The scars of parental divorce

"We're divorced!" There was a shout from the mobile phone I was holding. Then the connection ended.

I stuffed it back into my trouser pocket, then rubbed my face roughly. Trying to calm my own emotions, after a little relief I stepped up to the cashier of the toy shop where I was.

"Please hurry!" I asked.

The young lady smiled and nodded respectfully. Deftly counting the total purchases, then mentioning how much I had to pay. I packed up everything and walked out of the shop.

The car travelled at a fairly high speed. I imagined Aleena greeting me at home, suitcase in hand, as she did every time we fought.

Arrived.

I parked the car on the terrace, picked up two black plastic bags and went into the house.

Tony and Jhony were playing a game. They smiled widely and greeted me as usual. But I only gave them the two plastic bags in a hurry.

"Where's Mum?" I asked.

"In the room!" Tony replied.

I quickly walked away, while they were busy opening the toy box I had just bought them.

The door to the room was firmly closed from the inside. I could see that Aleena was crying as she packed her clothes.

"Mum!" I called out. There was no response.


I quickly walked away, while they were busy opening the toy box I had just bought them.

The door to the room was firmly closed from the inside. I could tell that Aleena was crying as she packed her clothes.

"Mum!" I called out. There was no response.

Without waiting, I opened the door, and sure enough, I found her packing one outfit after another from the wardrobe into a suitcase.

"Mum! Let's talk first..." I was still trying to keep my voice down so as not to be heard by the children outside the room.

"Mum!" I raised my voice and grabbed her hand that still wouldn't stop. She turned her head, looking at me sharply with reddened eyes.

"What? What do you want to talk about? !" She replied.

, listen first. You just misunderstood."
I tried to explain.

"What misunderstanding? Do you think I'm stupid? Obviously that woman chatted that intimately with you, are you still trying to say you misunderstood?!" She pushed my hand away roughly.

"Ma... she's just Papa's friend at work, that's all. Nothing more!"

"Nothing more but frequent chats on Whatsapp. It's Sunday night, Papa's coming home late because he dropped her off like last week, right? Never mind, no need to make excuses. Anyway, I want us divorced!!!

Divorce. There was a throbbing pain in my heart every time I heard that word.

Irene was indeed a co-worker. She was still young. We chat quite often on Whatsapp because of work issues. Actually, there are several office friends who chat with me quite often, both men and women. But Irene is the most frequent because our work requires more interaction either via chat or phone. I often have to explain to her the details that need to be developed.

Last Saturday I accidentally drove her home out of pity. Because it was overtime and she hadn't been picked up by her family even though it was late. I took her to the bus stop to make sure she was safe on the way, not to take her home. That was the extent of it. Nothing more.


Unfortunately, Aleena was thinking the wrong thing after opening my WhatsApp.

I caught her hand to stop her from packing the clothes. "Mum, I'm late because I bought sweets for the kids."

She looked at me sharply, "Excuse!"

"Oh my god, Ma... how else am I supposed to explain?"

"No need to explain anything! I want a divorce!" she snapped.

She jerked my arm, about to drag the suitcase out of the room. But I pulled Aleena's body and embraced her.

Tightly.

Because there's a gaping wound in my chest again. A wound that I had spent decades trying to heal in a marriage.

"Don't get divorced, Ma... don't," I whispered.

She still struggled a little, but because I didn't let go, she sobbed in my arms.

......

The clock ticked down to ten in the evening. The kids were already sleeping comfortably on the bed. Meanwhile, in our room, we are still surrounded by silence.

Aleena still sobbed occasionally, although she now believed what I was telling her.

I pulled Aleena's head so that she could sleep on my shoulder. At first she refuses, but I force her a little. Because tonight I'm going to tell her a story.

A story about a child victim of divorce, like me.

"I never intended to cheat on you, Ma. Because I know how it feels to be abandoned." I began. "Some people might say it's better to get divorced than for children to see their parents fighting every day. But still. Divorce is... hell for kids."

