They found three days later, I was only down the bloomin' street, it shouldn't have taken them that long but Dad said that the cops didn't really care because I was black but they had to actually work hard because I was blowing up on social media. People were still obsessed with Asians back then on two very extreme sides of the spectrum; I'm just lucky that there were more people who liked Korean content and Anime than there were people who think all East and South East Asians are from Wuhan, China, and carry Covid around like a handbag.
As you can see minus the PTSD and anxiety, I'm pretty over the situation.
I've been rambling for four and a half chapters now, so before I forget, let me introduce myself - it's ok you can sing it, I am singing it too- my name is Bunga Bonolo, no not like the honey badger, Bunga means flower in Malay, it just very unfortunately means foolish person in Swahili.
My dad who lived in South Africa for the first ten years of his life learnt how to speak Zulu, Afrikaans and and English and happily let my mum name me. What I found out later that between the 70s and 90s it used to be a racist swear word aimed at Pacific Islanders and I learnt even later after accidentally eavesdropping on a group of Bengali boy's conversation thinking they were cussing me out that bunga also means broken in Bangla.
I've thought about changing my name several times but it was one of those things that Mum gave me so I stop that train just after it leaves the station.
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...
