𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗔𝗥𝗬: “I Made a Promise” by Frans Danielle R. Castillo

Cartoon by: Jemima Martha Seguerra

Published by: Annika Howie Quizana

Date Published: November 4, 2024

Time Published: 10:36 AM

Category: Prose 

Theme: Becoming someone that you promised not to be.

I grew up where, at an early age, I already knew what's right and what's wrong. I already knew what to do and not to do in certain situations. I even promised myself that I would never be someone who's not doing the right thing. Promises are meant to be broken after all, huh? 

I hated the smell of alcohol because my father used to go home drunk as he argued with my mother to the point where their screams were the neighbors’ new alarm clock. I grew scared of my own father because of it. I promised myself that I will never let that alcohol touch the tip of my tongue. 

I don't like it when my mother often shouts, even for the smallest of things. I don't like it when she lets out her frustrations on me, even if I'm not the reason for it. I promised myself that I would never raise my voice at anyone, especially the people who are important to me.

Both of my parents have this rage inside of them because their youths were cut short the moment they had me. Instead of holding a pen and notebook, they're holding milk bottles and diapers. Instead of being stressed out because of school, they were stressed out about how to make a kid stop crying. Instead of fulfilling their youth, they chose to fulfill their child's. I promised to never let their rage pass down to me because they never got to experience their youth fully. 

At the age of 13, I knew what the taste of alcohol was like. It was bitter, but I couldn't get enough of it. I hated myself for liking the taste of it. As I chugged down the bottle, I thought of my father. I broke my promise. 

As I grew up, I couldn't help but notice my temper. I tend to immediately get mad over the smallest things, to the point that I don’t realize that I’m already raising my voice, even to the people that I cherish the most. I sounded like my mother. I broke my promise.

As time passed, I couldn’t feel my youth. I was busy forcing myself to grow up and be mature, to the point that I completely forgot that I’m still a kid. The more I remember it, the more this unknown rage inside of me is slowly growing. I let their rage get inside of me without me knowing. My youth slipped through my fingers in a blink of an eye. I broke my promise.

I’m now the spitting image of my mother and father, but I can’t get myself to be happy about it. I should be happy, right? No, why would I? Why would I be happy that I’m slowly turning like them? 

I looked down at my shaky hands. I’ve become something that I hate the most. I made a promise to myself, but I’m also the one who broke it in the end. After everything I’ve done, the generational curse still found a way to get to me. And it’s my responsibility to end it.