Letter To My Two-Year-Old Self,
When you were two, you ran to the kitchen because no one was around to see you getting a bottle of what seemed to be sugar. A little and innocent girl, who could not differentiate between colors or textures. So you opened your hands as big as you could, introduce them into the bottle, and put the sweet sprinkles into your mouth. Not knowing that it was salt.
You were not aware of what had happened; you were just two-years-old. At such a rose-bud age, even when you try to ignore the fact that your dad left, it still arises in your sleep. Do you remember the dream we had? Dad came home, drunk; ready to beat mom, and you laid there, unseen like a ghost. Abuelito and tias threw papa out of the house like used soiled clothes. But apparently, it happened. It was not a dream.
Since that day, mom became new to the generation of single mothers who would work day and night for their child. Not realizing that you were left behind asking for affection, asking to be seen. You spent the rest five years with grandma and aunties, who took care of you, and it felt as if it was real maternal love. When you were six years old, mom went to a country named “United States”. “For a better life”, she said. And yet, you did not understand what “better life” meant, or what “country” meant. She left you in the year 2000 with nothing but a few personal belongings and more importantly with your grandparents. Also, you used to receive unusual visits from dad, visit felt very distant. And mom continued supporting you financially, she, as well, felt very distant.
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This is a little part of my creative portfolio. i just wanted to share a little, since i was not in class that day:(
-Janira Odar
