A few weeks after we got married, he suddenly changed his mind. He would
ask me to come over to their house and he would not let me go home for
days at first. Then it became weeks. At one time, we had a very huge
fight because my father was already wondering what has happened to me,
but my "ex" would not let me go back home. He then demanded from me to
do my "respected duty" as his wife. To be where he was supposed to be. I
did manage to convince him in the end that I just wanted to go and visit
my family. He relented, but only if he came along. That was fine. When
we got to my parents place, he had his fits again that ended again in a
violent argument. I never went back to his place that day, nor the
following day. I stayed with my family for the whole week and I managed
to get the chance to tell my mother about the whole situation.
My mom then, would not listen to what I was trying to tell her. She just
said she didn't want to look at any paper when I started to show her the
marriage certificate. She disregarded me by saying she didn't understand
what I was talking about. I can't blame her for that. She probably
thought, at that time, that it was a very big mistake that I made, but
didn't know what to do about it.
Two weeks later, my "hubby's" family, after several efforts of trying to
call me and talk to me, trying to convince me to come back to their
place, finally came over to our house. No, it was not the long-overdue
"pama-manhikan" tradition. Just the normal thing that parents would do
if the kids cannot settle their own problems anymore. To "interfere" in
other words. They also told my parents that they were aware of the
"supposed" marriage, but thought anyway, that "we were still not mature
enough to live with the wrong decision that we made". In the end, they
set a schedule for a luncheon meeting at a hotel somewhere in Quezon
City to sort of formalize the "pam-manhikan" blues.
They talked about a "garden wedding". Where and when, I couldn't say
anything. Neither my "ex-hubby" nor I didn't say anything during that
three hour meeting. I felt like I was in a big pot boiling over a very
big fire. I didn't even ask how he felt at that time. The meeting ended
with an agreement that I would be staying over at the house of my "ex".
We would then start our own business that my "mother-in-law" was willing
to give us the required capital.
The business went well. I managed it, while my "ex" posted as more like
"driver". For two months, our life was like that of a normal happy
family. At the end of the day, after all the expense reports and
accounting made, my "ex" and I would either go to watch or a movie or
just stay at home with his sister. Sometimes, we would go over to visit
my family or his relatives who lived at the same area where my parents
lived. Every now and then, his mother would invite us to watch concerts
or previews, depends on what was available. Or we would even go shopping
together. The whole thing was a show.
Then one night I couldn't find my "ex" in our flat. I was wondering
where he was, so I went out to check if his car was at the garage. I
thought, maybe he went out to get some cigarettes at a 7-Eleven store
somewhere. Much to my surprise, I found him in the garage, sniffing
something. The first reaction I got was fear. I froze right there, in
the middle of the night, outside the house. I realized he was sniffing
"shabu" which at that time was the rampant rage among sniffers. I could
tell from the foil on his hand. I am not naive. Thanks to my teacher in
college, I was already aware of all these paraphernalia's in our
environmental studies. We did exposure outreach in the "smokey mountain"
where we saw almost every young teenager addicted to this chemical.
I went back to our flat that night, without any feeling at all. I was
just shocked and numbed. I never told him that I saw him that night. But
afterwards, I could then explain his bouts of "fever" and "shivering"
for no apparent reason. I was so stupid not to have noticed it before.
I thought that he was just tired and overfatigued, hence the sickness.
Little did I know that he was into drugs.
For three months more, I lived with him and his family, but slowly
loosing respect and the "love" that I felt for him. It became more like
pity. I thought, as long as I was around, I could help him forget about
using the said chemical, at least. Boy! Was I wrong about that.
. . . to be continued...