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My title as being a perfectionist was only a dream. Once a dream, now was something I need to wish for to even happening. My mind was all set before, after it was traumatized with all the hideous thoughts that dictated my mind. Once a beautiful soul NOW felt like a pounding black hole that is always pounding with fear.
HOW did this all happen? “HOW?” seems to be the only solution I need. It all started with that school. Maybe if we didn’t live in a basement having problems with rental payments, these things wouldn’t have happened. Or maybe it was I, the jinx of all misfortunes.
I wasn’t always a warrior when it came to an undeclared war, but being the first born that never past away, made me strong. In mind I also knew I needed to protect that baby whose life I was fighting for; who’s my family were fighting for. Maybe “she” was the answer to my “how” questions.
As I was fighting this battle, there was another one approaching though this one with a different cause. It was a war for my freedom and right to be accepted my class of strangers. These new faces were only fresh packs of eyes that seemed unclear to see. An exception to me, they saw each other perfectly well. They were familiar with each other since kindergarten. Being accepted was hard.
It was hard when you befriended a foreign Pakistan who was shunned from the world within the class. I was given a chance to be normal with regular friends. The same people, who had disregarded me before, took me as a poor cause. The ones, who talked, spoke out of pity. I abandoned my only ally to welcome strange pairs of hands with a new face.
These things happened then. Then was when my undeclared war was given a miracle to the birth of an angel. Before I saw her, I thought she was hideous because she stole my identity. But one glimpse of her, I was given this feeling people felt for love. Mine wasn’t a love for lover; it was a love for a sister.
That was then. This is now. She was gone. 2 months of popularity, the angel, family built a friendship stronger than my foreign one. But happiness stood with time when I heard the news that my angel was in the hospital.
She died. Two words that had numbed me for life… I took responsibility for my 2 younger sisters, and my parents. All of them cried on that day. Not me. I wasn’t cold-hearted. I was the one who was bleeding the most.
I hid afterwards in big shirts to prevent womanhood at age 12, Skipped school due to my sudden over protectiveness in my mom. My dad worked harder and argued more with my mom. I belonged no where as I hid under cover in books. Books were my friends.
The strangers ignored my existence, or noticed so as to laugh. A bully was always on my case. I was glad she left before middle school though! Throughout the years I am in regret. Because the one person who accepted me with warm, welcome arms on my first day of a new territory, was the same arms that was warm, but this time, forgiving arms that held me when I cried for my guardian angel.
A guardian angel I am fighting a war till this day, as I wake up to a tomorrow of a new title that I will always dread, but look forward to with my guardian angel beside me.