Mind over unhappy matters

I don’t know when I started this habit of imagining myself as a girl with magical powers that would make people happy. In this special world, I would fly everywhere and use my magic to bring joy to the needy people. I was very much loved by them because of all the marvelous things I did for them.

As I lay in bed, too spent after a crying, I would fill my head with happy thoughts of the good deeds I would do for people. I would imagine how well they thought of me and their love for me meant so much. I always drifted off to sleep before my thoughts concluded.

After the bra episode, I had begun to develop this habit of expecting the worst scenario that would await me at home. I didn’t take things for granted as far as my mother was concerned. So every time before I reached home I would imagine my mother was waiting for me, not with open arms but with hostility. As I was approaching my house, my mind always was filled with trepidation. It was such a relief when nothing happened. Whenever I let down my guard, something would happen. It was as if when I allowed my mind to be idle, I was inviting the one thing I didn’t want.

One day, I was caught by my mother playing hopscotch in the driveway of my tuition teacher’s house instead of going home right after the tuition. My mother was passing by on her way home from the market. It was a split moment when we exchanged glances and I didn’t know my fate was sealed. Since my mother didn’t stop and ask me to follow her home I’d continued with my game.

When I reached home without a nagging thought in my head, my mother greeted me with the cane, striking me on my leg. My mother was angrier than she had ever been because caning alone wasn’t enough to cool the fire in her and she dragged me into the bathroom and pressed my head into the bathtub of water. Before I could struggle, my head was yanked out of the water and then she repeated the act. After the shock of the few seconds, I remember how petrified I was.

My mother left me in the bathroom crying. As I was sitting on the floor of the bathroom, unable to cry anymore, one thought crossed my mind. I got up and filled a container with water and then I stirred in a handful of washing power. I made two attempts to raise the container to my mouth but in the end I poured away the content. Even back then, I knew I didn’t have it in me to commit suicide. I simply wanted to create a scene to act out my pain. Even though it was a one-man show with no audience I felt much better after that.

Being a self-absorbed person at that time, I didn’t know my youngest sister experienced the dunk-in-the-water experience more times than I did. It only happened to me once. But that’s another story for another time.