After an argument with my wife, I went out drinking with my best friend. At 11pm, my neighbor called me in a panic: “Someone is bringing a coffin to your house”…when I got home, I was shocked.

I rushed back to my rented house in a barangay in Quezon City, Metro Manila right after that phone call. My heart was pounding.

My wife is extremely hot-tempered. With neighbors and colleagues, she is always gentle and friendly; but with her husband, it is different. If I do something that goes against her will, she can be grumpy for days. While joking, I accidentally said something inappropriate, and she got angry again. Living with someone who has “many faces” in a day, I am helpless and tired at times. Every time we argue, she also has a habit of breaking things in the house—sometimes pots, pans, cups. I have advised her many times, she also knows that she is hot-tempered, but when she gets angry, she loses control.

Apart from being hot-tempered with her husband, my wife is a very good person: filial to her parents-in-law, polite to her kapitbahay, generous to children and colleagues. In the eyes of everyone, she is “beautiful in appearance and good in character”. My neighbors even said that I was lucky to marry such a wife.

At the beginning of this year, I was promoted, my job requires me to entertain many guests, often inuman after work, sometimes videoke with partners. I confided in her, hoping she would understand: because of the nature of the job, for the future of my children. But my wife still did not understand. Every time I went out drinking, she called to urge me to come home, sometimes even video called, asking me to film each person to see if there were any suspicious girls. Because of that, I lost points with my partners several times.

Yesterday, my wife and I argued again. I went on a business trip with my boss for a week, and posted a few photos of eating at a restaurant on social media. There was a new female employee in the group that I had trained, so wherever I went, she sat next to me. My wife noticed, suspected, and questioned me. Even though I insisted that there was nothing, she still didn’t believe me.

I kept talking and couldn’t finish, no matter how I explained, she wouldn’t listen, so I got frustrated and went out drinking with my best friend. At 11 pm, a kapitbahay called, his voice panicked:
“Bro, what happened to your house? Why did the funeral service bring kabaong into the house like that!”

I heard it and my hands and feet went limp, the hangover disappeared. I called my wife but the phone was off, I couldn’t get through. I rushed home.

When I got there…
several kapitbahay were standing in the yard. My wife was sobbing, looking very upset. A kabaong was lying right in the yard. Seeing me, the neighbors just shook their heads in pity and then left one by one.

My wife told me: “You keep going. I’ll call the kabaong here. If something happens, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.” I had to coax her for a long time before she stopped crying.

The irony is that the serbisyo libing did not accept the return of the kabaong, saying that it had been delivered according to the order, and that if I wanted to return it, I would have to wait until tomorrow morning for the manager to come. So the kabaong just lay in the middle of my yard all night.

My wife is too much. She makes me both scared and tired. If it continues like this, should I quit my job and stay home to please my wife?

Burying “Anger”
The kabaong lay in the middle of the yard, Quezon City was late at night but the alley was still buzzing. I pulled the iron door closed, turned on the yellow light switch in front of the porch. My wife sat down on the brick floor, her eyes swollen, her hands still shaking.

“Why did you call for a coffin?” I asked, trying to keep my voice calm.

She swallowed: “Because I’m afraid… afraid that one day someone will call and say you’re drunk and lying in one like that. I want you to see my fear.”

I paused. It was the first time I heard my wife express her fear completely, without shouting, without breaking anything.

I sat down next to her, lowered my voice: “I embarrassed you in front of your partner, made you crazy with worry. I’m sorry for considering work more important than your sense of security.”

My wife was silent. The night rain pattered on the corrugated iron roof.

“No one has taken this kabaong back yet,” I said, “So… can I use it to bury the things that make me suffer?”

She looked up: “Bury… what?”

I took out a pen and paper, wrote in large letters: “Drunk – came home late – showed off photos carelessly” and folded it. My wife looked at it for a while, then wrote with trembling hands: “Smashing – screaming – baseless suspicion”. We both put the two pieces of paper in the empty kabaong, lit a small candle. There was no ceremony, just the two of us whispering: “From tonight, let it die.”

My wife leaned her head on my shoulder, sighed: “Pasensya na. You’ve gone too far.”

