danse macabre
previously published on facebook, august 2016
trigger warning: abuse
my maternal grandmother passed away on the 4th of august 2016 due to the complications from stroke. those who knew about my struggles with my grandmother questioned me on why am i so sad.
"you should be happy now that she is gone. she's abusive and she deserves it blah blah blah yadda yadda yadda"
truth is, i don't know what am i suppose to feel anymore. numb, perhaps. i had the angel of death waited at my feet twice for the past year (ICU for dengue in 2/2015, brain trauma & amnesia from car accident in 9/2015), i know for sure death is something you don't make fun of. whether or not the person deserves it, it is none of our business.
her abuse was very extensive, not just on me, but my siblings and her four children as well. my younger brothers were lucky because my father protected them (patriarchy), and it is up to me and my sisters to survive the abusive and misogynistic childhood (and teenage years).
besides beating me with random object around the house, her favourite was driving my head against a wall. when i was in pre-school, she would tie me up with a rope against the door grill and force-fed me whenever i refused to eat. once, she took out a machete and luckily for me; she did not use it. i had to cook and clean and change my younger siblingsā diapers instead of doing homework or studying (we had maids during this time).
the abuse lessened during my teenage years. my mother quit her job and became a housewife full-time (and fired all the maids). her abuse became verbal instead. i rather not go through the details.
friends from high school, if you're reading this, i apologized for all the weird shit that i did. my house at that time is what it is; a house, not a home.
where were my parents, you asked? they were busy chasing money. they were too busy to stop and listen to me. we were financially not stable, according to my mother. but somehow, my brothers always had what they wanted. hmm...
all the abuse that my grandmother had committed only came to light to my parents six years ago. somehow, three of us sisters had the courage to unite and speak out. of course, my father was defensive. we should've told him sooner, he said. it is our fault that we let this happened during our growing up years, if not he would've stopped it. insert more victim blaming shit here
my father reacted to his guilt in his own way, by showering us with material things (by this time, my brothers already ditched him; āanakku sazaliā and āsi tanggangā style). something very unexpected from a man who, unfortunately for me, spew out a lot of abusive words during my growing up years as well. everything i did was useless and i am a waste of money. (oh according to him i'm very useful now since i help him handle his business dealings)
i grew up without love. and until today, i still believe that i do not need one.
my parents came back from the funeral two days later. they looked relieved. no glint of sadness in their eyes. meanwhile, i was crashing my own train of thought, against a wall, in my head, thousands of times.
i do not know what turned her to be such an awful person. i do not know her struggles. i do not know her pain. was all the abuse is the reflection of how she feels inside? i donāt know anymore.
i am sad because she had to live her entire life hated by neighbours, relatives, and her own children and grandchildren. i am sad because deep down inside, i know she is lonely. i am sad because she doesn't change to be better until the last day of her life. i am sad because she wasn't given the chance to redeem herself.
may she rest in peace. may she found whatever it is that she's looking for.
"many that live deserve death. and some that die deserve life. can you give it to them? then do not be too eager to deal out death in judgement. for even the very wise cannot see all ends" -- Gandalf