kaulayaw

sincerely, robyn.

Robyn Atria Florentino never missed home. To be frank, home never felt like home. It wasn't just the physical space that failed to make her feel as though she belonged, it was the people inside it– the connection seemed perpetually out of reach.

She never liked her family; family never felt like family. It was more like a group of people brought together, only to be pronounced as "family". She didn't think that "hate" was a word strong enough to describe how she felt about them. It was more of a profound sense of detachment as if she were a puzzle piece that didn't quite fit into the picture they had painted.

The moment Robyn gained consciousness, she remembers life being distinctly awful. An absent father, an alcoholic mother, and a distant brother– just the perfect combination, she thinks. Her childhood was a blur of broken promises and shattered dreams, always expecting, never quite reaching. Robyn remembers the day her father left like it happened yesterday. Just like it always was in their household, it was a stormy evening– rain pelting against the windows like tears of the sky. Just a young girl at the time, about five years old, she found herself huddled in her room, leaning against the door frame.

She remembers their conversation so vividly– like a memory, she'd wish it would immediately evaporate to dust the moment it came to her mind.

"Wala ka talagang kwentang ama!"

"Ako!? Punyeta, Seren, ikaw 'tong pabaya! 'Wag mo i-ako sa akin lahat ng pagkukulang mo bilang ina!"

Robyn could hear the harsh words exchanged between her parents, she even wondered if her younger brother, Rocco, could hear it as well. She sighed, he was too young, about 3 years old at the time. She was too young. A bit too young to be exposed to the darkness of the world. She immediately realized it the moment her father slammed the front door shut, it shook the whole house. Tears cascaded down her supple cheeks, sobbing quietly like she was afraid that anyone could hear her– she begged whatever God was present to see her suffering to hear her quiet pleas, that maybe, just maybe, all this would be a nightmare.

It wasn't.

Reality could never be undone, not in this way.

Living without her father wasn't easy, it never was, and wounds never fully healed. It stung, every morning she woke up and she didn't see her father in the kitchen, in the living room, or in their room. Robyn would see him as shadows, but never him, only ever silhouettes. A part of Robyn cursed him for engraving such a painful memory within her brain, now she could never forget it; no matter how hard she tried, she wondered what would've happened if he had taken her with him. She laughs at herself often, for even thinking of it, deeming herself a pathetic excuse of a human to assume he had the decency to think of his children during the moment.

With time, she learned acceptance, unlike her mother.

Her mother never coped well.