Triggering (SI/Sexual Abuse) - The Asian Perspective, take 2
So I'm back with a second draft. One that'll hopefully be better than the first. I know you didn't get to see how the first version ended but I feel it's better that way. A writer's prerogative, as they say. I don't know if I'll still have much of a fun base but I hope I'll still have the love of my old followers and hopefully gain some new ones too. So, here we go. Enjoy =)
“Natasha? Tasha? Are you awake?” There was a pause, during which I realised that I was no longer sleeping and my dad was standing in the doorway of my bedroom. “Come on, Tasha, get up, it’s time to pray.” And with that he walked off. I closed my eyes and hoped that the time would pass by quickly and that it would soon be too late for me to get up. The sky outside was pitch black and it seemed completely unfair that I had to get up at such a ridiculous time.
Just as I thought I was drifting back to sleep my dad re-appeared in my room, this time switching on the light and standing right in front of me. "I thought I told you to get up. Come on. All of us have managed it. We've all prayed now, it's just you who's being a lazy ****. Get up now. The sooner you get up and pray, the sooner you can get back to sleep. Come on now...." He left my room, leaving me struggling to fight myself out of my bed.
I did as I was supposed to and I prayed. I got back into bed and tried so very hard to get back to sleep. After about an hour of tossing and turning I gave up on sleep as the sun was almost up and it was time for me to get ready for another day.
As I slipped into the bathroom I enjoyed the peace and serenity of the house. Mornings were my favourite time of the day; dad was up and out to work really early, Shabnam, my step mother, was always still asleep and my brother, Ali, refused to get out of bed until the very last minute. It was during this time that I liked to kid myself that I lived alone in the house, with no pressures, no responsibilities and pure freedom.
It wasn’t long before my aunt was outside in the car, shouting for us to hurry up and get out of the house. I, of course, was ready to go but Ali was still snoozing away in bed. After 10 minutes of battling with him I finally managed to get him dressed and out of the front door. My aunt and 2 cousins were waiting impatiently for us in the car and did very little to hide their frustration.
“Salaam aunty,” I called out as we climbed into the back seat, “sorry we took so long.” Grunts of disapproval followed as we set off on our journey. First was the youngest of the children; Ali and my cousin Maria were dropped off at the local Primary school, then we set off in the direction of our high school. I tried to break the uncomfortable silence. “You know, aunty, I think I might walk home today with some of my friends so you don’t have to wait for me...”
“Nonsense, child,” my aunt spoke for the first time since I entered the car, “your dad won’t allow that. Don’t be silly now. You can’t walk home; that’s ridiculous. I’ll be waiting for you at the end of the day and won’t leave ‘till you get in the car. You’d better be there or there’ll be trouble.” And with that, the case was closed.
The day went on like any other; people pushed me in the corridor, my chair was taken out from under me in most lessons, notes were passed along to me commenting on something or the other. At this point I was used to notes asking me when the next terrorist attack would take place and where it would be. That day, however, a different note crossed my path. I was sat in an English lesson with my best friend, Louise, when a note found its way to my desk. I opened it, expecting the usual rubbish and was surprised at what I saw. “I know your secret Tasha. Co-operate with me and I won’t tell Lou.”
A million different thoughts ran through my head. Who was this person? Which of my secrets could they possibly know? I read the note again and focused my attention on the last few words “...I won’t tell Lou”. Lou, being my best friend, knew everything there was to know about me and my life. Everything except... I shook my head furiously. It was a ridiculous thought to have. I refused to believe it and accepted that whoever wrote the note was just doing a very good job at pissing me off.
The day carried on without any major blips. By the time the last period came around I was still no closer to figuring out who had sent the note and was trying, unconvincingly, to tell myself I didn’t really care. The last lesson was Maths; my favourite. I was concentrating on a rather difficult problem when yet another note found its way onto my desk. At first I was scared to open it, not sure of what I would find. Carefully, I picked up the piece of paper, unfolded it and held my breath. The handwriting was the same as the note I’d received that morning. “Turn around”. My heart stopped as I realised the enemy was right behind me. Slowly, I turned my head and came face-to-face with Becky, the most popular girl in school.
