Franny

by Nicolas Gavino

Franny, did I tell you the first words I learned as a child? It was the word "puta." That's how the old man used to address Mom. "Puta." "Puta." "Puta." And he would always yell at me, "Putangina ka!" He even went as far as denying me as his biological daughter, saying he wouldn't be surprised if my real father was some stranger on the street. But honestly, it didn't affect me much. I must have already been numb to everything by that time. In fact, a part of me was relieved to find out I wasn't related to a lazy, abusive drunkard. Though for a while, I was curious about why the old man was always so bitter. It wasn't until my early teens that I discovered Mom's affair. She had kept it from me as long as she could. By the time she finally told me, I couldn't bring myself to care. The secret had lost its power. But she still insisted I keep my mouth shut about family matters. So here I am now, sharing it with the world. I'm not doing this to tarnish my family's name. I just need to let it all out. Repressed emotions can do regrettable things to people. In my case, I used to lose my temper quickly and act erratically. I swung between feeling too much and feeling nothing at all. Being forced to bottle up my feelings must have been the reason why I only pursued relationships with men I could use as playthings. I didn't want to truly know them because I didn't want them to truly know me. That is, until I met you, Charlie, and Monksy. You three became witnesses to my awakening. You opened me up to life and to love.

Franny, you understood what I lacked and even celebrated Father-less Day with me. During our small gathering, you mentioned that your goal now is to build a strong, happy family to make up for what you missed out on. I've noticed that people often try to fill the voids from their past by setting goals they believe will bring them fulfillment. But the truth is, I don't think anything or anyone can truly fill those voids. As messed up as our pasts may be, they are a part of us. I have to accept that I didn't grow up in an ideal family, and I may never conform to the conventional bourgeois ideals of love and security. However, it would be nice to have someone who could hold the fire burning inside me every now and then.