#diyadumps

at 13, i had already begun to feel like a sinner. resigned to what i deemed fate, i had stuffed suffering into my back pocket like a receipt, a proof of my repentance. i remember thinking my luck had run out. that 12 years of bliss was all i deserved before i had to atone for sins i didn't remember committing. that i was cursed.

my mother had instilled in me early on that it is a humiliation ritual for one to be on their knees for anyone who only offers indifference. ask any woman and she will tell you the same. you can hear regret in-between the lines of a warning. she saw me, 16, bending over backwards for anyone and everyone who asked. she sat me down one day and said, "listen to me carefully. do not run yourself dry for people who will not spare you a drop." yet i see her pray, and i doubt she ever keeps herself in the prayers her lips murmur every morning and every evening. it has been 5 years, and she still hopes i will make her habits mine one day. i know she wishes—hopes, devotion is contagious. i scoff at the irony of it all. why must i pray? i do not thank my mother for bringing me into this world. i thank her for making sure i'm drinking enough water, for peeling and cutting my favourite fruits for me, for stroking my hair till i fall asleep. why must i revere god? what has he done for me? she thinks it is a lack of belief that leads me astray from the path of god. she does not understand that i had never been looking for reasons to believe in him, only for reasons to worship him, and i came up with none. at my lowest, i caved and cried out to my mother about the wounds that did not bleed but would not heal. she held me for an hour and then gently nudged me towards god, like she was prescribing me medicine. i despised her for it, and i despised her god more for being so greedy. what god worthy of worship seeks your prayers before he contemplates granting you a better fate? what god so benevolent patiently watches your show of desperation before he decides if the show must end?