No Easy Way Out

By Patricia Pinto


The pain was like nothing she had ever known. It spread from her heart to her eyes and through her soul. The tears as she lay in a ball on her bed, her spirit crumpled. In her mind, she replayed her "conversation" with her father.

"Why every week must go out? Cannot stay at home, is it? Nowadays, you very big, no need to ask permission lah! Just tell and then go out, huh?" he shouted at her. His anger shocked her.

"I tell you cannot go means cannot go. The other time, after play futsal, I already told you cannot go out again. That was the last time."

Her face fell; she could not remember him ever saying that. But father did not give her a chance to reply. He ended abruptly and she went into her room, careful not to slam the door and fuel his anger.

She phoned her boyfriend and told him about her father's harsh words. He reminded her that her father had no legal right to keep her in the house. He also expressed his frustrations with her parents, particularly her father, who seemed opposed to her making friends with guys.

After the call, she curled up in a ball and tried hard not to let the tears fall. All this time, she had stomached her parents' accusations stoically. But what hurt most was that they persisted in treating her like a 10-year-old kid, and not the 20-year-old woman she had become.

Hoe many years had she followed their orders blindly, giving them what they wanted? When they wanted good grades, she had scored them and waited to hear their praise. Instead, they had complained that she was not a straight-A student.

She did not have a good time at school either. People had mocked her because of her figure, and later, her name. Then things got worse. Her "friends" had teased and bullied her. But she took everything good-naturedly, letting them run roughshod over her. She felt left out because whenever they made plans to go out, she could not join in. She was lonely.

Talking to her parents had never been an option. They cared more for her brother, although lately, she'd noticed that even he was getting the brunt of their tongue. They never heard her cries at night, and never knew her frustration when she could not answer a question. They always stifled some of her interests with this question: "Is it in your books?"

Even when she had a boyfriend, she did not tell him everything. She did not dare confide in anyone because she'd learnt from a young age, that expressing a "forbidden" feeling would incur harsh words and humiliation, especially in front of her other relatives.

How she longed to have a shoulder cry on; to have someone hug her and tell her that it was okay, that she had done her best. Was it so wrong to ask that her parents say they love her?

Her lips twisted bitterly as she thought of the idiom: "Blood is thicker than water."

Which father would hit and kick his only son just because his favourite hat had a small, insignificant part missing? Which mother would use her own daughter as an excuse to turn herself into something she was not? What kind of parents would poison their own children against their cousins?

She held up her hand and looked at the faint blue veins on her wrist. Smiling to herself, she went to the kitchen, took a small knife, then returned to her room. She locked the door, then stared at the metal blade. She began to think of everything good in her life.

Those friends who did not mind hearing her prattle away. Her grandmother, who loved her unconditionally . A boyfriend who loved her too, but who - from their latest conversation - she felt she did not really deserve. Her little cousins, who would wonder why she had chosen this road.

Then she thought of the "bad" things. The father whose expectations she could never fulfil. Her mother, who wanted her to be what she herself could not be. Her aunts, who always took advantage of the fact that she lived near them. Her godmother, who she had thought of confiding in in once, but was now glad she didn't. And of the loneliness of not being able to talk to the very people who were responsible for her life.

Then she thought of what would happen if she slit her wrist.

There would be the funeral to be arranged and paid for. Her brother would truly be alone, without her around to confide in and share his secrets. Her cousins would be shocked, but the aunts would gossip behind her mother's back.

The shock of a beloved granddaughter's suicide might kill her grandmother. There would be one less mouth to feed, but her mother would be angry about all the money she'd spent on her tertiary education. Her little cousin, who'd lost her mother and now clung to her, would be devastated. But good might come of this: if the cousin clung to her father's girlfriend instead, it would bring them all closer to each other.

Then she looked at the teddy bear her boyfriend had given her long ago for Christmas. It looked worn but was still fluffy. And she knew then that doing something stupid would cause him even more pain.

She put the knife away.

From Starmag