My name is Yara Kajath. I was a flower child, a beautiful child. Too smart. Too talkative. With me, less is more. There was no balance. I either fell horribly short or exceeded the limits. In everything. There was no moderate. There was no normal.
I was born into a not-so-stable family. Technically out of wedlock. I think my father just wanted a good shag and it ended badly for him. Somehow, though, I think he loved my mother, in the only way he was capable of loving. I always wonder if he had passed on that gene to me-that inability to love wholly. My mother, on the other hand, is a quiet, strong, kind woman. I know this because she loves my father. It takes a certain kind of strength and kindness to love that man. I am his daughter and I do not even know if I bore him likeness. Love, then, is stretching it too far.
I grew up loving only my mother the love meant to be shared amongst two. I was spit upon, called names and generally shunned by other kids for that. I have always, for as long as I can remember wished for any other life apart from the one I was born into. I always held this fantasy that someday, my real parents would come for me and they’d be wealthy and caring and loving. Not that my one and only parent wasn’t these things (minus wealthy) but it takes a certain atmosphere for a child to feel cuddled. And we just didn’t have that. The fact still remains that she tried, undoubtedly. She was a rock. And never once complained.
By Zainab Onuh
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