Based on a true story

This piece of work is nothing serious it just helps to write this down when i have writers block for saving our souls which i reccomend you read as im really proud of it :) 

enjoy and tell me your thoughts i really appreciate it- lots of love Mariam.

Dedicated to the lovely person who made the beautiful cover-thank you!! :) xx

Based on a true story- Chapter one.

I sat there meekly as always- just the spectator when it comes to my life.

“It is her decision, she has to be happy!” My older sister’s sharp voice argued.

“She can be, just after university.” My mother reasoned indignantly her Italian accent heavily coating her anger.

“It is her life!” Yasmeen returned furiously

They were talking about me, I was that ‘her.’ We were in a black cab in London. I was right there in front of my mother and my older sister, on the way to watch a ballet. I got the ballet tickets a a Christmas gift to see the nutcracker I was so excited.

My excitement seemed to have dampened slightly at the current situation, I was like a novel, treasured by some but when my story didn’t go according to plan my mum ripped my pages out.

We were all talking happily when the prospect of my future came up, which Is apparently a big deal. I didn’t want to fall into the nine to five routine with my boring degree and live alone or divorced, that lifestyle wasn’t me. I wanted to really live and have experiences.

I wasn’t contented by life, I was bored. I got good grades and I had nice and lovely friends and family, what more could I ask for? -A lot more.  Call me a selfish inconsiderate bitch, call me whatever. Frown at me, look down on me cos of what I wear and what I read or the music I listen too, why should you care? it doesn’t concern you! It’s my life. These thoughts and similar thoughts cascaded my mind at times like these.

“1001 wonder of the world” For my tenth birthday my dad bought me a massive book. It was brand spanking new and when I opened it, hesitantly for I was afraid to damage it. The very pages smelled of passion and knowledge and beauty, I yearned for these things- I wanted to travel.

I still do now that I’m eighteen.

I do want to go to university don’t get me wrong, but not right now, I wasn’t ready.

The worst feeling isn’t when your mum is angry with you it’s when she is disappointed in you. You feel like you could have done better and that you don’t want to see anyone you love disappointed in you, because it hurts. You feel worthless, and guilty, regardless.

And it always gets worse when she uses the harsh card of:

 “It is what your dad would have wanted!”

Only silence replied- There was nothing to say to that- it was a tender subject.

My father was Indian and he loved to travel everywhere, I would race to the door every night disobeying my mums commands that I went to bed. I would sit on his knee with bright eyes; eager to learn more of his stories. I was jealous I wanted to see these magical places, and he vowed that one day I would have the chance to. So as the small bouncing child I was I took for granted what he said and poked him so as to prompt another tale of the seven seas.

However he was a learned man, he was studious and clever, when he was home he was either with his girls cooking and playing about or sat in the corner of the armchair reading with me curled, dozing on his lap.

I could see where my mother was coming from, my older sister and been to university and got a degree in Japanese and my brother in his final year at law school. I was constantly being compared to them, what were my best assets and my worst qualities? I didn’t care much. Because I had love and I was happy then.

But now, like a book when you accidently drop it in the bath, I was frayed at the edge. When I was thirteen years old my father’s health took a turn for the worse; Cancer sealing his life. We lost the man we loved, with every inch of our own life, and our perfect reality became all as surreal as a dream.

He left a letter for all of us, our names written across the back in his own winding font.

I didn’t open mine, I still haven’t.

I rebelled, I was angry, why had this happened to me, I got out, grew up, and got drunk. My mum didn’t know what to do, busy with her own problems, I didn’t blame her. The scorching alcohol burned my throat as well as the memories and the hope. I didn’t want to spend time with my family or what was left of it, because it added lemon juice to the cuts to realise your prized possession was cracked. My older sibling left as soon as they could, but I was too young, I had to stick around. I was being selfish deep down I knew my mum needed me- heck I needed her! But I ignored it. My mum seemed to give up hope on everything including me; she went to work always worked to take her mind off things, so she didn’t have to think as much about her life.

My friends picked me up and put me back together again, I owe them my life.

They wiped my face of dirt and my past of regret, they stood by and understood holding my hand all the way, they were my family now.

At sixteen I got back into great Britain’s not so great education system and I passed my exams, easy -peasy but bloody boring and hard to teach yourself when you had not been to half the lessons required It gave my thoughts more purpose and my history teacher pushed me and my ambition soaring high, she didn’t say anything when I didn’t turn up for lessons , she gave me the homework and smiled.

And I smiled back.

-Genuinely, because I had a plan, I was going to go to school and be the good girl that everyone expected, so then when it was over and I had my grades I could run and full fill my childhood dreams that weren’t so childish.

My ambition to fall in love with life and be happy once more, I didn’t think that was too much to ask for considering life had chewed me up and spat me out, but I wiped off the saliva and kept calm and carried on.  I hold myself tight and count to ten with deep breaths, removing my wrapped arms from my torso, I stand tall, and persevere. The only thing tough about me is my heavy boots and my pendant that falls beneath the curve of my chest, in-between my collar bones, that’s where the sapphire pendant rests, a constant reminder next to my heart, a reminder of my Fathers strength. Sometimes without realising by fingertips trace it and when it’s sunny the rays bounce through it ricocheting and reflecting the light. Whatever the circumstance; it’s a constant reassurance.

I was going to this. I am doing it.

I work at a tiny café out of town, earning every penny I can, my family don’t know, they’re just grateful I’m not ‘acting up’. I love them, still, I never will stop, but I was going to live my life, my way.

“Stop it! NOW. Stop being so ridiculous, It is my life, I will do what I want when I want, no arguments, I will be happy, enough, I just want to have fun, I’m excited for tonight do not ruin it, now isn’t the time” I spoke every word with clear conviction.

Nothing was gunna ruin tonight.