Foolish eyes.

She said he’ll change, sooner or later, if not for her, but for his kids. I waited, but I saw the devil’s eyes on his face every time he comes home. I saw how his hands reach out for the kitchen knife to stab her. I saw how his mouth stormed out the most absurd profanity, as if he said them so loud that I can’t hear them anymore. I saw how he breaks her fragile body, as fragile as the promise he assured last time. That always happens.

But then one day, I saw how he darted the knife behind the wooden wall she was leaning onto. I saw how the hell’s fire has burned his eyes until they dissolve into shallow tears. I saw how he dropped onto his knees, together as he dropped every word he cursed out. I saw how he hugged her fragile body, saying another wave of fragile promises.

But she had enough. She’s tired. She wanted him to disappear, to shrink into the ground until he reaches his second home – hell. So he pleaded, he pleaded so much until she can’t hear anything anymore. Until I can’t hear anything as well. Then he turned to me, he held my hand, crying until he can’t breathe anymore. He cried until I cried too, as if crying is a contagious disease. Crying is a disease of the weak, he said that before. And seeing him crying proves that he is weak. But I don’t believe on that notion. He cries, merely only for effect. Or he cries, because he’s sorry. Or he cries because he knows he’s on fire. Or he cries, because for the first time ever, she gives up on him. For the first time, I’m not on his side too. For the first time, I told him, “Just go.”

And he did.

The decade seemed to disappear between that time and now, that the memory is still fresh in my mind. Ironically, I already forgot his face, just as how she forgot about him. But the memory, the words, the tense – they’re all here. Still here.

Today was the same day my parents separated years ago. I have recorded every date in my journal. And I celebrate that every year. Yes I celebrate. If weren’t for that, we must have been dead. He must be rotten in jail.

Isn’t that a cause for celebration?

Sometimes, the worst things pave the road so that the best tings would come swiftly.