Parents
I have been through shit. I have faced problems. I failed miserably many times. I was hurt and broken umpteen number of times. But never had I missed parents ever as today.
I have known kids who were brats. I know people who have never cared for others. I know many who have been fit for nothing. But surprisingly there was one common thing amongst these. Their parents supported them no matter what.
I wanted them badly when I was growing. When I was struggling with adolescence. When I wanted to pursue my choice of subject. I wanted them to trust me with my choice and not thrust me with theirs. I wanted them to be friendly, loving and caring and most importantly express their feelings to me. They did express but unfortunately they were only anger, hatred and also gifted me a sense of hopelessness. I think I am big time affected by that till date. And forever will.
I got into relationships that were not worth just because I wanted to find love in urgency to fill the hollowness created by them. I married in a rush only because of fear, need to be loved, enjoy the freedom to merely smile on my own (Smiling was also a sin at my parents' place. Sigh!!!) and discover myself. I guess life was waiting to teach me more than what I could wish for.
There started an everlasting journey of torture and abuse started. It took me nearly 7.5-8 years to realize I had a way out. But by then I had lost everything including health, energy, intelligence, wit, memory with self-respect topping the list. I had to run away from the place, enjoy my freedom or rather the right to live. In the bargain, I lost my son. The pain that will live with me forever.
Today again I face different scenarios where I need them to hold and guide me. My daughter needs them to understand maternal relationships. I want them to gain me my lost self-respect before my in laws. To show my husband where I belong to. Unfortunately, parents are again not here.
It pains to digest the fact that I am only a few minutes away from them and yet cannot meet them. To hug them. To talk to them. To share my joys and sorrows to them. A desire that is yet to be fulfilled. A confusion that never dies. A feeling that never transpires.
Till date have never written about them nor have I had the guts to pour out my loss. I think with age you gain a sense of confidence. And your intuitions ring an alarm of freedom of expression. I could progress only till the pen and the paper. I wonder when I am going to walk those few kilometers and meet them. However, I am happy with the snail-paced progress in these 11 years.
P.S: This post is not about their inability to understand me, but my failure to extend a hand towards them.
I have known kids who were brats. I know people who have never cared for others. I know many who have been fit for nothing. But surprisingly there was one common thing amongst these. Their parents supported them no matter what.
I wanted them badly when I was growing. When I was struggling with adolescence. When I wanted to pursue my choice of subject. I wanted them to trust me with my choice and not thrust me with theirs. I wanted them to be friendly, loving and caring and most importantly express their feelings to me. They did express but unfortunately they were only anger, hatred and also gifted me a sense of hopelessness. I think I am big time affected by that till date. And forever will.
I got into relationships that were not worth just because I wanted to find love in urgency to fill the hollowness created by them. I married in a rush only because of fear, need to be loved, enjoy the freedom to merely smile on my own (Smiling was also a sin at my parents' place. Sigh!!!) and discover myself. I guess life was waiting to teach me more than what I could wish for.
There started an everlasting journey of torture and abuse started. It took me nearly 7.5-8 years to realize I had a way out. But by then I had lost everything including health, energy, intelligence, wit, memory with self-respect topping the list. I had to run away from the place, enjoy my freedom or rather the right to live. In the bargain, I lost my son. The pain that will live with me forever.
Today again I face different scenarios where I need them to hold and guide me. My daughter needs them to understand maternal relationships. I want them to gain me my lost self-respect before my in laws. To show my husband where I belong to. Unfortunately, parents are again not here.
It pains to digest the fact that I am only a few minutes away from them and yet cannot meet them. To hug them. To talk to them. To share my joys and sorrows to them. A desire that is yet to be fulfilled. A confusion that never dies. A feeling that never transpires.
Till date have never written about them nor have I had the guts to pour out my loss. I think with age you gain a sense of confidence. And your intuitions ring an alarm of freedom of expression. I could progress only till the pen and the paper. I wonder when I am going to walk those few kilometers and meet them. However, I am happy with the snail-paced progress in these 11 years.
P.S: This post is not about their inability to understand me, but my failure to extend a hand towards them.
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