EMPOWER Malaysia organised a writing competition to encourage the wider public to "Break the Silence", for themselves & others. This is one of the top entries, written by Loshni Nair.
Ibu,
I have lost count. I don’t know how many times I have found myself in this same spot. This same, exact one, just thinking of words. Trying to find the right ones, you know, the ones that will show you that I take some responsibility for what happened (although I really, really do not) without giving you a chance to make it all my fault, the ones that will show you how regretful I am without accidentally paving the way for you to rip away what little freedom I now allow myself, the ones that will help me free myself without hurting you, without forcing you into an abyss of shame.
I try to think of a script. I plan. And I plan. Then I plan some more. That is all my life is now. Planning my next three steps to the front door. Planning the routes I will take home after work. Planning half-cooked excuses as I hide from the people I used to laugh with. Planning the next five days as I find myself sinking into this bed that has somehow grown claws and promises to hold my pain. I plan how to tell you.
I know this script so well, and I mean so well. I know when to pause, when to raise my pitch, when to return to hushed tones, when to drag my vowels. But each time I play it in my head, it is I who has everything to lose. It is I who faces the barrage of tu lah, siapa suruh tak tutup aurat. But Ibu. He didn’t force himself into me because he liked my hair. He did it because he could. He did it because he was bigger, because he was stronger. He did it because he knew I wouldn’t know how to answer to tu lah, siapa suruh keluar ngan laki? But Ibu. I loved him. He was so good to me. He was going to meet you, you know, to ask you for permission. He was
going to marry me. He said he would marry me. But now I am tongue-tied, unable to find my words, as you spit, through a rage I have never imagined even possible, siapa nak kawin ngan pompuan cam ni? I don’t know, Ibu. I don’t know. I wish you would give me more credit than that. I wish you would see all the things I still am, instead of everything I am not because of what he did to me. And then you reach for the final nail in my coffin. You say, slowly, one word at a time, as if waiting for me to translate each word as it falls out of your mouth, jangan buka aib, and my heart sinks. I feel it traveling down my body, its weight gathering in my feet, and for a minute, just for a single minute, everything is cold. I think I lied to myself. I think I lied to myself so well that I convinced myself that you would never, that you would never do that to me. But here I am, heart on the floor, tears frozen in my eyes. Why did you have to do this?
So you see, Ibu. There is nothing I can do that will convince you that I did not ask for it. There is nothing I can say that will convince you to be on my side. Telling you will be the worst thing I do to myself, so I refuse. I refuse to let you destroy what little self-worth I have left. I refuse to allow you to hammer nails into this coffin that I am just learning how to crawl out of, even if it means suffocating as I lay alone in the darkness. I refuse to allow you to make my pain about you. I refuse to allow you to make this my fault. So I have decided, no more planning. My time will come when yours ends. Jasmines in hand, with you in perpetual silence six feet under, I will tell you all about the time rape nearly ended my life.
Comments