Your Forgotten

• iv •

11:59pm
Wednesday, 24th of May 2017.

✺

To the woman who birthed me,

People have always been deceived by my size.

And you, my own mother, are no exception.

I've always been on the bigger side and you never let me forget that fact. Your taunts were breakfast, lunch and dinner.

Nevertheless, I went on a diet for you ma.

I did daily workouts for you ma.

I cut back junk food. I willingly went to boarding school for you ma.

They treated me bad, the seniors hit me and teased me 'cause it was fun to hurt the 'fat fresher'.

When you called I told you how they hurt me. You told me to 'suck it up' and stop being a dramatic cry baby.

You told me that it was normal and that I'd survive.

You told me it would make me stronger.

I know I didn't look it, but I was just 11 years old for Christ sake.

You know what? The teasing and jesting of those seniors didn't hurt me like your words did.

In the dead of the night, when they were all asleep, I'd cry my self to sleep. Repeating in my head how much I hate you and how I never wanted to see you.

But still in that cold night I didn't want the comfort of any other human except the one I claim to hate.

Why do you keep doing this to me ma?

Four years passed in that same dorms. Four years filled with disappointments from visiting days that I looked forward to seeing you.

Four years filled with expertly masking my pain and softness with my size and height. If others squirmed at the sight of me, no one would know how tiny and broken I felt inside.

Four friendless years in that prison of a school.

I remember crying at your knees when you shocked me with the news of boarding school.

I understood your reasons for sending me to the dorms.

But I never understood why you abandoned me there.

Our relationship was already beginning to wobble before you sent me away, and with every passing year, it broke apart.

At first I tried to make you proud with my grades and weight check. But whenever you came visiting my happy smiles met your judgemental ones.

I tried so hard to make you proud but you always had something to complain about.

And as you grew weary of seeing my stretch marks and Bs and Cs...

I grew weary of trying to please you.

Your Forgotten,
Mola.