My father was a difficult man.
He didn't like us girls.
He only liked the boys.
One time, my mother told me to go make pasta.
I didn't feel like it, but I went ahead anyways.
I was so frustrated that I broke the blender.
“I’m going to tell your father,” my mother said.

My father came home
and gave me a hell of a beating,
To the point that I pissed myself.
“Take the day off tomorrow and go get it fixed,” he told me.

There was also this other time,
I cannot remember what I said that got on his nerves,
But he started cursing at me.
I patted him on the shoulder and said,
“Why are you saying this old man?”
He slapped me.
“Why did you do that for?” I asked
He kicked the table angrily,
But he apologised to me later,
It was the first time ever that he’d apologize to me.

When he got sick and suffered from paralysis, I felt guilty.
Because, whenever he’d beat us,
We’d pray that he get a paralysis attack
And hope that he’d die a slow painful death.
But when he got sick, I felt bad for him.
Despite all the things he did to us,
We took care of him.
We were there for him.
He was bedridden for a year.
It was us women who bathed him, changed his clothes, and stayed up late with him.
The boys only asked about him every 15 days.
Although he spoiled the boys, it was us girls who took care of him in the end.