I was down when writing this piece and started thinking about my life. I realised that I don't...
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The beginning of The End
One of my earliest childhood memories is the cry of an abused woman, surrounded by the family of villains she was married into. She seeked nothing but to love and be appreciated. As a bastard child, she learned to be independent from a very young age and her father’s early depature from her life contributed to this. All that she had in her life now was her mother who was never there most of the time because she had to work to make sure that her only daughter could have a bright future. As a child, she was isolated from the world because she had no understanding of what family was or meant. As bright as she was, she failed to make friends and she had to mature quickly. Her strength and wisdom gave her attributes that no other child could have- patience and tolerance. This was the girl who later became my mother- Maria. When she married her high school sweetheart- Tony, she thought that it would be the end of her misery and that this would be the start of something new. She would finally have a father, a character who had been missing for the last 25 years of her life but would surely make his prescence felt in the remainder of her life. Her “new” father did protect her as he was the only one who was trying to prevent the entire family from stoning her with their words and hands. With every fist that Tony managed to land onto her face, animosity towards him started brewing inside an unknown part of my body- my soul. As time progressed, I quickly became accustomed to abuse. It was nothing new anymore and... there was nothing wrong with it. This is the nature I grew up in. Every night I feared for my life, my sibling’s life and my mother’s life. I wouldn’t sleep when all of the other kids slept as I would wait for him to pounce and attack her. That is when I would run to give up my life for her. Let him scar me rather than abuse her. As he attacked, I would jump in front of her so that his fists landed on my face. There I was, a seven year old boy with bloodshot eyes trying to protect my mother.