Each time I glance at the mirror, I see the face of a girl. Her life story. And the red scars from her crazy life journey. I am the girl I see in the mirror. The girl that still lurks around hoping to find peace one day.
From the beginning of my conscious existence, I have always viewed the world as a delirious place dominated by hatred, suffering and violence.
The night I killed Pa, the parting was just a sweet sorrow. The sound of his last breath had glided over me like a warm water. I felt relieved. I felt liberated from the man that had seen me as a wasted space. And had used me as a target for his disappointments, violence and hatred. Once, he had locked me up in our tiny toilet for three days with no food or water. Another, he had ordered I rub pepper all over my body because I had used cream on my body.
A gloomy autumn day, he had come in. Momma was soundly asleep. I was at a corner reading a book. He had looked at me in a strange way. Just then, like an angry god, he had marched towards momma. Pulled her up and gave her a heavy slap. Momma staggered to the floor. “Where is my money?” he thundered.
I stood watching, unable to speak. The scenario was heartbreaking, intense and insane. The night he took a trip down to my honey chamber, was the dreadful of all nights. He had entered my room in a drunken state. Till he finished his business, I was too shocked to shout or cry. I lived with the memory for years. I hated him, a man with an empty heart, guilty of rape. He wasn’t human.
That was the world I grew up in, a crazy world. Of nothing but of sorrow and bitterness. I have so many episodes to talk about but the words evade me, they hide from me.
One thing I know, a day would come when all these pains locked up in my breast would find their way out of my existence.