She paused.

"There will be many cuts in the childhood of innocent children after their parents divorce."

I heard her take a deep breath.

"The first cut is when one parent asks... do you want to go with mum or dad?" I said bitterly, "but there is a deeper cut than that question, when we are not given a choice. Like me."

I still vividly remember that day. When in sobs my mum took me by the hand out of the house. Bella, my sister, hugged me in her arms. I thought we were going to go together, but I was left at the front of the road.

Mum got into the car and waved goodbye, while I, who didn't yet understand that she wasn't coming back, remained silent. Then I went back into the house, waiting for her to come home.

I was only six years old at the time. I thought my mum was just going to the market to buy uniforms. But until the next day, the next day, and the next day, mum didn't come home again.

I still remember ... almost every evening I stood at the door. Missing mum. Missing the atmosphere of the usual days.

I still see Bella's favourite food wrapper under the table.


I held back tears. Missing Bella, especially Mum. I hugged her clothes at bedtime, just to smell her body and feel like I was sleeping with her.

A day, two days. A month, two months. They no longer came.

"Pa...?" Aleena looked up at my face.

"Yes..." I tapped her shoulder, softly. I held back something that felt like it was blocking my throat.

"Why did they divorce?"

"Because my father remarried..."

Only this time, after eight years of marriage, did I tell him everything. All this time he only knew that I was living with my step-mum and everything seemed fine.

But no matter how good a home is, it's much better when you're under the same roof as your parents.


"The second cut, is when a child has to move from a home that was comfortable, to a home that feels foreign..."

After a few months of being taken care of by my maternal grandmother, I finally had to feel abandoned again.

Grandma died.

It was even more painful when in the evenings after her death, I heard them talking about who I should live with. Sadly, several times I had to hear rejection.

Too much hassle, no more room, no money for food, and various other excuses. At that time, I cried to see my mum. But also felt that everyone didn't want me, including mum.

I just sat quietly on the plastic chair. I fantasised that my mum would come until the conversation finally ended with me being taken care of by my mum, and then everything would go back to normal.

But no. Until the conversation ended, there were still one or two objections and objections. Until finally there was a forced decision.

I was handed over to my father. Then he took me to live with him. Together with his other biological children, in the first wife's house.

Yes, my father was that crazy. He loves to find a wife. Then let his children grow up on their own.


That afternoon I got off my father's motorbike with a strange feeling. In front of a simple house that I had never been to before. Which would now be the place where I lived.

"Going home... going to be with mum..." At that moment, that was the only word I said softly.

Father bowed slightly to give me understanding. As a father, he was good to his children. It's just that I rarely met him because he always left and came home occasionally.

Maybe it was because my mother was only his second wife.

Several faces looked at the door. Some were big, some were just a little above me. I saw two people with similar facial features and a mature woman.

We all looked at each other in silence.

"None of your brothers are bad, are they?" Aleena asked quietly, imagining how I felt at that moment.

"No, Ma. They're just like any other kids." I smiled, "innocent children... who just assume a new friend has arrived."

I had heard a little commotion in the room. Perhaps my stepmother was a little put out. But finally when they left, the bag with my clothes was brought into the room.

I was accepted.

Sitting on the sofa. Strange. Alone. Told to eat, I eat. Told to shower, I shower. Being told to sleep, this was a bit difficult.

I used to sleep with my mum or grandma. Here I slept with two new siblings. They kept chatting excitedly on the bed. Giggling about who knows what. I was at the end of the bed. I almost fell over, but tried to hold myself up.

The bed, the lights, the sheets... everything was foreign. Maybe that's why I kept waking up all night.

"But... you weren't abandoned, were you?" Aleena looked at me.

"Thank God, no." I shook my head.

My stepmother wasn't particularly friendly, but she wasn't mean either. She was humane. Being equal to her two biological children and one stepdaughter, she occasionally scolded us all.

