Pregnant with death Chapter 4

Thursday

24.

I don’t look like my mum or dad, I’ve looked at their photos thousands of times. I never heard their voices. I could only stay in their lives for two days. Would I have become a suicide bomber if my mother and my excited father, leaving the maternity hospital, had not been hit by that hideous red lorry driven by a drunk driver?
Put yourself in my shoes. Can you really do it?When I saw the man who killed my parents years later, it made me tear up. Supposedly that bastard repented, apologised, quit drinking, even started praying. But he never once came to see the child whose parents he killed. He didn’t feel obliged to apologise to me. Maybe he knew, too, that apologising was pointless. While that disgusting man is hugging his own daughter, you remember that you are a daughter who has never smelt your father’s scent. Your heart aches.

What would you do?

I learnt my father’s name from my teacher when I started primary school.

We had to prepare a homework.
We were going to make a family tree.

I drew a pole without branches and my teacher went and opened my file.

She whispered my father’s name and my mother’s name in my ear like a secret.

Did you learn your parents’ names in primary school? Put yourself in my shoes.

I have nothing that can make me a part of this society, a member of it.

Society is a trap and I knew nothing when I fell into this trap.

When I fell into this trap and was wounded, I didn’t find anyone to bind my wounds.

I didn’t choose who I would meet.

I didn’t know how to resist people. Society is a trap, and only death can save me from this trap.

Am I mad at you? Of course I am. Because you weren’t there for me. You were never there for me.

I’m writing this because you’re not by my side.

I feel that no one will ever be there for me, so I am writing to put the pain I have suffered into you.

You are reading these lines because you cannot put yourself in my place, in the place of a suicide bomber.