Gutierrez: A house divided

Tuesday, February 7, 2012

IT IS THREE nights before Day Zero. She slips in quietly and unnoticed through the front door. As the lock clicks behind her, she sees him on the farthest end of room – under the light of his desk lamp, his back facing her. “Mahal, kumain ka na?” She whispers to herself. “Hindi pa,” her own whisper answers her back. “Tara, kain na tayo,” she simulates another reply but this time in her mind. Consumed by what he is doing, he does not hear her come in. She goes straight into the bedroom and sits on their bed with a sigh. She notices that she did not walk home in stockings and slippers after work today. She removes her shoes and makes them drop on the floor with a loud thud. “Mahal,” he appears in the bedroom doorway, “Dumating ka na pala…”

Has your house been divided?

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The union of two persons, whether marital or otherwise, is not always united because each person is an individual with individual thoughts, ideas and concept of principles. Even marriage orientation seminars often conducted by church counselors recognize that married life does not always sail smoothly as expected. The rough winds that couples encounter almost always come from clashing differences.

It is now two nights before Day Zero. She arrives home at half past 10 in the evening. Her work ends at exactly nine o’clock on a regular weekday. But it does not end there. She folds the garments on her aisle immediately after she hears the closing bell. Then after a few minutes, her supervisor meets with the whole sales personnel of their section. After a few claps of team building activities, she proceeds to the locker room area and removes her heels. Tonight, she walks home in stockings and slippers to relax her feet. As she slips in quietly through the front door of their home, she notices a stack of cardboard on the living room table. Paints of blue slashed by red and surrounded by black bold letters fill each rectangular material. She sees him sitting on his desk with his back against her, his face buried deep in his arms as he wheezes up a gentle snore. “Tapos na niya ang placards,” you whisper to yourself. You wrap a blanket around him.

Clashing differences of perception can turn a relationship upside down. It can pull apart even the closest of companions. Once you share a place of dwelling with someone and decide to make it a home, you have to accept the fact that you are also surrendering your comfort zone. And then you will see, stripped bare of the image that you project to others, the real person that both of you can be. But these differences are not necessarily irreconcilable. Differences make each one of us unique. This difference may have brought you together. And it deserves respect from both sides.

It is now the eve of Day Zero. She arrives an hour late because work hours are longer during weekends. As she arrives, the front door is open. She hears several voices inside. She follows the voices to reveal a group of men and women inside their home. The placards are now done. There are several streamers of tarpaulin and cans of spilt paint around the living room. She calls to her husband and pulls him inside the bedroom. Inside the bedroom you can hear her say, “Anong ginagawa mo?” He answers with, “Ayokong lumaki ang magiging anak natin para sabihin sa kanyang wala akong ginawa.” She quickly replies, “Anuman ang ginagawa ko ay maglalagay ng pagkain sa hapagkainan!” He answers back, “Anuman ang ginagawa ko ay magbibigay sa anak natin ng magandang kinabukasan!” The conversation that followed after is already muffled by sobs and cries. Outside, the placards are being shipped.

This house is divided.

It is now Day Zero. The closing bell rings. She folds the unsettled garments on her section aisle. She claps and listens to her supervisor. After the team building activity, she slips off her shoes and slides it in her shoulder bag. Outside, the security guards usher them to a redirected exit. As she nears the barricade, her eyes survey for her husband in the group of protesters. They find each other’s eyes. With her stockings and slippers, she courses alone through the drumbeats along the sidewalk and walks home.

Hours later, as the day comes to a close, they sleep side by side with the thought that they are doing something in both their own different ways. And you know, as you read this, their home is still united.

(Talk to me by sharing your stories and sending them to dvgutierrez@gmail.com.)