"The third cut, when we felt we had nowhere to turn, like the other children..." I felt a slight throbbing in my chest.

Replaying in my mind the situation. The situation where I, the child who was supposed to be the youngest, but was considered more mature than the other siblings.

I see my siblings occasionally complain about other children being naughty, and my mum responds. They complained when they fought with friends, told me about what happened at school today, or about their lack of pocket money.

I, on the other hand, didn't dare.

"Why don't you dare?" Aleena looked at me, a flash of compassion in her eyes.

"As good as a stepmother is... a child is more comfortable talking to his own biological mother..." My voice began to sound low.

I felt the cut again. I lived in a lively place, but felt lonely all the time. I talked, I laughed, but I couldn't be as free as I was with my mum.

I still felt alien.

I tried to get closer, even occasionally sleeping while hugging the middle-aged woman's legs. But it still felt different. It remained ingrained in my memory that she was someone else's mother, not mine.

"Back then, whenever I wanted a toy, I had to wait for the others to buy the same toy first. So I had a reason to ask. But most of the time... I was only given second-hand toys from big brother. When everyone started playing with the new models, I only got a chance to hold the old ones..." I took a breath.

I thought back to those painful days.

Aleena's eyes widened, realising something. "Is that why Papa often buys the children toys?"

I nodded. If they say that a child is the revenge of a parent's childhood, it's true. I understand that now.

Now, I'm always moved to buy new toys almost every time.

"The fourth incision, when the extended family is upset with the mistakes made by the parents, they say bad things to the child. As an outlet."

Aleena looked at me, her eyes growing glassy.

"I wonder about Ida, your mum! She's been away for a dozen years and hasn't come back. Doesn't she remember her children? " said one of my father's aunts.

"Ah, the father is a married man!" Another neighbour responded. While laughing and pointing at my face.

Actually, those were words that they took for granted. A joke. To fill the void of daily conversation. But they forgot that even a child must have a heart. They didn't realise they were saying things that sounded meaningless but stuck out like thorns.

In front of them, a child of divorced parents may be considered to have no self-respect. So they can say whatever they want.

I often just stood silently listening to their conversation. It hurts, but obviously no one feels it.

"The fifth incision, when the child sees other children so protected and full of pride, but he has none..."

"Pa..."

I closed my eyes. Feeling my eyes begin to heat up.

At home, at school, even among my peers, I was often patronised. Underestimated. Not taken into account. Because they all had a mother to turn to, and a father to rely on, but not me.

"I...always asked myself, what did I do wrong...what did I do wrong...what did I do wrong...why was I abandoned..."

A drop of water slipped from the corner of my eye.

"Damn it.. I keep missing my mother who is nowhere to be found." Another drop followed.

Throbbing again. I felt the blood melt that had dried up, open again.

"Always chased by questions ... about why there is a father who can act so selfishly, also a mother who seems to forget that she gave birth to a child and is still waiting in her house ...."

The house I often went to at night. Sitting on the terrace. Reminiscing about my childhood and my mum. Even though the house had been sold to a new person.

"Pa..."

Feeling curious all the time. Where is mum now? Why didn't she come home? Why didn't she give any news? Even though here her son misses her half to death.

Drops of water slid from the corners of my eyes.
"That's why I'm trying my best now, so that my children don't feel the same pain. Never.

Let them have a comfortable place to live, a mother to confide in ... and a father to rely on."

Aleena burst into tears at the sight of my tears.

"Don't get divorced, Ma. Especially not because of trivial issues and selfishness. Because the divorce may only take a short time, and then we're both done ... but the trauma will be etched in our children's hearts for a long time ..." I looked at Aleena's face, with a look of hurt in my eyes.

Aleena shook her head, wiping away the tears that were falling down her cheeks. She realised the mistake she had almost made.

"Because parents' divorce will create a wound here..." I pointed at the chest that was still throbbing painfully. "Too deep... even for a lifetime the pain will not go away."