Boys Don’t Cry

Boys Don’t Cry

glenmore bacarro

Way back then, I fear those eyes, blazing with anger as he whipped his today’s untouched stick. I cried with fear screaming with pain every time the stick land on my tiny butt.

“Boys don’t cry!”  He always says as he continues punishing me for silly child mistakes I made. And for crying to express the pain from the stick that never tire.

I am a no normal child, unique in my own special way but he never appreciated it. I am different from others because people say that I do belong to the world of immorality. I am a gay and I just can’t understand why people tend to look at me differently. As for him he hated me. He doesn’t want the way I act, the way I talk even the way I walk.

I was always punished and bear the expected scars that remind me of the pain I know I never deserved. From the polished stick that held more memories than a loving hand which I long most.

I grew up with fears and deceptions, with tears and lies. I act as though I am tough as he wish me to be, stronger than I can, not the real me.

I can’t blame him. I broke his heart for not being the son he wished. I can’t make him proud for never will I reach his expectations.

Time passed until the day I have had the courage to leave the place I never call home. I am broken and lost to the vast jungle of the city life. I lived in a place where freedom is the only wealth I have. I spent the rest of my life with the people who come and go and never been remembered who they really are. And one thing that stick taught me…”Boys Don’t Cry.” I can’t even remember when was the last time I cried. Tears had been long gone, dried from my eyes. I bear much pain and nothing will hurt that much again.

I lived with grudges and hatred in my heart. I succeeded with the career I have chosen. With the fame and money I’ve got I came to love what flesh can give me. The only consolation from the pain I am keeping inside. Love and lust came and go. I can’t find myself in a single room but one after another. I never found contentedness with the relationships I have. Oftentimes I broke many hearts more than a reasonable man can do. I may have had forgotten God. Then fate plays its tricks. I was claimed by the curse I had made. For this illness the only cure is death. Who am I to blame? Myself for taking what I thought I deserve for long it had been denied to me? Him who denied me the love and caused me the scars that holds the memory of hatred? Is it the stick that molded me into someone I’ll never be? Or is it God who allowed me to be here on earth in the first place? I faced the mirror I looked at myself…there is no tears.

Here he is sitting beside me, staring hard to the child he once detest. Those eyes I trembled as I saw them, but in it I saw something very strange, it pierced me and I felt something only a heart can explain. But I am scared, maybe it was too late. How long had I waited, I crossed every line just to find this feeling that can fill the emptiness I have. How many times had been wasted? Is it forgiveness that is so hard to find or am I actually not looking for it?

He held my hand, my thin pale hand and for the first time I felt the rush of love from the warmth of his old wrinkled hands. He looked at me, in his eyes there is the love that caress the heart that was bruised. I looked back at him our eyes met and then I saw the tears lining on his.

“Forgive me.” He uttered.

I smiled.

He held me so tight that I felt my bones cracked. Alas! I saw the tears from his eyes. The tears he always despises.

“Are you crying?” I said.

“No I’m not…” he said but tearful. “Boys don’t cry isn’t it?” he added smiling. He kissed my hand. I saw the guilt in his eyes. The pain. The fear.

I look at him smiling, without tears. “I love you dad. I forgive you. And I’m sorry too. I’m sorry for-...” I may have not completed my words for I’d screamed in pain. The pain that had eaten my strength since the day I was diagnosed with this illness.

“Son..,” he said crying. “…Why not cry? I know it hurts. But why not cry? It will help son…cry.” He said desperately.

He held my hand until the pain was over. I opened my eyes from the deep sleep and saw him still with tears while caressing my pale thin hand. Oh! The eyes I once feared…here it is filled with the tears it once deny.

“Dad…,” I said with the remaining strength I have. “…boys don’t cry isn’t it?”

I saw him smiled in tears as my eyes was blurred, I just don’t know if it was by tears or is it time to let go.

end