Started with Shame

By Arianne Nemenzo

All my life, I belong to a female majority household. I have two older sisters who, at that time, happened to be both in college and were living in Davao City. I was 12 years old then. Life is unfair. Nobody listened to me; nobody made me understand things. I was left to witness a scene that enlightened as well as consumed me as I went through my early teen years. My sisters used to tell me that I don’t have the slightest idea what our family is going through. They just said I’ll get to understand everything by the time I fall in love which I didn't understand until that night.

It was a cold evening and the rain had just stopped pouring. I can’t fully remember how it all began or what triggered their hustle. All I can recall is that during that night, I was as if, a movie spectator watching the turn of events as it unraveled before me.

Instead of raindrops falling, I heard the door banging. Instead of nocturnal insects twittering, I heard screams so loud that I became wary. I ran down from my room knowing that it was happening again. However, I was wrong. That time, it was different because it was worse than I had expected or even imagined.

With just a snap, I was already downstairs. I was standing under the arch that serves as our house’s division, separating the living room and the dining room. I was there facing the dining room, which is also connected to the kitchen. I couldn’t fully see what was happening since they were on the other side of the elongated dining table. The screams became louder. Someone cursed; someone was pleading for the other to stop. Someone asked the two to calm down.

In that moment, I doubted my initial impression. Something was definitely wrong. To free myself from doubt, I moved towards the other end of the table and I saw them. There were three figures struggling for the possession of one thing that could decide the end of the story. There they were – my mother, my father and my grandmother (mother’s side), down on their knees at the far right corner of the room. It took me a few seconds to realize that they were actually competing to take hold of a bolo. My tears poured as I thought, someone is going to die tonight.


Ever since I could remember, my parents would fight over my father’s infidelity and drinking problems, my mother’s immortal complaint, and household finances. Their fights, however, were not as violent as this one. It w as different in the sense that I wasn’t able to move or dare to come closer. Usually, even though I would find myself shivering because fear, I could still manage to untangle my parents’ twisted arms as they tried to strangle each other.

I’ve also seen my mother get hit by anything my father was holding. However, I’ve never seen her acting like that. You see, throughout her treasured marriage life, she had fought back but not as willfully and bravely as that night. My mother was very determined to end the very source of her suffering – my father. And there was my father holding her hands that were clasped around the bolo’s handle. She seemed so strong that my father was already half-sitting half-lying on the floor while she knelt towards him. I was proud of her.

My late grandmother, who I fondly called Nanay, was there too trying to stop both of my parents. She was always there for her youngest and only daughter, my mother, ever since she got married. She was protective about my mother but still respected my father as the man of the house. That incident happened few months before my grandmother had a stroke and eventually passed away.


Watching them grappling, I thought "There is only one way to stop them." Thinking that my parents love me very much, their youngest child, I took a kitchen knife and threatened them to kill myself if they wouldn’t stop. I said that as loud as I could but they didn’t budge or bother to ask if it was for real. They weren’t listening. I was invisible. I was scared, angry and humiliated --which was the worst of all.

The three of them continued to struggle so I ran out of the house still holding the knife. My vision was blurry. I was very embarrassed thinking that the persons who always spoiled me with their undivided attention and praises ignored me when I threatened to kill myself. No one really gets everything he or she wants. I was disappointed because they ignored my best performance for that night. Maybe, I am really not good at convincing people because until now my parents haven’t ceased fighting.

I was already out of the house when the rain started to fall again. I went straight to our village’s chapel which is right across our house. It was dark but I managed. Then a woman, our neighbor, saw me. I asked for help since and she told me to stay right outside the chapel while she would tried to talk to my parents. I headed her advice. I've exerted so much energy and I was on the verge of breaking down.

I had had enough of everything! It was the right time to give up, to leave things as they are even if it means acceptance of whatever unacceptable outcome it may bring.

Before I knew it, I was sitting on the wet cemented floor outside the chapel still holding the knife. I was so embarrassed that I swore I would never try to get into their way again. Of course, promises are meant to be broken. Then I saw my mother crying as she ran to hug me. My father did too. They asked me if I was fine as my mother took the kitchen knife from my hands. They told me that they love and that they don’t mean to scare me.


That event happened seven years ago but until now nothing much have changed. They are still living under one roof but sleeping in separate bedrooms. I still hear their screams and curses once in a while. However, no matter how much I tried, I never get used to my parents fighting. I tremble and cry. I still feel fear and that fear extends to having a romantic relationship. I came to realize that when people are in love and married (which is worst), they are obliged to stay in a relationship no matter how wretched and twisted their partners have become. They stick with each other regardless of being miserable. This is the bitter and saddest part of being in a relationship. Love means never giving up on the person you love or used to love even when you know that you might not get out of love alive.