The Quarantine Diary
I believe things happen for a reason, but there are some instances, where I want to question the universe for doing certain things. Like the time my fifth-grade teacher made a comment in front of the whole class, on how similar my laugh was to the Disney character Goofy. I can still remember the feeling of wanting my desk to have a mouth and swallow me whole—to escape from the explosion of laughter that erupted from my classmates. Instead, I had to kindly play along like it was funny. What did I gain from that? I don’t know—I’m still waiting for a reply.
While the sober part of him is a good provider and a hard-working man, the alcoholic dependent side of him is verbally and emotionally abusive towards us—his own family.
If I do the interview here at home, I know I would be either interrupted by one of the five other people in the apartment, not to mention two yapping dogs on the side. With my luck, I wouldn’t get two words in without someone yelling out something like, “Someone take out the gremlins!” Or “It’s my turn to play with the PS4!”. There are also surprise visits from my older cousins, stopping by for a free hot meal and giving us a free slap of criticism on how much we need to work on our apartment and our family, before heading home to their wives and children.
My mother doesn’t see that. She is refusing to see that there’s anything wrong with this or the situation we live in. So I rather keep my mouth shut and let her yell out all her frustrations on to me.
I think my mom is still in love with my dad’s sweeter side. The man that used to hold her hand and write love poems to her. Every time she mentions stories of them together back in Colombia, I can see why she is on the defensive when I talk about his “one” major flaw. She misses him.
I still believe everything happens for a reason.
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