Big Girls Don’t Cry

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Big girls don’t get nightmares either. But you know no one is too old for the ghosts of the past.

I am what I am now because of things I did and did not do yesterday. Yes. But, it’s also because of things that did and did not happen to me.

I woke up gasping for air. My nose was full of snot and my ears and hair and pillow wet with tears. It took me a few seconds to realize that I was all grown up and it was just a dream. I struggled in the dark and felt the Mister stir next to me.

It’s all coming back to me now.

I was in the old bathroom of my parents’ house. It was the old rickety door without the door knob. (We shut it with two tiny, I mean smaller than my pinky, barrel bolts – one on the inside for when you’re in there using the facility and one on the outside for when no one’s inside.) I was locked in by my mother. I was banging on the door and crying for dear life. It was dark and my face and hands were grimy. I was banging on the door and crying for dear life. I was screaming: Mama, buksan mo! Mama, buksan mo! Parang awa mo na, Mama, buksan mo! (roughly translated: Mama, open! Mama, open! Have pity, Mama, open!) I was too short to switch on the light. Too frantic to even think. I was sobbing and banging on the door. I could hear her shouting from the outside. Bahala ka may ipis diyan! (rough translation: There’s a cockroach in there!) In the dark I was convinced that they lurked in every corner. When my hair brushed my shoulder I freaked out (if it was possible to freak out in the middle of freaking out) and clawed at myself thinking that it was a cockroach.

And then I woke up because my nose stopped working.

I was locked in a room where my imagination tortured me relentlessly. I was probably the world’s naughtiest kid. Thinking about it now, I remember being let out after I quieted down from lack of energy to move and empty tear ducts. I was almost always sitting on the floor when the door was finally unlocked. And then the light would be switched on and I would be asked to shower. In the light I would finally realize that there was no cockroach, but in the back of my head I always believed that they hid under the sink and behind the water closet.

I turned to the Mister and grabbed at him and made him promise he’ll never lock me in, tears falling on his shirt. He made me get up and blow my nose so here I am. (blogging instead of blowing my nose..hahaha..so it’s all backed up, and I’m breathing through my mouth but I feel better pouring out crap on to my screen)

I hope to never forget how horrible it was to be locked up as punishment. I want to remember how scary, how lonely and how painful it was. I want to never forget so that no matter what any of my little ones do (I hope to have a whole bunch of little me’s…), no matter how angry I get, I won’t end up locking them up and scaring them to death.

I don’t want them to be a big girl like me (twenty six and counting!) and still be deathly afraid of cockroaches. I don’t want them to go nuts in toilets when the door so much as jams a wee bit.

Because my babies must be big girls who won’t cry over cockroaches and stupid toilet doors.

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Filed under Childhood, Cockroaches, Daughter, Family Ties, Mother, Mother and Daughter Relationship, Mothers, Paranoia, cockroach, crap, fear of cockroach, fear of roaches, growing up, parenting, raising children