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 Jananie Chandrarao.
Trigger Warning: sexual violence and physical violence.
I know you think it's you. If only you tried a little harder. If only you kept it together for a little longer. If only you spoke a little lesser… There wouldn't have been an entire cosmos of blues and blacks plastered to your skin. Or words like needles poking where your heart has been.
Did you know he was capable of this? That he would scar the skin he caressed. Strangle the neck he kissed. Your ‘oh my god’s wouldn’t have been crying for help but just the ecstasy in bed.
Did he apologise after? When he clawed you; his fingers buried deep into your skin, pushed against the wall and your will. When your screams of ‘No’s did not matter as much as his desire for pleasure. Tell me, did he apologise? With tears wrapped in empty promises that he’d never ever ever hurt you ever again. It must have been so confusing. The man who tore your panties against your will looked unrecognisable to the man begging on his knees.
Unrecognisable to the man who brought you out on dates and delivered the stars on a platter. The sweet sweet heart-stopper that you fell for on a rainy day in a coffee shop covered in his same sweet-smelling sweater. Hours would pass by in minutes and you still needed all the time in the world to learn about him just a little better. Only now he is really trying to stop your heart and he just might if it’s just another minute longer.
But the next day you wake up. The day before, it was like it never happened to him. He kisses you good morning and expects coffee. When it’s handed, he thanks you with a kiss, again. It’s like the purplish yellow right over on your cheekbone is not visible to him. But you still paint it with a generous amount of foundation and lie about the cut on your lips to your colleagues. You practiced it in front of the mirror in the morning after all. With a forgetful ‘Oh’ like you have forgotten about the cut and a slight chuckle after the tragic but funny story of you tripping over your dog, Oscar. It was also an Oscar performance.
You don’t think they’d want to know. On top of that, you don’t think you should tell them either. Didn’t your amma tell you that you can’t be too stubborn? That marriage is all about compromise and tolerance (even if it’s one-sided). That to be a woman would mean putting everyone else before you, your husband, your in-laws, your neighbours, his aunty, my chitappa and that uncle who lives down the road and especially the one wrapped inside your 3-months baby bump, growing up hearing you cry yourself to sleep every night. How could you ever let him/her/them come into the world without a father figure even if the thought of your own husband touching you again makes you want to puke.
Whoever you are, even if you comprised an entire universe within, you need to dumb down and stuff yourself into the box of an ‘ideal wife’. Be self-sacrificing until there is not an ounce of happiness left for you. Be submissive until there are no more words coming out of you. Because isn’t that what your amma did, and her amma did and her amma’s amma did as well? They’re passing the baton to you.
But I hope you know, that you have a choice. A choice to not accept it.
Voice, a tool so powerful that broke free from the tight grasp of inequality and clutches of oppression; ignited revolutions. That brought conventional but deeply flawed structures of the society down to its goddamn knees. Yet we were never raised being taught of the competence we possessed. Our desire to be vocal was mislabelled as a rebel. Vaayadi, they would have called you. But, have you ever thought about if there was a similar word to describe men? Vaayadan doesn’t exist… Or needed because men didn’t need to be silenced.
I know there is a voice buried deep within you. That voice that says otherwise every time he calls you ‘stupid’ and ‘useless’. That gentle voice that nudges you to feel that you deserve better than this. That voice that yearns for change, to move, to run and not ever be confined into a space with a ticking time bomb that would blow up any second.
I’m not going to be another one of those who will ask you ‘Why didn’t you just leave?’. But I will ask you, ‘Is there anything stopping him from putting you into a coffin?’.
I know… His tearful apologies weren’t in vain. They gave you hopes by giving you glimpses of a broken man who needed you to fix him. A man who loves you so much, he’d punish himself for hitting you. You think to yourself that the sweet sweet heart-stopper is still there buried under rage and anger and breaking objects and bones. What will stop him from breaking the bones of your baby boy? Is a father figure needed if he’s also an abuser?
You don’t think they’d want to know. But your colleague noticed how you always had a funny excuse for your injuries. Isn’t that why she always bombards you with ‘Are you okay?’ and ‘How was your day?’. Your brother noticed the slight marks of strangulation that you forgot to paint over with foundation. He shared it with his wife. They’re insisting on paying you a visit next week despite their work commitments. Your neighbour heard your screams. Isn’t that why she only needs a charger, or some coffee, or has something to pass it to you and rings your doorbell exactly when he’s using you like a punching bag. You are seen. You are cared for. It may not seem that way right now. It might feel all alone. But there are those who are willing to help and listen to your plights… if you just let them in.
I know you think it's you. If only you tried a little harder. If only you kept it together for a little longer. If only you spoke a little lesser… But honey… It’s not you. It was never you.
Chittappa: Uncle.
Vaayadi: A term used to describe girls who speak too much but put in a pejorative manner.
Vaayadan: An imagined term if vaayadi was directed at a man.