This is a piece of autobiographical fiction. Space and time have been rearranged to suit the convenience of the book, and with the exception of public figures, any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental. The opinions expressed are those of the characters and should not be confused with the author’s.
This story is written as an example to anyone who wants to believe that we are more than the patriarchy deems us to be, more than our limitations, and more than our fears.
28th December, 4am
I violently wake up from a nightmare and I recognize that I’m not in my own bed. I’m sleeping on my brother’s bed while he’s away at National service.
A deep gut-wrenching pain hits me and I clutch my chest with one hand while the other one supported my weak, hungover body as I push myself off the bed.
I open the door to my parents’ room and I crawl in between them.
Just like I did before when I was a child, whenever I had nightmares.
Wedged in between my parents, I feel my body convulse as I cried again. This time, I let it all out. I let myself sob as loudly as I could. My parents, abruptly awakened by my presence, quickly put their arms around me as they let me cry.
There, on my parents’ bed, my crying represented me begging for my parents to take my load off me. Even just for a second. I just needed them to hold me while I cried. I needed them to let me feel less alone – even just for a few minutes.
Before long, I fell asleep again, worn out from the crying. Later on, I would find out that my parents lay in the dark, their arms wrapped around me, their eyes locked on each others’ as they exchanged tormented glances.
I can only imagine the pain they were going through. After all, I was their “princess”. I was their daughter, their flesh and blood. My parents didn’t know how else to help – so they let me sleep. My mother soothed my crying as I feel deep into slumber, her hands coaxing over my forehead like you would for a baby.
I’m still angry, that I ever let my parents love a man like that.