Story of The Broken Cycle
"Ano ang ginawa mo?! Bakit mo binasag 'yang mamahaling pinggan?" My mother exclaimed in a panicking and mad voice.
My eyes bulged out of fear, then I tried to voice out, "Mom, I didn't—"
Unfortunately, before I could defend myself, a rough hand held my chin so tight that a flat thing hit my face.
"Sasagot ka pa?!" she furiously said, then slapped my cheeks with a dusty slipper.
"Wala ka na ngang ginagawang bata ka..." another hit.
"Naninira ka pa ng gamit!" For the last time, a hit with max force made my face numb.
After that, my mother left, and I saw her catching some air.
Panicking, I rush to stand up. But to my surprise, I notice my whole body is shaking. I was shocked, yet I was used to this treatment.
The next thing I did was see myself in front of a mirror. And there it is: scattered blood on my lips and cheeks.
When the numbness cooled down, a pang of pain was felt all over my face and even my body. Then tears escaped my eyes afterwards.
Twenty-five years later, I was awakened by a loud drop of something fragile on the floor. My sight automatically turned to a little girl near the sofa where I slept.
I caught her picking up the pieces of broken glass.
I immediately went in her direction, and my heavy footsteps alerted her.
She stood up, panicking. "M-mom, I didn't—"
Before she could even say something, I held her hands.
"Baby, are you hurt? T-tell me where." My worried voice stunned her.
I suddenly hugged her tightly and lifted her away from where the broken glass was.
"Are you not mad, mommy?" She asked, sounding relieved.
"Why would I? I am more worried than anything else. Are you alright? Now, kiss mommy on her cheeks." Then my daughter gives my cheeks a quick kiss.
Although the trauma remains in my being, I am now a parent who doesn't want to let my child bear the same parenting as what my parents did.
I chose to break that kind of cycle.
