I was taken to her home, five doors down from my own block of flats.
I remember this woman -my neighbour- muttering "that stupid woman walked past this window every day whilst my babies were dying!" Along with several racist swears my innocent six-year-old ears shouldn't have heard. See, I'm half black and half Malaysian, my mum being the Malaysian one, so my whole trauma was just another Covid based Asian hate crime.
The reason I know so much about this woman is not because of the details my dad mentions but the details from the news stations who tried oh-so desperately to paint this racist English lady in a better light.
Of course, it's my fault I got kidnapped.
It's my fault that her children died.
It's my fault Covid started.
And it's my fault that Na Na was stuck in this crazy woman's head as she carved little crosses into my arms like a pattern.
My Muslim friends work hard every week to cover my arms with henna to hide the scars for me.
But Na Na is one scar I can't hide. It's not even RM's voice, I'm perfectly fine listening to Forever Rain, Reflection, Spring Day, and more.
It's just that melody.
That one melody.
That one melody that wrecked my life.
YOU ARE READING
That Melody
Teen FictionWhat do you do when your mum's favourite song becomes the source of your trauma? Bunga can't listen to that melody anymore, not without having a PTSD episode, what used to be a part of her happy memories were twisted and contorted into painful ones...
