Since I'm apparently decent at communicating my innermost thoughts through writing - be it completely fictional or real - I've decided to finally start a public blog.
There has barely been any harmony in my life for as long as I can recall. As we are taught, gravity establishes this sense of harmony in the world; its a harmony where evil actions always result in demonic consequences, or punishment - if you will. It also teaches that the righteous shall always succeed in the end, but I suppose that since we are in the middle of the story, the ending is yet unknown.
Before my birth, my father was a national leader of the democratic movement in some overpopulated land which could barely sustain the never ending hunger of its people. Within such overpopulated lands, there is the obvious common element of corruption, of a small elitist society that would do anything to preserve their concentrated wealth and power. This society decided to rid itself of my father from the eyes of the "uneducated public", and what better way than to seize all his wealth for the "good of the nation" and exile him to hard labor in a coal mine? Growing up, I always felt different, as certain whispers escaped from the circle of gossiping coal miners' wives with faded and teetered skirts. "...look...its them..." "...to think they are better than us?" "...rather a husband without such impossible dreams..." "the consequences of those western ideas...root of evil..."
Confused when teachers dared not look me in the eye, when Dad was always too "busy" to show up at parent conferences, when store ladies gazed upon me and suddenly turned away, I dove into all sorts of competitions. I didn't really know why, just that I loved the thrill of winning at this general never ending game called "life". I found that I was an amazing runner. That I could easily score the top marks in any subject. That my essays were always read aloud in class. And that I could mesmerize everyone by simply adjusting the octaves of my voice, of presenting my argument in a way that seemed beneficial to them.
Suddenly, Dad really was too busy. He was leaving for days at a time to the city, and we never knew why. This went on for about two years, until the divorce. The divorce didn't really hit me. I was sort of dazed, as my grandparents convinced the overachieving yet young child of 5 that her mommy was a "bad person". And when mommy came to visit a year later, hearing what her daughter had been conditioned to think, tears washed her cheap brown eyeliner into the newly acquired creases at the corners of her eyes. As she bit her lip, smearing the cherry red lipstick all over her teeth, she slapped her daughter. A quick, loud slap. Really, it was more shocking than painful, and really confirmed that mommy was truly a "bad person". Even years later, she was still "bad". By then, it didn't really matter that mommy had the most beautiful and icy blue eyes ever, or that her face and body were plastered across every train and bus in the country, she was "bad".
Suddenly, Dad told me that he had made a fortune selling electronics. That we had a choice, because he was given an offer to study at arguably one of the most prestigious universities in the world. But I didn't want to leave. I was the gorgeous child that was always chosen for all publicity events. The little girl with hazel eyes that convinced everyone it was an excellent idea to donate to such and such cause, saving such and such orphans from the recent floods.
So Daddy left, with his new wife, a "very nice and healthy lady", to a world only available from movies.
