Family Portrait

A couple of weeks ago, I had to sit for an interview for me to do my project in an institute in Canada. I already knew I was going to get into this institute because my grades, resume and all the other extra details that were required were good. One of my dad’s friends from this institute was to interview me. I was sitting in the waiting room, with a girl four years elder to me. I wasn’t making an effort to create conversation with her. My turn came, I was escorted to the conference room, my dad’s friend ordered two cups of coffee for us. Then my interview started. He told me how much my grandfather had done for him. I never knew my grandfather. I sat and listened to stories I never heard before, he seemed generous, silent and powerful.

I was then asked the strangest question, “Who do you like more, your dad or your ma?”. Who asks such a dumb question?!? When I heard this question a knot formed in my stomach. I was involuntarily thrown down memory lane. I was seven years old. My parent’s friends were staying over for the weekend. Dinner was to be served, so my mother told me to go upstairs to my dad’s room and call the men for dinner. As I walked up the stairs I could smell smoke and alcohol. I knocked on my dad’s room. I was told to come inside. The smoke smelt different. Not like cigarettes. The room went silent. My Dad asked me, “Who do you love more, me or ma?”, I didn’t know what to say, there were too many eyes on me. “Dinner is served downstairs”, I said. I didn’t answer the question. “Who do you like more?”, I was asked again. I said, “ma”. My dad gave me a very disappointed look. I don’t why I said ma. The right answer was I love you both. Why did I say ma?!?

Then the vicious cycle began. I was ten years old. It was Christmas Eve. We had my dad’s friend’s family over for dinner. My mother made a very simple dinner. Everyone seemed happy with it. Hugs and kisses were exchanged and they left. My dad became silent. I knew things were not going to be good. He was drunk. My ma lay down on the bed to sleep, I was lying next to her. My dad went into the toilet. He was there for a couple of minutes.  He came out in a rage, grabbed my ma by the neck, through her on the floor and beat her. I watched from the bed. He then dragged her to the living room, and took one of his Glenfiddich bottles and beat her with it. I was petrified. I ran to my sister’s room. She was sleeping, my ma’s screams and cries did not wake her up. I woke her up. She told me to go back to bed and there was nothing we could do to stop what was happening in the next room. The door swung open, my dad stood there with my ma in his hands, she was bruised and her clothes were ripped. He looked at us, “Do you want her?”. I was ten. My sister fifteen. My sister did not reply. “We want both of you”, I said. I knew I could not make the same mistake twice. He let her fall to the floor. She picked herself up, came running to me, looked at him, and said, “I’m taking her with me, you can have her”, pointing to my sister. When I replay the incident in my head, I realize my sister must have felt devastated at that moment though she did not show it. My dad then came to me, grabbed me and looked at my ma and said, “You can’t have her, she’s mine”. Then next day, I woke up scared. I went to the living room, my parents were ready to go to church together as a family, like nothing ever happened the previous nights. I saw the smiles on their faces, I don’t think I’ll ever know if it was real. I could not bring myself to smile.

The shouting, screaming, crying and beating continued for the next couple of years. I did not tell anyone. My sister pretended that nothing was wrong or at least thats what I thought. She took her anger out on my ma. She screamed at her, got into a fit, slapped her and locked her up in her room. I was still quite small, I was scared to intrude, on the days that I did come in between their fights, my sister beat the crap out of me. My dad would come home in the night and we would pretend we had the most perfect day, my ma was the one who had to deal with more screaming from my dad in the night.

My parents were talking about getting a divorce. Nobody else knew about it. Some of my friend’s parents were also getting divorced. I did not know whether I was supposed to be okay with it or not. I just did not like staying at home in the nights, so I would sleepover at my friend’s place on most days of the week. I was practicing the piano one day, my ma called me to the dinning table, she told me my dad was disappointed when I was born because,

a) I was a girl

b) I was not fair/light skinned like my sister.

Why did she have to tell me that? I was a bit taken aback. I was twelve. I was working as hard as I could on my music, sports and studies to impress my parents but it was not enough. I then realized the hypocrisy of the situation. My sister had the skin color of my parent’s choice but unfortunately for her, she was overweight. So in the evenings my dad made my sister exercise in front of him. If she  even slacked a little she got whipped with his belt. I stood and watched from a distance.

My sister was a very angry girl. I initially thought it was unacceptable for her to treat my ma and me the way she did, but I was wrong. She had every reason to be angry, she got beaten for no reason at all by my dad. So she beat my ma and me up during the day for no reason. I was just sad because my ma got more beatings than was required. During this whole family decimation process, the dog trainer, who came home everyday, got into the habit of molesting me. I knew exactly what he was doing, I knew it was wrong. I also thought it was wrong to disturb my family with this information. So the molestation and fingering outside my panties continued for the next three years. I became a very angry, defenseless, scared girl.  I was then rescued by the album ‘Bury the Hatchet’ by the cranberries.

My sister left for University when I was thirteen. The situation at home improved. My dad’s drinking problem got better, I did not hear the words “Divorce” or “You’re after my money”. So yes, things were better. But the screaming and crying did not cease. My ma and me came back home late one day, my dad was angry. I thought it was up to me the alleviate the situation, so I took a poem that I wrote to my dad, he took the poem crushed it and gave it back to me. A couple of days after that incident, my ma was hysterical when my dad came back home, I was sketching in the living room. The fight then moved to the living room. I think they liked an audience. My dad looked at my ma, “I will fuck whoever I want and do whatever I want.” I didn’t look up, I stopped caring.

When I was fourteen I had to give my sixth grade piano examination, Trinity College, London. I was my parent’s pride and joy. I was told by my previous examiner that I was one of the most promising students in my country. Everyone had such high expectations. I went into the examination room, started playing and stopped in the middle. I don’t know why I stopped. I wanted to stop. I wanted to fail the examination. I don’t know why. I probably wanted attention from my parents. I did fail that examination, the only attention I got was my dad not speaking to me for several weeks. I told myself he was too busy.

Today, I know my parents were not ready for parenthood. My sister and I were both planned mistakes. They had already planned two perfect kids and we were not them. My sister and I don’t have much to talk about anymore. I blame it on me, she takes the effort, I’ve stopped pretending. I love my parents and my sister more than anything in this world, I’m eternally grateful for what they’ve done for me, I will take a bullet for them if neccessary, but I do think a big part of who I am today is because of what happened in the past. I know it was not my fault. I’ve learnt to love and give myself importance. I’ve learned to be selfish. I might not be a very nice person, but I know exactly who I am.