I could hardly see the man’s face hovering above the woman. But that face- with the curly black hair, lips parted and eyes wide shut were all too familiar. The woman’s face was beautiful, sexy eyes , any man could drown himself in it.
The two bodies were intertwined. They were dancing in total abandonment- no shame,no inhibitions, just unadulterated passion.
And then, I woke up. My mouth felt dry, and there were beads of sweat on my forehead. I cried, I cried hard, I almost wept.
The man was my father,the woman his mistress.
And believe it or not, I was 11 years old.
You might wonder, what kind of child dreams of such graphic, detailed,obscene,and vulgar dream? Well, I was that kind of child.
This child saw everything. This child was brought by her own father to his love nest where he kept his mistress and his children. This child was introduced to them, they were introduced as her aunt and cousins. This child spent a few weeks with the royal family, ate their food, slept in their rooms, looked them in the eye and swallowed all their rotten lies. This child saw her own father take care of his girls, while this child craved for love and attention, and then some. This child was taught to never tell, and this child fell for those lies hook,line and sinker. This child witnessed her father’s betrayal, and it almost broke her apart.
What business does an 11-year old have to have those dreams? I don’t know. All I know is that I have died a thousand deaths everytime the dream comes.
The night I saw it all was the night love died inside of me. The night I saw it all was the night I became an angry little girl. I didn’t know such anger could exist…
And then I grew up. Or did I? I must admit, there came a point in my life when I hated men. To me they were all alike,suckers who will bleed women high and dry and toss them aside like ragdolls when they are done.
Lo’ and behold, I was such a loser. the greatest betrayal came thundering in without a warning. It took me by surprise, hitting me right between the eyes it nearly knocked the breath out of me. I betrayed myself. Sold myself to the devil for a price called love. I fell inlove. That crazy giddy feeling that gets you when you least expect it. I hated myself, but I couldn’t help it. No matter how hard I fought the feeling,the more I fell. Reality bites, I was not made of ice after all.
But the thing about unrequited love is that it sucks-big time! That man wanted the Girl from Ipanema,and well, I was just a girl from a sleepy old city called Tuguegarao. How could I compare with that? There was just no way in hell he’d feel the same way. So I stopped, put my chin up, walked with my usual swagger and was the angry girl all over again. On and on it went-”men are dogs…blahblahblahyadayadayada!”
The truth is I am scared. I don’t hate my father anymore. Hate is such a strong word. I am more indifferent now, I just can’t feel anything for him anymore. Does that make me a bad daughter? Yes, but it also makes him a bad father.We’re even. But the scary part is that no matter how much I distance myself from him, or the memories of him, the truth keeps on hitting me in the face. I keep on falling for the wrong kind of men-HIS kind-scoundrels and womanizers.
Come to think of it, my father has the last laugh after all. Maybe, it is fate’s way of saying , “screw you and your sanctimonious ass, because no matter how much you deny it, you are still your father’s daughter.”
I have gotten over that man. I helped myself. Maybe there is someone I’d like to get to know more,the fool that I am. But I am teaching myself to be cautious. I just can’t take another blow anymore.
So this is me. Maybe this sad truth made me the way that I am today. I’d like to pass the blame on my father, for making me like this. But I refuse to do so, he has no hold on me anymore…
But please,indulge me. Just one question. Tell me, daddy, am I broken?
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