My Dad was impotent and my Mom was a nymphomaniac. And me – where on earth did I come from?
A putrid smell rolled up to my nostrils as I walked toward the gate of my house, giving me another headache. I didn’t know if it was because of the pile of garbage nearby, or if it was just my imagination. Hell. How I hate this place. If I could only be taken away, and I would be gone and set free.
There were times that I just wanted to cry out loud and explode, to air my feelings and burst into tears. The wound was growing deeper and I wanted to ask questions that for sure would offend my parents. What has happened?
I was five when I remember I first saw my mother hanging out with different men each night. My Dad did nothing but watch T.V. My Mom would always be out after dinner doing God-knows-what. And every morning, I woke up with my Mom cooking breakfast wearing the clothes she wore the night before, and my Dad would just be reading the newspaper. Twelve years of life in hell, my life went on like that, and the only explanation I got was the time when my Mom got drunk, she told me that my Dad was impotent while she, was a pathetic nymphomaniac.
And I saw everything. As I grew up, I saw how my father struggle every time my Mom would reluctantly satisfy her need. They were hopeless, trying to fight a battle they knew they could never win. They didn’t want it, but they were too weak to resist it. My Dad had always wanted to respond to my Mom, but his impotence would not do him a favor. My Mom would want no one to be with but my Dad, however, this family boldly bloomed in beautiful imperfection, her flesh would not stop groaning and all she could do was feed it. Feed it. My Dad wanted to feed and my Mom wanted to be fed, a thing they could never do with each other.
My mind was filled with confusion, desperate of explanations. Silence has conquered my house, inhabited by mute creatures that were robbed out of tongues, no one ever dared to talk about it. I could not understand, my parents were treating each other as if everything was perfect, as if everything was going on normally, but my Mom, my Mom has gone out with like, almost all the men in the world? So I went on moping around the house full of apathy everyday, burying myself of all the emotional torture I could ever imagine. Self pity I supposed. I was hurt. I hated my parents, and distanced myself from them. I didn’t want to get any closer to them for there was a deep torment inside me. How could this happen?
They don't know that I go running home when I fall down.
Where was my home supposedly? Where was the home that was supposed to be my refuge when I got burn out wrestling with the outside world? Where was the home that was supposed to be my dwelling place and my source of help? Where was my strength?
The putrid smell that rolled up in my nostrils had made me realized something. I was tired of this. I needed to run away. Far away from home, I went away.
They don't know who picks me up when no one is around.
Where was this all going? When would I be used to it? I got tired of fighting with the reality. Acceptance was hard and painful, I could just not stop crying my heart out.
Cause deep inside this armor, the warrior is a child.
When would they consider that I needed understanding? I was starting to lose myself, hanging by a thread.
But the more I tried to protect myself, the more I felt alone, the more I felt that I was all by myself. Yes, I escaped a family of losers, I have done what I wanted, but I did not get the feeling that I needed. I could not understand why there were things that we desperately wanted to get, and not until we have it, we would not realize that it was not what we really needed after all. And this running away thing haunted me down. My parents, I took them for granted. I did nothing but complained, seeing only the things that broke my heart. I kept on wishing for an ideal family, I did not see how my parents struggle to give me one.
I drop my sword and look up for His smile. Because deep inside this armor, the warrior is a child.
My parents have been fighting a battle that they have been losing for many years. And me, this time, I need to fight with them too. A warrior was not to give up. A warrior was to please his King. I was born to win this battle, whatever it would take.
I came back.
My Dad was impotent, and my Mom a nymphomaniac. And I still did not know where I came from, but I knew where I belonged.
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