Gifts Do Not Always Bring Joy

Dear Family,

It is not every day that you open up to tell everybody about yourself. So my journey. As far as I can remember, I was in kindergarten. I still remember mom leaving me there with the teacher and me rushing to her crying, please don’t abandon me. I was aware that it was for my own good, just that I felt confused about the leaving me alone part.

Same year for Christmas, dad brought me and my sister a battery-operated train. He mounted the whole thing and operated it for us. It left a tiny trail of smoke as well. It felt the most joyous of occasions for me. That same night, he slapped and kicked my mother in front of us until there was a trail of blood in the direction she went. My first encounter with blood. I was terrified. Mom was running away, I ran after her as fast as my tiny legs could carry me, but she had disappeared. My dad was drunk. After looking for my mother in the dark, I came inside to find the room upside down, the wheels of the train clicking and turning. Everything was shattered. 

Later that week, dad came home drunk again. He twisted the arm of my grandmother until her wrist was broken. As a result, she was handicapped for the duration of her life. She had treatments, but she evicted all of us. We came in a big lorry with all the stuff to our paternal house. There were no rooms for us. It was the shed where the hens and goats were kept. It was swiftly cleaned to accommodate us.

I still remember the waxed floor, the cramped room and that Christmas as it was yesterday. 

to be continued..