She smiled and simply stared straight at me. After a second she leant forward and whispered “I know your secret, Tasha. And I know very well what would happen if it just happened to slip out of my mouth to the rest of the school, to the teachers, to your parents...” She paused for effect and my heart beat furiously in my chest. “If you want to remain the perfect little Muslim girl then I expect you to do everything I say. Do you understand?”
“Natasha! Will you please stop gossiping and get on with your work?!” Miss Turner, my maths teacher yelled. Becky sniggered as I turned back around and pretended to get on with my work. The problems in front of me were ones that I could very easily solve but I couldn’t concentrate for the rest of the lesson. I was certain that Becky knew my biggest secret, the one that could very well tear my whole world apart. But how could she possibly know?
When the bell rang to signal the end of the day I raced out of the room before Becky could say anything to me and ran straight to my aunt’s car. We set off for the local primary school and waited for at least 20 minutes before Ali and Maria were finally released. As I let myself into my house a short while later, I heard Shabnam calling me from the kitchen. The regular scent of onions and garlic filled my nostrils as I made my way towards her.
“Thank goodness you’re home. I’m really behind. I’ve made tonight’s dinner, which you can serve to your dad when he gets home. He should be here in about an hour. I’ve got to go and get ready for work now. Can you just clean up this mess and here, sort out the stuff in the washing machine and give Ali a few biscuits. Not too many though or he’ll ruin his appetite.” She talked as though to herself and ran out of the kitchen before I could respond. I seemed to switch immediately to auto-pilot as I put aside my schoolbag and set to work on cleaning up the kitchen.
I worked my way around the house, cleaning up here and there, making sure everything was in its rightful place; Shabnam was extremely untidy. By the time I got around to giving Ali his biscuits he was sat in front of the TV watching the after school cartoons and Shabnam had left for work. I picked up my bag from the kitchen and retreated to my bedroom where I collapsed onto my bed.
The house was silent now apart from the distant sounds of the cartoons playing downstairs. My dad wasn’t due home for another 15 minutes and my mind began to race, pondering over the events of the day. I was more than certain that Becky knew my ultimate secret, the one that I was having extreme difficulty in coming to terms with. The regular feelings of guilt and hatred filled my body as the reality sunk in. Here I was, a supposedly respectful Muslim girl, praying on time, doing as her parents said, not setting a single foot out of line, except for one single thing...
For weeks, months, maybe even years, I had felt a strong hatred towards myself. I felt I did not belong in my family. I could not respect their religious views. I had tried many times but I couldn’t fight the urges and the feelings that were buried deep inside of me. I knew Becky was right. She knew very well how it would destroy me if my secret ever got out. I knew from that moment that, no matter what anybody said, I would have to do whatever Becky wanted.
I sat up and stared around at my surroundings. There were several verses from the Quran stuck onto my wall in frames. Several ornaments here and there, all reminders of my respected religion; reminders of who I was supposed to be and what I was supposed to believe in. I stared hard at a verse and repeated it over and over in my head. I had no idea what it meant as I didn’t understand Arabic, I just knew that it was a powerful piece and it was supposed to protect me from all evil.
As I repeated the verse for the 20th time my mind began to wander again, to the supposed God that I believed in; ‘Allah’ we called him. I had heard many times of how boys and girls were to respect their parents, care for them, die for them, and once they are old enough they must marry and reproduce. It was more like a duty, a job, rather than a choice. I recalled seeing people on TV; two men or even two women falling in love and marrying one another. I saw it as any other kind of love and didn’t understand when my dad or Shabnam would grunt, change the channel and complain about what a mess the world was becoming.
My eyes began to wander away from the framed verse and set upon a pair of scissors that I had carelessly forgotten to put away the night before. As though a switch had flicked inside me the voices of my family became louder in my head. “Being ‘gay’ is so very disgusting. It’s so wrong. It’s unnatural. Do you know what happens to people that turn gay? They burn in hell for eternity. It’s disrespectful. But mostly disgusting.” Anger rose within me. It was unexplainable; anger I had never felt before seemed to burst through my veins and into the air before me. It was as though I wasn’t myself, as though I was sat back on my bed watching myself get up and reach for the scissors.
