As I write this, I’m curled up at the end of this sofa, the one against the wall. It is farthest from humanity, my little nook.
I can only hope I’ll write everything without mother summoning me to do something, without dad asking to know why his phone was on vibration?
I washed clothes today. They are still outside. It was grey, gloomy and cold. I put off bathing during the day. Not because of the cold, but because I wasn’t ready to face my fears. That’s what the bathroom means to me. In those four walls, I meet with my conscience. I pity myself, wonder how to trim my waist, how to make my one smaller hip equal to the other.
I face my fears, my horrors, my childhood demons. I face that small bathroom window close to the roof and feel like a prisoner of my own thoughts and feelings.
So I stood there, feeling cold, the water cooling, goosebumps all over me. I let my tears stroke me as I sniffed away. I stood there and felt sorry for my bad decisions, my abandonment issues, my insecurities and my failure to write about pedophilia. I felt sorry I had never known the right decision to make, only knowing answers to textbook questions.
As I stood there, tears blurring my sight, my tummy jutting out, with one huger hip and a waist I’m not secure about, I experienced silence. Serenity. Like I could make the right decisions. But my mum’s footsteps in the hallway drew me back. I held back my sniffs and started washing. Maybe she heard me sniffing, maybe she wondered why it was silent in the bathroom and she was waiting to send me to buy her hair gel. Nonetheless, I wasn’t ready to let her see how broken I was. She didn’t want a normal teenager with issues, she wanted a teenager whose concerns are education based. Yet here I was, a whole mess. Education was the last thing on my mind.
And as I went to dress, I wanted to be me. The me who is fearful to be out. The me who will call papa and say I was in love, and thinking of marriage. To giggle as he says to read and graduate first. The me who would tell him education had been put in a box for too long.
I wanted to be the me who would receive calls in front of my mother. The me who would graduate and put my degree below all my other certificates. The me who would tell her I was too lazy to withstand a 8am-4pm job. I wanted to have a desk, a laptop, a sofa and drink coffee from a hippie mug in hippie pajamas. And write. Write as I laugh, as I cry, as I reminisce and as I hope. I wanted to tell mum that’s all I wanted.
And I wanted to kiss in the rain. Hell! I want to kiss in front of my mother, like I want to make love. In front of family, and friends, kiss like I’m sucking ambrosia off a flower. And I wanted to forget. Forget I was ever naïve and a hopeless romantic. Forget I ever loved without slaving my man. I wanted to not care, enough to sleep flawlessly a whole night without hugging the pillow or checking my phone.
But as I walked to run errands, I cried. Trying to lower my head so they wouldn’t see, I crumbled and cried for the young me. I cried as those men watched me walk past them, not realizing I was crying. And as I was walking back home, I cried because I had cried for something silly, but had only summoned few drops after learning of my uncle’s death. I cried because a woman walking ahead of me was strong, and she was rushing to the hospital to see her sick child. I cried because a wood jutting out had caught my attention, and I had noticed that it formed a heart with its shadow. And I was broken. I cried because despite certificates, I was a loser.
Last week while on an interview for a holiday job, the man looked at my certificates and said that I seemed to have been a bright student. I kept quiet. Partly because I wanted to be modest. Part because I wanted to say, “only in my studies, sir”. Today, today I would look at him, with my crying eyes, and say, “No. No sir. I am a loser. I win for a while, but lose for eternity”
As I conclude this, it has been more than an hour. Baba Baby has not noticed I’m secretly drawing away tears.
PS: I have been sent on numerous errands while writing this.
PPS: The brown kitten has been nibbling on my big misshapen toe, I cried harder.