Cruelty

By Quincy Feliscuzo

I grew up in a harsh family. A family that follows the Spanish tradition. I believe I was lucky to be raised and educated by a religious society. But on the other side of the coin, I hate it. My father never believed in the family tradition though his experiences were quite brutal and sadistic, he never showed me how to be whipped by a carabao's rope or plunged my face on the pigs food. He did not beat me like other parents do to their children. Until, the unexpected cruelty came in my life. Something I though as bad or inhuman.

When I was 8 years old, we moved from Iloilo to Mangagoy, the place where my father's family lived and founded. He asked his younger sister to let us live in their vacant house beside their old house. She permitted us. We did not rent it, but as expected of occupying their vacant house, we are obliged to help them.

I already knew that my aunt was a cruel person. I heard stories from her adopted children ( she did not have her own because of her impotency), about their harsh treatment like being beaten with fire wood or by hangers and other things she can get her hands on. But never in my young mind did thought of being treated in the same manner. Yes, I expected she'd be harsh but not to the extent.

Every day I am tasked to water the plants, fetch water from the poso, feed the chickens and pigs. I never complained nor talked back because I knew that I be assaulted with missile like words or hit by a plastic hanger. I did these chores everyday, sick or healthy. I never showed hate or fear. I just smiled like a moron.

My aunt was the type of person, no one would like to mess with. She's intelligent but arrogant. When she's angry, all of us would not talk, nor do stupid things, fearing that we might get beaten. She was the person who will beat any one available with or without reason. That's why all of her siblings are angry with her. She looks down on every one as if they're ants and she's the giant.

I first experienced her beatings was when I was 9 years old. It happened on the summer of 2000. After dinner my younger cousin and I asked her permission to watch TV in the neighbor. She agreed with us but not to get home late. So after the TV show, we went home.

Bang! a painful stroke hit me in the ribs. I tried to reason out but she kept denying that we asked her permission. Bang! again but this time a slap in the face hit me. She told me that we were lying. Then pinch in the left ear. And the last was an awesome kick in the stomach. I accepted all her punishment. Without talking back or crying. Because if I did, it would only show that I am lying.

Today, I still feel her cruelty although we have left her house and jurisdiction. She still appear on my thoughts as a young man. Maybe my past is somewhat connected to the future but I don't think I'll apply what she had done to me on my younger cousins or even to my children in the future. I don't want them to feel my pain. but I want them to understand the pain that I had gone through.

I never dared to question my father's decision. And I never regret that I had lived with my aunt. She gave me the best answer to a question I was trying to understand during the time of pain and suffering from loneliness. She placed me on a position that I never wanted. A place in my life that everything is made up of cruelty and sufferings.



Now, that I am a college student, I have learned to endure the tough situations and troubles coming my way. I am now tough and I have understood how pain made me a monster. And of course, I have understood why my father decided that we live with her. That is to learn how cruelty makes a person gentle but tough to live and survive the cruel and harsh world I am existing.