That One Eventful Night ✔️

11

Warning:

Emotional rage. Self crisis. Frustration.

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"You are half-German, as I am a German, born in Germany, with German blood running in my veins," my dad said as he talked about the reason why they live in this island, and not in Canada or Germany. I simply have less care about my nationality as I've always believed that I am a Filipino, a Boholana, to be specific.

Nobody told me why when I arrived here. Everything fell into places without telling me where my place is. He continued, "I brought your brothers in Germany because—"

"Because you want them to study medicine. Axdrell aced two major. Axtell is becoming a designer though he's also a doctor." I finished his sentence. He seemed caught off when I knew what he was about to say. It was really not something to be surprised of. I knew all of that. If there was a test about my family, I'd easily ace it. Who wouldn't when all your life, you've been reminded why and how they left?

Axdrell interrupted me. "Look, why don't we lower down our tones. Father, I suggest you use the right words, and sister, calm down." I glared at him and rolled my eyes. I didn't realize I could do that. Oh, did I just disrespected my oldest brother? Oh no!

*The struggles*

I cleared my throat and tried to calm down, as what he pointed out, but my tone said no, otherwise, I wouldn't be holding on to my clothes. "Father, I know all those stuff. My question is, why did you not bring me with you? Why did mother not bring me to Canada? I was also sick," I complained. I felt déjà vu but then I realized—I've been saying the same thing all over again.

I tried to bite my tongue but it seemed like my brain is not letting me. "I got sick a couple of times. I also want to study medicine. Yet I was not included. Am I not your child?" I sound so offended... it's because I am.

Axdrell sighed. He's thinking I should've not questioned the obvious one. I but my tongue also. I realized I was also wrong. You know what they say? It's hard for humans to point out their own mistakes in an argument too. I'm glad I am able to point mine.

My father seemed to be ashamed of what he had done to me, knowing what I felt, my struggles, my wishes, knowing that it was indeed his fault and I am not to be blamed about it, and he's ashamed that he couldn't bring himself to answer my question. I sighed and apologized for making him feel ashamed. I promised to myself that I wouldn't shame others. He's my father, I respect him, a lot.

"You are my child. My youngest, my Adesina Violette Karahalios. No words can explain how regretful I am. But I cannot bring back the past nor I can go back to it. If you want to hate me, I'll accept it." He held my hand and closed his eyes, feeling his heavy heart. I don't know how it hurts him too so I felt the need to respond.

"I don't hate, father. Jesus does not bear hatred with him and throw it on others. Instead, He carries and accepts all the hatred humans gave and give to Him. Or have you forgotten that I am a follower of Christ?" I wanted to add the fact that he was a Christian. In fact, he was the most religious, and obedient to God. How come he had changed?

"Oh, I know all that too. I can't explain why—you were just a child, then. I thought you wouldn't thought about it that much. We needed to work," my anger seemed to twirl inside me. It seemed it wanted to come out, and it did.

I rose up and shouted, "A child! A child who needed her parents by her side. I was 5 when my mother left, and I was 10 when you left. 10! Half of my life, you were gone. I wrote you letters every day! Mama Tri sends pictures every day and even begged you to come back, but you didn't" I'm sick of always reminding them of how long they left me. I'm sick of always reminding them how it hurt me before, and how it still hurts me now.