The guilt of a daughter is the rage of a woman.
I spent my life thinking that my father was a hero. He is the best person that I could ever imagine. His words may hit like a sword, but his actions are like when a painter does something diligently. Fortunately, he is fond of art, which is one reason why I like him. To be exact, I idolize his ways, words, and actions to the point where I want to follow them. He was scary and established his role inside our house, I can always feel it. He made me someone who he can be proud of when the time comes.
But all of these expectations that I had in him scattered when he cheated with a woman that I expected him to be with. All those nice treatments to her, the look that I still cannot fathom at that age, and a long-lasting talk as if they can’t see anyone in this world. What’s worse is she’s only a few years older than me. The next thing I knew, my father confessed that she was pregnant with their son, and I didn’t even know where they did it. All I knew was that it might be when I was absent, and he was sure that no one would catch them.
At that time, my mother did not fret. She stood silently while her eyes screamed sadness. I see her silent cries like an open book, but she decided to close it. I wanted to do something, to say something but I was still young, and I didn’t know what to do with their problems. All I ever wanted at that time was for them to be together again. But it feels more like an empty wish than a hope that I can get whenever Christmas comes.
And just like my mother, I stood there, pretending that I had already forgiven him just so I could have my family intact while suppressing the jealousy I had within.
Just like any other day, I pretended to be a daughter who saw him as my hero. However, day by day, those vague actions began to form a shape. Little by little, I saw his vulnerability, his weakest state, my father is not a hero nor a soldier. He was just a human who felt something that might make them weak. He showed me that weakness and asked for forgiveness that I still could not understand at that time.
He told me the reasons why he accepted a new son with another woman. He said it was because he thought I would have a hard time taking care of my brother, so he had to find another. It was like a cliffhanger, something that I still question up until this day. But there was one thing that will always haunt me up until this day. He said that he was only living with my mother because of us and that is the only reason he has right now. No love, pure empathy, and a sense of responsibility.
For so long, I lived my life hanging onto the fact that we are still together. At least we are complete and it’s all I could ask for. Yet I feel the pain that lingers deep within my heart. But I didn’t mind as it might only be a feeling that I could handle just like before. I let it stay there and chained it with the belief that I am content with what I have right now. I was so naive to think that the chains I created were strong.
But it was all just a bottle made of plastic, not steel that could withstand an impending heat.
And just like what I expected, it bursts. I realize how much his sin affects my life. How a mistake created streams of emotion that I didn’t know I had. The belief that I already forgave him for what he did is just a facade made to strengthen the walls that I created. All of those reckless decisions cries for attention, and pushing people away were all just a defense mechanism so that the curse of being the daughter of a cheater wouldn’t come at me. Although, it still did, my heart still longs for it to not happen once again so I built a wall that no one could ever break.
I thought, just like before, I would just shrug it off. But I spent my day crying, ranting on Twitter, and keeping my thoughts flowing like a dam that breaks its walls. I finally found out what I hid behind those smiles. As a daughter, I felt a guilt that struck my gut. I feel guilty for not protecting my mother’s heart, for accepting the man who hurt her badly. I feel guilty for not noticing those lustful eyes that they shared as I happily go to school. I feel guilty for not being capable of protecting the family that my brother could be proud of.
But as a woman, I was angry. I feel rage whenever I think that he took advantage of the woman who trusted him the most. I am angry with the fact that he never thought of us when he was in bed with another woman. I hate the fact that he never even thought about what his son would’ve felt if he knew about his atrocities. This never occurred to me, not until the world proved to me that it’s okay to feel this way and it is normal to be angry. It’s okay to not forgive even if you act as if it was all fine. And I finally accepted the feeling that I had suppressed for so many years. But I also realize one thing.
He was never the hero; he might just be someone I look up to. But he is still the person who became a hindrance to my growth. A person who betrayed me even if he acted like he didn’t. The person who laughed as I cried my eyes out.
The person I saw as a hero became the antagonist of my life.
