Pregnant with death Chapter 4

Thursday

23.

I looked at a few books describing the development of a baby in the womb with photographs. Then I looked at books on the care of newborn babies. One by one, they explained what the mother and father should do in order for a sensitive baby to hold on to life. I am sure that women who want to be a conscious mother by reading these books are not few at all. And when I decided to put my purple notebook among these books, I thought: I hope a pregnant woman will take this book and she realises what kind of world she will bring a child into. Will he? All the filth and ugliness comes out of the hands of people who were once tender babies. There is something strange about this. When and how did these sensitive babies turn into monsters? I was confused by the books I saw in the bookshop. Especially the so-called personal development books. One of those books said, “Try to love the conditions you are in. Then you will begin to manage the conditions that will make you unhappy.” What does it mean to try to love something in order to manage it? Should one love someone or something in order to manage it? Isn’t it ugly to love something in order to adopt, possess and mould it? What does it mean to “try to love”? Isn’t this a form of self-deception? Can one love by force? Can you hate under someone’s compulsion? I don’t know. In fact, you don’t need to know to live. Isn’t that strange? You can live even without knowledge. You can even be happier with what you don’t know. Doesn’t that bother you? In the face of those who cannot live because of what they know and kill themselves, there are millions of people who manage to live only because of what they do not know. Is that a lie? Maybe you are one of the millions of people who can keep their eyes open in the world as they numb themselves and become blind to reality, why not? There are millions of people in this world who cannot live without drugs and alcohol, because they are intolerant to pain. One of these people gets into a lorry one day. He forgets that he is drunk, he is too drunk to realise that he is drunk! This drunk, perhaps without even realising it, steps on the accelerator and takes a car under him. Imagine that you and your family are in that car. You lose your whole family. When you are a two-day-old unnamed baby, fate gives you your own name. That’s my name: Destiny. They used to call me “Destiny without destiny”. I don’t believe in fate. I don’t believe in myself. My family wasn’t poor. My mother was a teacher, I found people who knew her years later; she was a secular, well-groomed woman. Her friends envied her because she was 30 and looked 20. Even though she was married, she still had suitors. “A woman like a rock,” the neighbourhood grocer said about my mother. I didn’t tell him I was that woman’s daughter. I was filled with jealousy and wanted to kill this wretched man who twirled his moustache because he remembered my mother. But he was full of life. If people are careful enough to know where to find pleasure, be afraid of them; they can make you suffer for pleasure without thinking. I don’t look like my mum or dad, I’ve looked at their photos a thousand times. I never heard their voices, I could only stay in their lives for two days.