I squeezed her hand: “From tomorrow, let’s do it again, with a clear plan.”

The next morning: apologize, return the kabaong, and make an appointment for reconciliation

At 8 o’clock, the serbisyo libing manager came. I paid the cancellation and shipping fees, apologizing for the trouble last night. Before they carried it away, the wife put another piece of paper in the kabaong: “Fear of abandonment.” Then the lid was closed. It was much lighter.

The wife said: “Let’s go to the barangay hall. I want to talk properly, no more arguing.”

At the barangay hall, Lupon Tagapamayapa took over. A Kapitana looked at us and smiled: “Waláng sigaw, waláng basag (no shouting, no breaking things). Would you like to try a reconciliation agreement?”

We nodded. And here is the “marriage contract… in real life” that my wife and I wrote ourselves:

Maximum 2 drinks when inuman. After 2 drinks → notify the wife and go home immediately.

Must be home by 10 o’clock (unless scheduled in advance by text message).

Only 1 photo posted online when going to work; no private photos with colleagues of the opposite sex, no photos that can cause misunderstandings.

When the argument heats up, anyone can say “Pause” → pause for 20 minutes: no texting, no talking, each person walks around, drinks water.

No destruction. If there is any damage, the person who caused it must fix it/compensate and write 3 things to be grateful for about the other person.

I divide the weekly meeting schedule, send my wife the phone number of a female colleague in charge of the team so that if necessary, she can verify without video calling in the middle of the meeting.

Once a month, my wife goes to a business dinner together (to see everyone’s faces), and I promise to leave the table if the partner tries to force me to drink

Psychological care

Wife signed up for an emotional management class on Saturday nights at the barangay cultural house;

We had couples counseling at the parish near our house twice a week

When we saw signs of an explosion: call out the agreed keyword: “Our house or the neighbors?” – meaning choose to sit back or go out for a 10-minute walk.

15-minute “check-in”: Ask 1 thing that makes you tired, 1 thing that makes you proud, 1 thing that you want the other person to help you with tomorrow. No arguing, just listening.

Kapitana stamped the reconciliation minutes. We bowed “Salamat po”

The following days: Replace habits with actions

I bought a timer. 9:30 pm rang – “get ready to go home”. Even though the conversation was good, I stood up: “See you again.” The first time was difficult, but my partner was… much more respectful.

My wife replaced the fragile glass cups with thick plastic cups in the kitchen. She put up a 4–7–8 breathing chart on the wall. Every time she almost exploded, she pointed at the chart and we both breathed together.

On Sunday, we filmed a clip apologizing to the neighbors for the kabaong incident, brought some pandesal and bibingka to invite everyone. The whole alley… laughed. It turned out that everyone had a night of “overdoing it”.

One night, I took the initiative to text: “They invited me over for videoke, I’ll be back at 9:45.” My wife replied: “Okay. Remember to buy me taho when you get home.” I came home on time. She tiptoed to open the gate, didn’t question me, just accepted the taho: “Good job.”

We started to keep score with little things like that.

Three months later: the kabaong turned into a joke… and a promise

Three months passed, and people in the alley talked about the kabaong like an anecdote. My wife teased: “One day we’ll sponsor a funeral tablecloth for the chapel, it’s a way to repay our karma.” I laughed and nodded. But the funny thing is that the number of times I got drunk… came home almost zero; and the number of things broken in the house – exactly zero.

One night, my wife gave me a small notebook. Inside were two old papers that we had “buried” – she kept them before the service took the kabaong away. At the bottom, she wrote a new line:

“No one wins when a husband and wife argue. Only two people lose or win together.”

I also wrote a line:

“I need safety – you need respect. We give each other what we lack, we will have what we want.”

My wife leaned her head on my shoulder: “Thank you for staying with me, not to endure, but to fix it together.”

I squeezed her hand: “And thank you for stopping before you broke more – to tell me.”

That night, the cool wind blew through the thin curtains. There was no more clinking of dishes, no more sighs. Only the sound of the pendulum clock and the steady breathing of the two people who had buried their anger, to dig up trust.

This time, we did not promise to “never quarrel”. We promised: every time we quarrel, we will not scare each other – and will sleep together, no more kabaong needed