i hate my father. as i've promised to myself a few days after my mom died in 1999, i won't shed a single tear for that man.

he has always been intent on waiting for me to commit a mistake so that he could tell me how i messed up things and how he was always right in doing things.

today, my sister and i did the laundry. he stood there in front of me, eyeing every single move i made, looking for faults. he has always been like that even when i was a little kid.

he's the reason why i never do house chores. he's the reason why i do nothing just so he won't have anything to breathe on my neck about. he's the reason why i don't try to learn things because of the inevitable glory that he may get from my inapt work.

instead of encouraging me, he slaps me with his almighty self-righteousness.

i won't ever forget the pain that i felt when he hit me when i was six years old. six years old and he hit me! i can still remember the red mark that his heavy stocky hands marred on my skin.

when he went abroad when i was four years old, i never did miss him. all the love i could ever wish for was given to me by my mom. she gave so much more than that. i never missed out on anything.

he should have gone first before my mom. my sister needs mom. i need mom. my nieces need their grandma. if i could at that time, i would have given him up in exchange for my mom's life. i would have really done that without any remorse.

no more tears. no tears. no tears on that fateful day to come.