You were seven. When a hand held a bar of the balcony and the other waved at your mother. “I’ll be back in a jiffy,” she said. Mother never lied, but something about the way she hugged you gave you a reason to worry not to talk about the tears she was fighting back. It felt like goodbye. You waved with your right hand, and you would pause intermittently to wipe your tears and then continue. You can’t remember what you or your sisters wore that day, but Mother wore red. You waved between sobs until the yellow colour of the taxi was out of your blurred vision but you still held the bar tightly like it was the last string of your parent’s relationship and you wanted to save it badly. You hugged your sisters afterwards, and for the second time that day, you realized that hugs are not always warm and comforting. Sometimes, it’s a goodbye, and sometimes, it’s a solidarity. “We’re in this together,” it says. But despite what it feels like, it’s still a hug, and it is uncertain when you’ll get it again. It could be six years later on your sister’s graduation.
The first time you spoke to her on the phone, she said she was going to return on Wednesday. The days it took to reach Wednesday were the longest three days of your life. It felt like three years. On that day, you wore your best and waited only to wake up the next day in the same clothes and in the same state of mind. You were broken. You seldom spoke to her, but each time you did, you always asked, and she would reply with a day of the week. It took you a hot minute to realize that some questions like yours shouldn’t be asked, so you stopped asking and prayed every day for mother’s return. Even after she broke the news of their divorce when you were twelve, you never stopped praying for a miracle because the past five years without her scarred you both physically and mentally. You wanted peace for a change. You wanted a HOME!!
I’m unsure if my words will do justice to the picture, but living in a broken home is like living in a ship that has split into two. Just like the ship, you can never be whole again. Your mind and body are never in the same place . You’ll wish you had supernatural powers to be in both parts of the ship at the same time. Maybe if you had the power, the ship wouldn’t even split in the first place. It messes you up completely, especially when you can’t even show that you care. You wear a mask and pretend that the other part of the ship is your past and long forgotten. It’s also a taboo to have parents. It’s either mother or father, but you can’t have both at the same time. And it gets to a point where you’re forced to pick sides. Ridiculous!! It’s like being asked to pick between your left and right eye.
You become an adult at a tender age. A lion in a cub’s body. When your mates are still playing hide and seek you, my broken child, have mastered the art of hiding the truth mother seeks. “Does he talk ill about me?” She would ask every time, and like the state of things, your answer never changed.
Now, you’re 22. And you’re still seeking for home in everyone, everything and everywhere. But how can you find a home when you mask your love with an “I don’t care” attitude? How can you, my broken child?
Coffee with Bibtie 