Delusion

Even I have been held in steel strong arms, higher than the ground, and seen the airplanes fly above my head like you have. But at night, I have seen glasses fly in the sky too. 

I have been a kid, walked with two hands holding me in place, to hold me when I fall. And I have seen the same hands push someone I loved to the floor. 

I have seen eyes full of love and admiration, seeing me with affection when I used to crawl and I have seen the same eyes full of rage and fury with a belt in a hand to lash out. 

Even I have been a kid, with a dutiful, loving father. And I have seen a monster slowly kill my mother for a crime no one knows. 

I have grown up too, like all of you, in a complete family. And even I have drawn the happy family drawings just that mine were a little different. I drew pictures where my mother would have a fake smile spread across her face, something no would would ever judge as unreal and my father's hand resting on her shoulder with a grip tight enough to keep her shut. You all painted the skin with the colour of peach and I, chose a pale cream colour because that is how I would see her always with fear draining the colour off her face. 

Even I have been a kid born to serve a purpose in this world like all of you but the difference is I learnt my mission the first day I could walk. I was born to walk up and wipe away her tears like I did. 

Even my first steps were baby steps like yours but mine were hella strong, towards her to wipe away the stray tears. 

For me, happy family was what I would see. A belt wasn't meant for a waist, it was a wrist band proudly worn by him on his hand to give unforgettable memories to her. For me, this was a normal family till I grew up to see it wasn't the case. 

Even I have been hurt by pieces of glass, not because I dropped it and stepped on it but because I realised I need to help my mother wipe it away before he would pick it up and use it on her to create some art. 

Even I, I say, have heard innumerable stories from my mom but those were woven lies to cover up the harsh reality of her life. 

Even I have spent quality time with my mother, not because she was a housewife but because we were locked behind doors, trapped always. 

And, like all of you, I have heard fairytales, heard about a prince charming. But, I have known better. 

Like all of you, I do not look for a prince like my father because he, he has gifted me reality. 

My father, has gifted me scars like my mother. Scars to my memory. He has gifted me a realistic view of a fairytale world that maybe, none of you would ever possess. And for those who thought beauty and the beast was a simple story, he made me see a real version with a twisted end. He felt me with a fear of blood, a baggage of memories and a sad truth about trust. 

Maybe I should hate him for scars too deep and memories that would never leave. Maybe I should hate him for the sins he committed, for blessing me with a sight too unbearable.

And, I wish I would. But sadly, I cannot. He gave me a lesson. A lesson we learn the hard way-that people are monsters undercover and trust? Its a delusion.