, who loved, cried and lived again. Someone that is free as her hair.
Maybe it's with my accent. Growing up in Batangas, I speak words with a certain sharp weight. Or maybe it's the way I dress. Or maybe its the way I act... or look.
Or maybe it's just my hair.
I don't have any problems or issues with it. I like it extra short. More than the comfort it brings me during the hot and humid summer days, it makes me who I am, and it's a painful reminder of what I have been through.
He has been my boyfriend ever since college. My hair was long back then. We are together for eight years now, and within those eight years of being together came a series of happenings that shook my life and turned everything upside down.
He works as an international seafarer. I work as a nurse in the Philippines. We are used to days and months of being away from each other, which were all compensated by the sweet moments during his vacations in the Philippines. I thought the years of staying so much in love would be endless.
Until 1 day in 2010, he slowly drifted away. No, not really. He did it in an instant. I was caught off guard. It didn't even cross my mind, not even once, that one day, he'll be saying goodbye without a clear promise of ever coming back. He just vanished, and that was it. I was left clueless, and that was the most painful part. Having to wait for an answer to a question that was never given the chance to be asked was really a torment. I tried my best to contact him, but the closest explanation I got was a simple message that he is not yet ready to speak to and face me again.
So I was left with the paranoia on whatever his reason was for being so. The days crawled into weeks and then into months. I learned to move on. Each monthsary that passed, I was alone. Each monthsary, I cut my hair short. Then shorter. And shorter. My friends started calling me names like "pare" or "tol". It's ok for me, I was never pikon (or so...). I slowly learned to live my life, but God knows how I cried every night still thinking of our relationship that was left hanging. Life went on but my feelings didn't move on.
One day in 2011, he came back. I was really shocked. It was a pot of emotions that enveloped me. And then he said the truth to me.
He impregnated.... a prostitute. and that she recently gave birth...
Ouch.
He said he'll be taking responsibility for the child. His parents already learned to love the child and that made me feel like I was suddenly out of the picture. But he said that he's still in love with me and he'll not marry the prostitute mother of his child. I so wanted to slap him that moment, but I felt so defeated that I found myself bursting in tears and crying in his arms. I was weak, yes. You may call me stupid, I am. I am also deeply in love. And that's what mattered to me that time.
One busy day at work, he came out of nowhere. He asked me to go with him. I said I'can't and he has to wait until my shift ends. I turned my back and went the opposite way. Then he shouted, he shouted so loud that all of the people in the nurses' station went silent and looked at us. I even saw some patients' visitors went out their rooms to check about the commotion that was happening. He wanted me to come so bad that he actually made a scene and I was left with no choice but to go with him just to prevent him from making further commotion.
I left my patients. I left the hospital without any explanation to where I was going. I also didn't know. When I asked him, he said: basta.
We took a cab and arrived at a famous hotel. It was only then that I noticed he was holding a brown envelope. I wondered what was inside. We went in, and was met by a lady in a formal dress and a girl (which I guessed was the prostitute). The purpose of the meeting became clear to me.
The lady in the formal dress was a lawyer and the document inside the envelope was the DNA result of their child. The child was not his. Everything was just an overload and I surely can't process all the facts that unfolded that moment. My mind went blank and all my thoughts were just a salad. He too was really wasted and I saw his eyes staring blankly at nowhere. If it was hard for me, I can't image how hard it could be for him.
We spent the night at a cheap motel in Sta. Mesa. My conscience bothered me and wouldn't allow him to go home with a pool of wandering thoughts.
Nothing happened there. We just laid on the bed, silent, barely speaking. I found myself crying silently, and so did he, I sensed.
When I sensed that he fell asleep, i stood up and sat in front of the dresser. I looked at myself on the mirror and saw the pain as it crumbles me down. No words could explain how I felt that night. How painful it was to think all we've been through was because of a lie. That moment, I don't know if I could still love him the same way as before. My mind was really clouded by the pain. I can't be sure If I'll look at him the same way as I did before, or if he still deserves my love and respect. I realized the thin line between love and self respect. I felt defeated by the circumstance and it's as if there's no way of climbing up the surface. I wondered if this event was a wake up call for me or just a challenge we have to win together. I wondered if this event was destined to make us part ways to two individuals made stronger by their experiences. Or was it a test to make our relationship stronger?
Minutes passed and I was still looking at my reflection in the mirror. I reached for the bandage scissor in my bag. Then I looked at myself for a couple of seconds. Then I began cutting my hair. Crying, I released my emotions and let it fall to the floor together with my hair.
My only prayer that night is that someday, I'll die living as free as my hair, for it's all the glory that I have.
I'm as free as my hair.
*****
this narration is dedicated to a female friend and former work colleague, who loved, cried and lived again. Someone that is free as her hair.
I say one of the best you've ever written, er, typed.
Belated Happy Birthday Ron.
Your long hair, it was your emotional baggage.
But now it's gone.
And hopefully, so are those emotions of stopping you to love fully.