Behind her crafted mask… Episode 9…

Do you remember that girl that you picked on in school? Yeah the chubby girl with the short hair. That weird girl that sat in front of you in English class. She was different to you and you couldn’t but help to make it known to her that you disapproved of her with your bullying and teasing and taunting. You remember her right? I know that you do. You had no idea what she went through and yet you found it funny to laugh at her shoes, at her hair, at her lunch, at her not having a picture perfect home like you….

 

 

But who told you what picture perfect was?

And who showed you how to be so mean?

Was it society?

Or are some of us just born that way….

 

 

I don’t think that any human being is born bad or evil. I look at the innocence of a new life and I wonder what happens along the way to change us, to mould some of us into distorted figures….

 

 

Little did you know that you were brewing a unique individual with each taunt … a troubled soul with each ugly term that you spat at her. I bet that you wish you could turn back and change it today, I guess that she wishes the same….

 

 

What would you do if you could go back and how much would you change?

Would it be a simple thing like your name, your height or the color of your skin?

 

 

I would change everything! I would never let my father go to work on that fateful Wednesday that he had a heart attack. Maybe if he stayed with me, he would be fine! My life would be as picture perfect as yours and you would allow me to sit with you at lunch.

 

 

If I could go back…..

I would hold onto his strong legs as he stood at the front door kissing my mother goodbye, begging him not to leave. Then I would make him tea and eggs with toast in my plastic cook and bake set that he bought for me the week before. I can picture him closing his eyes as he slurps up the imaginary tea loudly. He would act as though it scorched his tongue at first closing his eyes tightly and then he would smile and say that it was the best cuppa he’d ever had!

 

 

The why’s, the if’s and the what if’s never stop do they ….

 

 

 

What if he stayed home that day?
What if I didn’t let them bury him? What if I dug him up immediately after they put him into the earth?
Would things be different now?
Would I be happier?
If my father were alive, would I be such a lost, torn and disgruntled soul, searching for peace, searching for a savior?

 

 

I wonder ….

What if I woke up and found that it was all a dream?

What if my entire life was just one bad dream???

I think that subconsciously I go to bed each night hoping to wake up from my nightmare life. Some nights, I go to bed wanting to never wake up again. Most nights, I go to bed and then wake up in my dreams, in my tortured dreams screaming but no one can hear me ….

 


The creak and twist of the door handle floors me. It always catches me unaware although I sit waiting for it to sound. How can the creaking door still take my breath away as if I’m not used to this happening to me, even though it happens every night. My heart drops down to my navel and my eyes refuse to blink. I’m not sure if I’m awake or if I’m asleep. Am I seeing him standing at the door or am I dreaming? I’m not even sure if I’m dead or if I’m still breathing!

 

 

To be continued…

Haajar…

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