Dear Amma,

Remember recently I told you about my life when I was in 8th standard? The whole year I hated going to school. Why? Because I’ve always hated eating alone. And for someone like me who lost all the friends because of silly classroom politics, it was hard for me to sit through the twenty minutes long lunch break. I shifted my focus to books. That year, I read as many books I could read. I topped in science the previous year. But you saw what happened when I was in 8th. Everything went down. My grades, my self esteem, my confidence and my love for myself. I was growing up then. There was no one to hold my hand when I needed a little support. I wouldn’t tell you all this because you were busy with kuku. He was small. He needed more attention. I however closed eyes and survived that year. I ignored it when I was called names for being dark skinned and having oily hair. I ignored it when I was made fun of being alone. I ignored it when people looked down on me. I now learn that I shouldn’t have. I shouldn’t have ignored.

I grew up. I don’t even want to start about my teenage. I now realise many things. Over these years, I’ve grown stronger. You have no idea about what I go through at times. You don’t know about the marks that my own nails have left on my skin. You don’t know about the scratches on my face that I lied about being an accidental scratch. You don’t know how I regretfully lived through some of those days when my jaws would hurt because of the strength with which I slapped myself.

I need help. I don’t know how to ask you for it. You see me getting serious when your son wouldn’t respect me. You ask me to let it go. I can’t.

You ask me to take it lightly when he does something. You ask me to control my anger. But you don’t know what caused all this anger in me.

I’m afraid that you can’t think deep into my actions and words. And I’m worried that I can never openly tell you about this.

Please stop worrying about my hairline. Hair is not important. My brain is. And trust me, it is not healthy.

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