Dear Diary,
Hypocrite kaayo ko for saying I’m a dog lover. When in fact, I’m guilty of pet abandonment.
Since Mama died more than a year ago, I’ve been carrying this weight I can’t seem to drop. And I can’t help but cry in silence, without my partner knowing.
Mama had two dogs — her fur babies, really. They’re still alive, still there in our house in Iligan City. But they’re alone.
No one lives there anymore.
Just my auntie, who drops by to feed them, clean up, and leave again as a caretaker. Every time I think about it, my stomach twists.
Diary, to be honest, maka-guilty kaayo, especially when I look at my own furbaby here in Cebu. I spoiled her with comfort, treats, toys, and cuddles. Everything I can give, I give.
Then I remember the two back home, and it hits me. They must be so lonely. They must still wait at the gate, thinking Mama will come out any moment. But she never will.
They’re like guard dogs now, guarding an empty house — only CCTVs watching, no laughter, no footsteps, no petting.
I’ve thought about bringing them here, but reality bites. My apartment allows only one dog. Their vaccinations are outdated. No travel papers. And honestly? I can’t afford the costs right now. Every peso counts. Every plan gets postponed.
There are nights I think — maybe I should just let them out, let fate decide. Maybe someone will take them in, love them. Then my sister would say, “Ayaw dyud. Multuhon dyud ka ni Mama. (Don’t you dare or else Mom will haunt you)” And she’s probably right. I can already hear Mama’s voice in my head: “Ayaw pud gang. Maluoy ka. (Please don’t. Have mercy on them, son)”
And I do feel that way. Maluoy dyud ko.
My sister can’t take them either. She’s in a small space too, fighting her own battles, both financially and health-wise.
So unsaon mani ron?
Two dogs waiting in Iligan. Me here in Cebu, pretending to be a “dog lover.”
I cringe every time I say that. How can I, when I’ve left two behind?
I think about them all the time.
Whenever I open the CCTV footage and see them alone, it breaks my heart. I want to do more. I really do.
But I’m trapped — by money, by distance, by time.
Even flying home is a luxury now. Updating their vaccines, fixing papers, feeding three dogs — it’s all money I don’t have.
And I’m getting old. I now have maintenance meds, on top of the bills, and adult problems.
Life feels heavier now.
Sometimes I pray for God to just take them. I know it’s cruel. I hate myself for even thinking that. But it feels more merciful than imagining them sad, waiting forever.
Lord God, I would understand if I go straight to hell. For not giving equal love to the one I have right now, to the ones we left in Iligan.
For now, I just thank my auntie who still feeds them, still checks the house. At least they’re not starving. But I know they’re starving for love. For touch. For the voice they used to know.
They miss my mom.
And I do too.
— Bonne
ʙᴏɴɴᴇ ᴀᴘᴘᴇᴛɪᴛ 