"I Wish We Could Choose What Memories To Remember"

*This is an entry for the May Blog Of The Month competition.

Ssh... silent... quiet. It won't hurt. Almost done...

I feel denuded, insecure and vulnerable. Fearful of my subtle existence that has pushed me into a dungeon from where there is no way back. Secluded and concealed are those millions of scars that adorn my soul which gets tormented every now and then when a flashback of my childhood memories plays in the back of my mind reminding me of things I don't want to recount.Reminding me of all those innumerable times when I had lost hope in life, when my dainty shoulders could no more carry the burden of silence, when my tongue and lips were snatched the right of expression, when my mind was a mere slave hypnotized under the influence of not so good people.

What if you sleep in your bed one night cozy and warm, hugged by your mommy, calm that she won't let anything happen to you but when you open your eyes, you find yourself in a dense forest far far away from your home surrounded by beasts ready to pounce upon you and prey on you? What will be your next move? Shout? Run? What if you are tied too?

I am 35. Single. Jobless. A smoker. A drug addict. Yet I am alive and apparently content. I have long stopped searching for colourful blossoming flowers that embellish spring. The vast array of wild butterflies that float gracefully in the air flaunting their beauty were never a subject of my interest. The rainy widowed sky, coughing out great gouts of water and balloons of sopping moisture has never enthralled me the way it always did to other children.

The eerie darkness of that night would never escape my memory. I clearly remember the pitch black curtain draped over the sky,and the twisted warped shapes that the stars made against the blackness. I hate the night. It hides peoples' flaws, their imperfections, their sins and they get an opportunity to commit the grievous crimes unseen by the outside world.

It was my parents' marriage anniversary and they had planned of throwing a party at our farm house on the outskirts of the city. Since I was ill, they couldn't take with them a 5 year old to ruin their special night and so my paternal uncle was advised to take care of me in their absence. I had always idealized him for he was my hero, the way he could so flawlessly mend my broken toys, his exceptional capability of learning each and every word of my book within seconds mesmerized me, his athletic body made me long to keeping one when I would grow up. In a nutshell, I wanted my daddy to be perfect like him.

No sooner did I hear my parents leave, I saw his smiling face at my door. I gestured him to come in since I was too weak to speak but no wonder, his arrival had lightened me up. His warm and welcoming smile always acted as a charger for me bringing in a new gush of energy which engorged itself in the form of liveliness that immediately used to spread across my face. We talked for hours, and listening to bed time stories from him was the best part but then a strange thing happened, not exactly strange but enough to make me feel uncomfortable. Taking off his shirt, he winked and showed me his body saying that he wanted to see mine  too. Though I was a kid but my mommy had always taught me not to undress in front of anyone. Everyone has a privacy and that's the reason that we wear clothes, she had said.

So, I objected. But he was bigger and way stronger than me and could easily overpower me and he did. His giant hand draped over my mouth preventing my muffled cries to even escape my room. Almost done.. Don't worry. It won't hurt. Are you enjoying this? These words still echo in my ears.
I was threatened not to tell anyone about it or else he would lock me in the storeroom. And it then happened daily. Every night. Every day. Daily. Sensing a change in my behavior, mommy tried hard to make me speak out but I was too scared to tell her anything. Weeks and then years passed, and my silence kept parasitizing me internally leaving me a mere corpse. I could no more tolerate it. I had no one to speak my heart out.

It was then that I decided to leave my home. I was 15 then. What I left behind was just a note having everything written on it, hopeful that the monster would get punished.

Though I tried hard to leave everything that reminded me of him but obviously the awful memories always stayed with me and will stay with me no matter how hard I try to rip off that part of my life .I am a stronger woman now. My scars are my strength which with each passing day, make me realize this hard fact that memories do get old but they become an essential part of your being so denial is not the solution, you have to accept, repent, learn and move on.

- Layeeba Malick (Class of 2018)