Neshrin M. Macabago
On February 14, 1994, love suffused the air in Asli’s aunt’s house in Marawi as she and her groom, Sayd, prepared to tie the knot. The simple house was transformed into a floral and lovely setting. Upstairs, in the room, Asli, excited yet nervous, was all set with her white gown, hijab, and heels while her fingers and wrists glinted in gold jewelry, waiting for her husband-to-be to come inside and walk her down the aisle. The couple started getting to know and seeing each other a few months before he courageously asked her hand for marriage. At last, their love became halal. No words could express how elated Asli was, realizing that her dream moment had finally arrived. In the living room, on the other hand, Sayd, who seemed calm sitting on a gold chair, eagerly hoped for the speakers to finish their speeches so he could take his bride with him at all once. The two families were present to witness the union of their children as they sat on white plastic chairs, quietly listening and anticipating or perhaps judging one person to another.
Sayd grew up in a well-known family in their town, while Asli came from a struggling family in the province and grew up an orphan. Having no father was challenging for her and her younger sister, but it was twice as tough for her poor mother who needed to work tirelessly in basak as a farmer to survive the daily crisis. Raising two daughters alone was nothing but a heavy responsibility, indeed. Yet despite their hard life, Inakulay, Asli’s mother, still managed to provide for her daughters’ education until college because of her sweat and blood sacrifices working all day long in the rice field. Not long after she finished her studies, fate led her to meet Sayd through a mutual friend, and eventually, their friendship ended up in marriage. Weeks after the wedding, the newlyweds decided to live permanently in his family’s house for good, and so Inakulay and her sister were left in their wooden house in inged.
Growing up, her life felt somehow incomplete without the presence of her father, who died before she was even born. And so, when she grew older, Asli dreamed of having a complete, fine family of her own someday with a hardworking father for her children and a good husband for her. Unfortunately, life was never meant to be perfect and fair. Without any clues, the life with her in-laws was crueler than the life she had in inged. If only she had known it from the beginning, she would probably have convinced Sayd to live with her poor Inakulay instead.
From the day she got there, there was already an uncomfortable feeling she sensed as though telling her that she was unwelcome. All eyes were on her. Judging stares, even. Her three sisters-in-law seemed to dislike her, but one thing that made her more anxious was the presence of her mother-in-law. Her day-to-day life with them under one roof became challenging for her.
Later on, she and Sayd had three children, two girls and a boy. But the hatred towards her never changed. It was even passed on to her children too. All the grandchildren or apos in the family were spoiled and nurtured by their Ina, Sayd’s mother, except for her three children. Ina was impressively unfair. They were often excluded from every gift-giving as though they were not her apos, too. And with all the favoritism going on, Asli courageously spoke to her husband about it, thinking he could empathize with her since the matter concerned their children. But he was unconcerned, saying “Just don’t mind them.” And since she was submissive to him, Asli just followed her husband’s advice. To avoid further drama in the house, cooping up in the room was the only option for her, so no more interactions with her in-laws.
One time, she accidentally overheard them talking about her in the sala.
“Pamliin, ino kon anan seselet den sa kowarto?” (Why does she coop up in their room?)
Although the talk was not really hurtful, the fact that they were talking about her, eyeing on her, made her still feel conscious of going out and seeing them. In fact, it was not the first time she heard them mentioning her in their talks. Most of the time, it was harsh. But with all the sab’r, she ignored and hid it from her husband, so no more quarrel.
More years passed; another three children came into their growing family. Unsurprisingly, the loathing even grew. One day, her youngest daughter, who was only five, came home weeping and told her that Ina gave an alaw or gift to her one cousin when grandmother got home from somewhere and she got none. As soon as Asli saw her child crying over jealousy, it completely broke her heart as a mother. And she knew it wouldn’t be good for the child to know the truth that her Ina and aunts loathed them. She was a mere naive child who could not understand the situation yet.
A dowali took place in Jalimah’s house, Sayd’s aunt, and every relative was there helping, and Asli, as a miyakamong, was there also. She was very helpful in the kitchen until she accidentally dropped the palapa from the smashing pot she was holding, and everyone, of course, was surprised. Outside, Jalimah heard the noise and went to the kitchen to check. Her strong presence brought silence, and this time no one even dared to speak because everyone was aware how marangit she was. A tough old lady.
“Ainaw, anotonaapen aya?” Pissed Jalimah. (Goodness, what is this even?)
Asli, on the other hand, tried to explain, saying it was only an accident, but Jalimah did not bother to listen or care. She reprimanded her in front of everyone who was in the kitchen. Teary-eyed, Asli was mortified. After the lecture, Jalimah then went outside to entertain the guests as if nothing happened. Laila, who was also a miyakamong and a second wife of Sayd’s uncle, felt bad for Asli and told her to go home instead so she could rest and calm herself down from what just happened. The accident was only minor, yet the embarrassment that Jalimah put on her was way too much. She was unreasonably too hard on everyone she disliked.
At home, Asli secretly cried behind their bedroom door to ensure that her children would not see her. The pain, the bad treatment, the humiliation she received from her in-laws since day one, she’d had enough of all of it. Everyone was just too much for her to handle. Because in Sayd’s family, she had no voice, no place. They all looked down on her. No one treated her right. No one defended her, even her own husband. All along, Sayd was not fair to her. He constantly invalidated her sentiments as though her feelings meant nothing and even called her over-emotional whenever she expressed her rants on him. The truth is, Sayd never stood up for her when it comes to his family and relatives. “Let them be” is what he always told her. But Asli wanted him to defend her, just for once.
One night before she slept, a thought suddenly hit her mind, convincing her to end her marriage to Sayd, so she didn’t need to suffer anymore from his family. At one point, she wickedly wanted to do so because she had been already exhausted as well, but if she did, what would happen to her children then? They would grow up with no complete family like her. That was her biggest fear. Asli just couldn’t afford to see her children experiencing the same emptiness and yearning she had while growing up. With all the guilt, she then disregarded the thought of leaving her husband. “I must stay strong for my kids instead,” she thought to herself. Despite everything, Asli bravely chose to stay for the sake of her children, who were her strength, even if it meant accepting and bearing her in-laws’ harshness over and over.