It is a day of patching up and letting go today.

I’ve always thought that the day would come but I did not expect that the moment when Eff would finally decide to live with her boyfriend and take her baby with her, a child I’ve grown to love as my own, would be on a still-dark five o’clock morning when I have just slept for two and a half hours after talking and making peace with my mother (a longer story that I would have to do justice in another post).

But as it was, Eff’s boyfriend, Mike, came to our place. He was scared, I know. He must really love Eff because he risked being shot at, trampled upon, called names, kicked to the ground, and dragged out the door just to plead his cause. But future houseguests need not worry. My family, is after all, civilized after a fashion.

Although their ill-timed love blossomed and I am still somewhat abashed by the events over the past six months, I cannot help but admire Mike for his courage to face up to his new responsibility. Because Eff, is after all, pregnant. Another child out of wedlock.

Honestly, I am very much disappointed. But my mother had told me an undeniable truth. That there is no other person in charge of his or her destiny but that person him/herself.
What she said was akin to Gandalf’s “It is not our part to master all the tides of the world, but to do what is in us for the succour of those years wherein we are set, uprooting the evil in the fields we know, so that those who live after may have clean earth to till. What weather they shall have is not ours to rule.” soliloquy. And they were both right.

Yet, a part of me howls in loneliness and pained submission to the things I am powerless to control. Because, I had thought, foolishly, that Eff might stay with her daughter. The house will be silent without the child’s laughter. Meals will be eaten in two people’s stillness as Tata and I will be left to start living our lives, adjusting to the fact that it’s just gonna be the two of us. Day in. Day out. And we were not even known to be jesters in our courts.

I’ve just turned 26. But right now, I feel like a forty-five year old woman who just found out that her only daughter had eloped with the town bully. Who can blame me if I can barely open my eyes from the weeping I’ve done this morning, and the night before? Still, I have to sever the ropes that bind and replace it with a ribbon of communication and understanding. And hopefully, this pain, too, shall pass.


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