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My past made me who I am Today.

Updated on May 16, 2012

Grew up dreaming about a having the good life and escape my miserable. My imagination was my only escape of a terrible life at one time I wanted to be a singer I would imagine that I was on stage singing to a thousand people and they screamed for me but the reality was I do neither the voice to sing nor the confidence to stand in front of such a crowed. My fantasy world was so perfect that it made me forget a little bit of reality. My father was a lover of alcohol and women and he never worked a day in his life then because we had a tuck-shop we sold groceries to our community but my mother and I worked in the store and he would sleep until 10 am in the morning. My day begun by me waking up at 3am to receive bread from the bakery and the at 6am I woke up to open the store before I got ready for school and I got no lunch for school just a few rands from my mother and I will be off to school.

School was the best place for me and wished that the end of day would not come because I dreaded going home. My father stopped me from playing outside with other kids when I was in grade 4, after school when I got home I was back in the store while my mother was preparing dinner for us. My dad just drank the money with his friends and lovers and Friday was the worst in my household because my dad would just start a fight so that he can go out the whole night by blaming my mother for things that did not make sense and then we got used to the Friday drama and just endure it because if my mother tried to fight him he would beat her so she ignored him when he took the money from the store and went out.

Life was not easy and what was painful was because nothing made him happy except for our misery. What surprised me was that my father was happy outside with his friends and I would sit and watch him as he laughed and smiled with his friends and wished that he would laugh with us or wish me a happy birthday but that never happened because he was a two faced animal. People in our community loved him and saw him as a saint and a good person but we got the bitter side of him.

Sometimes I want to forget what he has done not only to me but my mom and siblings I just can’t forget his cruelty and heartlessness. Every time I think of him tears just stream down my cheeks because of things he had done to me from when I was just 6 years. When I was just 5 or 6 years I am not sure but at was night time and we were eating dinner pap and meat I got full without finishing my food so I stood up to put my plate way but he told me to sit down and finished my food, I said to him but papa I am full he just shouted at me and I sat and eat until I could not eat anymore so I vomited I thought he would feel guilty and tell him to go but he told me to eat my vomit otherwise he would beat me and as a scared child I ate my own vomit.

I try to forgive him I just can’t forget all the beatings and words he called for absolutely nothing and one time he told me that I was his dog so he has the right to kill me and the last thing that he did that made me to stop talking to him was when I was pregnant with my then husband my father told me that he did not want Indian grandchildren and he would kill my baby then I cut him out of my life for good to protect my daughter from him, my daughter is turning 3 and she does not know her grandfather and I am content with it. One thing come out my father’s emotional and physical abuse it helped me to me strong and helped me to know what kind of a man I want and I know what abuse looks like and promised myself never to endure any cruelty for m someone else because I already got my inheritance of cruelty from my father.

Today I write still angry but I want to thank him for hating me because his hate made me the strong person I am sometimes I cry but I have come to terms that he does not love with and I do not want his love anymore because my daughter’ love is enough. I am not ready to forgive you and I dont need too because i owe you nothing but thanks for the scars, pain and hurt. Thanks to my dreaming or fantasing I was able to endure my father's hate.


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