Parents’ Separation: A Daughter's Perspective

Let me be me on this blog. Since there is no way that a person can clearly deliver his or her thoughts if done indirectly, then maybe this time I want to speak in my behalf.

Yes, I am one of those whose parents are separated; divorced, legally separated, living apart… you can call it by your own terms and definition. Well, they all mean the same – a broken family.

I was 15 years old, few months before I’ll turn 16 when Mom and Dad finally agreed to separate. We don’t have divorce here in the Philippines, only annulment of marriage (whatever their difference is, I don’t really care). But either way, my parents are separated. 

Although it is now vague to me whenever I think about those days when we are still a “family”, I’d still love to rekindle and reminisce the past. 

My parents are not rich. We are not rich. Dad used to be the “home-buddy” and in charged to take good care of me and sister when we were very young. My mother is the one working for the family. After several years, my father has to work and became a police officer. 

But since, Daddy has been staying with us most of the times that I became more inclined to being close to him. He was like a hero to me. He taught me a lot of things that mother prohibit me to try like playing with the kids in the neighborhood, try eating some street foods and get involved in some fights! My father taught me to be tough, to be a fighter. Mother on the other hand taught me everything that I need to know about God, being good to other people, respect, obedient and all of the stuff that I can learn at school from A to Z and 1 to infinity. She’s the soft sweet one. Dad’s the opposite.

I know my Dad so well. Of course, he’s my best friend and my hero. I know all of those that he’s been doing. But I am sure, Mom is pretty much aware about those too. Well, I guess my Dad was just born a womanizer. I have to call him “Uncle” if he’s faced with a sexy and gorgeous lady. I need to pretend I don’t care. At a very young age, I’ve learned how to wear a mask and how to wear a fancy smile. Dad indirectly taught me that too.

I didn’t really care. All I care about is I have a family and my father is living with us. I didn’t know, Mom was thinking the same. There were a lot of things that happened. Several secret fights between my parents have taken place. I know. I can feel it even if they are hiding it from us. I know something is wrong and one day so soon, they’ll call it quit. 

I was 15 years old… just few months more and I’ll turn 16 when Dad left. It broke my heart to see him go along with his stuff. It’s as if I saw my super hero fade away and will never come back.

Since then I no longer celebrate Christmas, New Year and Birthdays. And I started to hate December, January and my birth month. I hate even a Christmas Tree’s silhouette. It reminds me of those times when my parents set up the tree together. Every time I look at guys I am seeing devils and it feels like I want to choke them to death. I hate it when I’ll see a father and his child enjoying moments together. I hate it when I’ll see a family attending mass together. 

I understand how important it is to make a decision even if it means so much pain. Especially if the resulting pains are the remedy to end those existing pains. I love my parents. And as much as I want to, how I wish I can have my family back. However, that’s impossible now. Dad has another family. Mother stayed single with us but is currently enjoying her life. And it looks like both of them are happy now. That’s all that matters to me – my parents are happy.

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