Cracks I did not see

CEBU, Philippines - Skyscrapers interest me. They come in different shapes, colors, height and material. There are simple rectangular ones while there are those with intricate details. Every time I look at a skyscraper, I imagine the story behind each one and I start to wonder what is beyond the façade. What is inside the skyscraper? What is it for? What can be found behind the paint? The thing that interests me most about skyscrapers though is their similarity to my family: both have the ability to hide its cracks beneath the layers of paint.

I had always believed that I had a perfectly complete family. My mother and father were together, I had a good relationship with my siblings despite the age gap, and we were close to the extended members of the family.

But later, I stood corrected. What I failed to see was that my family was like a skyscraper; It looked so perfect on the outside but beneath the layers of happiness were cracks that were capable of making my family collapse.

If my memory does not betray me, the date was September 9, 2010. Eyes closed, I was lying on my bed trying to appreciate the softness of my mattress and the comfort it offers. I was exhausted. No, exhausted was an understatement. I used up all my energy on enjoying the last day of my last intramurals in high school. It was a cold  Friday  evening and I was alone in the room. Because of our house’s renovation, my parents decided to rent a room near my school that I had to share with my younger sister, Lexey, and our helper. Since it was intramurals week, Lexey decided to skip the celebration and spend the week with our mom and brother in our hometown, Argao. Our helper was in the separate kitchen washing the dishes. I was left all alone in the room with nothing but the thought of rewarding myself with 10 hours of good sleep.

My heavy eyelids were about to surrender when a familiar tone started blasting. It was my mother calling. I pressed the answer button and greeted her with a sleepy hello. I was expecting a lively “Hello, daughter!” from my mother but all I got were sobs. I was startled. I have never seen — or heard — my mother cry aside from funerals and television dramas. I was about to ask what’s wrong when she uttered the two words that gave my life a 360-degree turn:  It’s over.

Puzzled, I asked her what was over. Was it the Filipino drama she’s watching? I wish it was just that but no, it was more than that. Way, way, way more than that. I can still remember how my mother’s voice shook when she said, “Us, imong papa and ako  (Us, your father and I)”. Every cell in my body was too weak that I could not process what she said. In between sobs, my mother tried to explain to me that she finally found evidence of my father’s infidelity. There were cracks in our skyscraper and she did not know what to do.

As those painful words left her mouth, a stream of tears started to flow down to my cheek. Disrespectful as it may be, I told her to stop talking. I believed everything my mom said but I wanted to hear my father’s side. I dialed his number. The seconds I waited for him to answer were hell. I grew more and more impatient. When he answered the call, he was greeted with a shaky “Naa ka’y babae, yes or no? (You have a mistress, yes or no?).” I was expecting a yes but at the back of my mind I wished he would lie and say no. After two minutes of silence and occasional sobs, my father said with the softest voice, “I’m sorry”. I did not let him explain. I knew what was going to happen next. My dad had no idea what to do with the cracks, too.

Never did I expect that an “It’s over” and an “I’m sorry” would slap me out of the idealistic “reality” I was stuck in. I was too blind not to notice the cracks in our skyscraper. I was too busy appreciating the façade that I did not notice cracks were slowly showing up.

A few weeks later, my mother consulted us whether we would agree to our parents having an annulment. My younger siblings were devastated. They were too young to understand the situation but they knew what was going on. I was known as the ray of sunshine among us siblings because of my perpetual optimism. Living up to that label, I asked my mom, “Why give up on something when it can still be fixed?”

For about two years, my parents lived up to that principle and tried to settle their differences. Unfortunately, there was no progress. The cracks we were trying to fix were growing and there was nothing we could do. Our foundations had become weak. Our skyscraper was about to crumble any minute and if we did not give up, we would be crushed under the rubble.

It was then that everyone in the family including my siblings decided that there was no hope. We had to say goodbye to our skyscraper. We had to move on. We realized that a family does not have to be complete to be happy. A family’s happiness is not measured by its completeness but by how its members positively interact with each other. The same goes for a skyscraper. A skyscraper’s greatness is not measured by the facilities it has but by its overall ability to withstand earthquakes that may turn fifty floors of concrete into rubble.

It has been a year and we have a new skyscraper with my mom, siblings and the extended members of our little family. Our father visits us once a week to fulfill his financial duties by virtue of being our biological and legal father. Even though our family is not complete, we are still happy and contented.

When the issue was still hot, I would keep quiet and tear up when I started talking about how my seemingly happy family became dysfunctional. To be honest, I was embarrassed because I was a member of a broken family. I was scared that people might pity me. I did not want to hear aww’s and “okay ra na’s”. These words make me feel weak and who would want to be called weak?

As the years went by, though, I realized that recognizing there are cracks doesn’t make you weak. In fact, it is a sign of strength. Why? Because not everyone is strong enough to accept that there are cracks they cannot fix and not everyone is strong enough to leave their skyscraper behind.

I am proud to say that I survived an earthquake that destroyed our skyscraper. I am proud to say that I tried to fix the cracks. I am proud to say that I am happy with our decision to leave that skyscraper because I knew it wouldn’t do us any good. I am now proud to share my story with everyone. There are still aftershocks but hey, I survived the earthquake so why couldn’t I handle a few tremors? (FREEMAN)