I often write when i’m hurt or in pain, to change it into an energy.. This helps relieve pain than charging against the gravity of the situation.
When i was a little kid, i used to write my anger and sorrow on a piece of paper then roll it inside a bottle i threw into the river thinking someone, somewhere may pick it up and read my story.
My childhood world was a wonderland not because that i was given by but through my search and findings i put efforts to find them through. I enjoyed every moment of it Although there wasn’t much freedom of allowance from the family, but i found them in each layer of excuses of the errands i ran for. My curiosity helped me a lot finding answers to the questions that came into my mind. There were somehow chances of grabbing them opportunities passing by like a short voyage of a bunch. and to get a share of it was to be smart enough to work your through it.
The neighborhood was consisted of diverse nations each represnting their culture and custom with the style of their clothings and decorations, interesting indeed.
20 minutes walk far away was the house of Granny’s sister. A sweet, kind hearted caring lady who always received me with a smile and a hug and lots of love. She would bring me nice things to eat and allow me to watch videos in her guesthouse. Her son was a Tv mechanic, with his shop full of Tv’s that people brough for fixing. He was a nice man, would offer us soft drinks and chat with us while he was working. He had some great video cassets of animal planet which he recorded them straight from cabel channels and he liked them. it has been 4 years since they moved back to their hometown, he lives in a big suburbab house with his mom in Baghlan. they have planted a very nice garden in the corner of their house connecting to the door next to the giant field outside their house where they cultivatee various kinds of vegetables and those little yellow and red flowers in between gives a marvalous beauty texture to it. Their bathroom has two groups of wasp forces, orange and spotted yellow. They are literally on the roof top, not visible unless you enter and notice them through those humming buz buz beep sounds scaring the hell out of you thinking what secs would they land and sting you all over your body. I was lucky to have not been bitten by one, it was a miracle although i put some tatctics, first trying to drive them away and then silently crawl outside like a desperately injured croc. Oh God!
The feeling of sadness flow through me with the questions that popped in my mind of my dad’s irresponsibity on our account. My mom is a sweet lady, how could someone cheat on her? What she didn’t do for that disgraced douchebag, she did more than necessary for that family. Everyone loves her for her honesty, integrity and righteousness and all the hardships she walked through with a smile in her face. My dad has never beaten me only some frowns and harsh words. He cries when asked for his loyalty and responsiblity and coins the excuses of nurishment and payments he made as a clearance to judging him. Money doesn’t make you a good parent but spending time with your kids and walking them to school and some parks and giving love does. My dad would take us in his car for roundtrips and do some shoppings but then as he went to toronto the sincereity didn’t lasted long. Phone calls? Yes but i never talked to him from the time he scoldes me over fighting with my elder sister over the receiver. I never felt good about him coming home and bringing me those toys. I actually envied my cousins with their dad being around them all the time and being so nice and humorous to them. I was hiding from my dad and every morning when he’d come to our room calling on me to go to the mosque together i would change my position in the bed by sleeping in the other direction to which he shook my feet than my head. Yes there was love and care in his voicw but our relationship didn’t get well as i was the one with a broken spirit of seeing the occurences.
I would hardly go over the receiver when he called or enter the room where he was sitting and chatting with family members. I never felt like i had a father and sometimes in school i would respond deceased when asked by the teachers. Everyone accompanied by their fathers carrying their bag and lunchboxes, where was mine? All stuffed in the big bag hanging in my back. Those colorful notebooks, and congrats on the first position did’t please me as i was dying to fill this void in my life. Eventually i was embarrased by his visits and would do as much as possible to stay out until the dusk doing my amazing routine in the wide beautiful mysterious garden.