Making Women Cry

Last year, I made my mother cry.

It was after a Surigao trip with my office mates. I had a hard fall the previous day and the left part of my face was bloated and bleeding, with a bandage draped across the side of my forehead and stitches above my left eyebrow. My left eye was nearly shut. I came down from the stairs and when Mama saw me, she cried.

Earlier this year, I made an office mate cry. I had informed Rose that the titles for some clients were already under her custody and she began to look for it in earnest. I later saw the same titles still safe-kept in our vault and when I informed her, she cried (she was looking for those titles for over half an hour). I gave her a cake to assuage her and to absolve my guilt for the oversight.

Last month, I emailed something in the office. Ma'am Ye happened to read it and she confronted me. She was crying in the restroom and, standing there in front of me, she tried to stop the tears still forming in her eyes.

These are the instances when I'm not proud of myself. Whether I was right or wrong, it still cannot justify making a woman cry.

I like to say that I am not raised that way. Yet, it frustrates me even further knowing that these instances were not fully under my control: I couldn't stop myself from stumbling, I was acting in good faith when I spoke to Rose, Ma'am Ye should never have read that if someone did not snitch.

But the reality remains. The only thing left to do is wish I'll never do it again.