I remembered being in my teens when I first had my first heartbreak. I was probably 12 or 13 at that time. No, this isn't some puppy love story. My first ever heartbreak was by my dad. (Yes, not all heartbreaks need to be romantic.)
My dad had gambling problems. He used to bet on horses and spend all day on those OTB (off-track betting) places near our house. He'll leave right after lunch and came home late, and all he ever talks about are Keyapo (the name of his favorite horse), the PHILRACOM cup, and how close he was to winning back his bets, or not.
It was a cycle, a force of habit. It didn't bother me on the onset, because after all those years that he took care of us, it was the only hobby he had aside from doing his everyday chores as the 'houseband'. I wanted to resent the deed, but a part of me wanted to give him space, his own autonomy.
Until, mom felt it was too much. Enough was enough. She decided to let go, and they parted ways. It was a miserable part of history I didn't want to recall. I had to cry almost every night with the thought that I was to grow up in a broken family. But what haunted me more is the fact that I was powerless. It was the horror I never wanted to wake up to. But it happened.
After a month, or less, of separation, my dad went home renewed. He didn't bet on horses anymore. He let the gambling go. It was one of his best decisions ever.
Side note: I always wondered why people deserve second chances, why it was important to make mistakes. From then on, I understood what it meant to forgive, to make sacrifices, and to love.
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