By this point my mind was filled with so many emotions, so many voices that I couldn’t listen to a single one. All I could see was the pair of scissors now clenched within my hand. All I could think of was Louise. My best friend and... The love of my life. Yes, I loved Louise like I loved no other. I desired her love. I longed to be as close to her as I physically could be. But I knew it was wrong. It was very very wrong. It was so wrong that my whole life could be brutally disturbed. Thoughts of Louise floated through my head and I gave up trying to fight them. I pictured her face as beautiful as it was, smiling at me, the way nobody else had ever smiled at me. Voices were swimming through my head; so many words were being said that I couldn’t distinguish a single one.
My mind raced with thoughts. “Wrong. Dirty. Disgusting” Over and over again these words repeated. My hands were out of my control. I took the scissors and dug them deep into my arm. I didn’t know why I was doing it or what it would achieve but something inside of me wanted to make sure that my true feelings would eventually be seen. The initials ‘L T’ formed on my arm. I carved them carefully with the scissors, enjoying the pain as it came.
As I sat there, staring shamelessly at the red markings on my arm, I heard a noise from downstairs. It was dad; he was home. I hastily pulled down my sleeve, put away the scissors and ran down to meet him at the door.
Last edited by Zedebee : 02-08-2010 at 06:59 PM.
The only time you will find real light is when you're searching in the dark..
Now I'll play your ghost as my ace, whenever I'm led astray.
But I am actually good, can't help it if we're tilted.
I'm in my right place, don't be a downer.
I remember when I read version one of this. I thought it was real. You'd written it that well it took me a few chapters to realise it was fiction.
If I hadn't known it was fiction from the start I would have been fooled again. Your skill has improved immensely and it's better than ever.
A note though, try and space it out a little more, makes it easier on the eyes and easier to find your place again if you get lost.
Other than that you should be proud of yourself. you have a wonderful piece of work here.
Edit: Lovely, that spacing out makes the whole thing better. Fantastic!
Last edited by Feel_Good_inc. : 02-08-2010 at 08:46 PM.
Don't be fooled by my smooth skin. The deepest scars are the ones unseen.
Remember compliments you received, forget the insults. If you succeed in doing this, tell me how..~ Baz Lurhman.
Letting it get to you - You know what that's called? Being alive. Best thing there is. Being alive right now that's all that counts. ~ Doctor Who "The Doctors Wife" 06.November.2011
I remember when I read version one of this. I thought it was real. You'd written it that well it took me a few chapters to realise it was fiction.
If I hadn't known it was fiction from the start I would have been fooled again.
This.
And I thought the first version was really well written too
It's good to see it back again =)
It's brilliant writing
“Never lose faith in yourself,
and never lose hope;
remember, even when this world throws its worst and then turns its back,
there is still always hope.”
I just want to take this opportunity to thank you guys. Each and every one of your comments are taken on board and really mean a lot to me. I'll get the next bit out to you as soon as I can =)
The only time you will find real light is when you're searching in the dark..
Take your time Zeddy. You can't rush creativity.
Betty to take a while and make something you're happy with than rush it and feel you've dissapointed yourself.
Only write for yourself, make stuff you're happy with.
*hugs*
Don't be fooled by my smooth skin. The deepest scars are the ones unseen.
Remember compliments you received, forget the insults. If you succeed in doing this, tell me how..~ Baz Lurhman.
Letting it get to you - You know what that's called? Being alive. Best thing there is. Being alive right now that's all that counts. ~ Doctor Who "The Doctors Wife" 06.November.2011
“The good things don’t always soften the bad, but vice-versa, the bad things don’t necessarily spoil the good things and make them unimportant.”
“Nobody important? Blimey, that’s amazing. Do you know, in nine hundred years of time and space I’ve never met anyone who wasn’t important before.”
“If it’s time to go, remember what you’re leaving. Remember the best. My friends have always been the best of me.”
Finally read this and it's very good, as Adam said you really are developing your skills, it has the raw quality it had before but also a smoother more literary quality, if that makes sense.
'Never forget what you are. The rest of the world will not. Wear it like armor, and it can never be used to hurt you.'
['There is only one thing we say to death. Not today'.']
'We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell.’ – Oscar Wilde
‘It’s hard to dance with the devil on your back.’ Sydney Carter
