I'm Just A Ghost Girl

(1)

Dear Diary,

Sometimes in 1998.

March 18th, 1999– my 3rd birthday. It was supposed to be the happiest day of my life. I don't remember much of my happy moments here, but I do remember the bad ones. To be honest, everything that occurred with me over the years before and after that isn't much of a blur. Who can forget such events that traumatize you? You can't no matter how hard you try. I shared part of my life with my little brother, who is a year and half younger than me, in India. I thought India was my forever home, because that's all I ever knew—including the family that lived there. There was my aunt, my uncle, and three older male cousins.

I thought they were my parents, and siblings along with my brother. I never knew my mother and father when I came to India. How I came to India, at what age, and when I came had been a blur. I just somehow woke up on the plane one time, crying my heart out, with my little brother and then when I closed my eyes and reopened them...I was in India, starting a new life with new people. It should have been great. And It was...for sometime. But, I'll never forget the events that occurred to me after I turned three. Everything before that was great, but then sexism occurred. I was young, but not dumb. I still felt things, still saw things and heard things I still remember to this day.

Women, and girls in India tend be treated different in third-world countries. Girls are either killed BEFORE they are born, killed AFTER they are born, or just related very poorly years after. I don't know which category I fell in. Sometimes, I was treated well. Sometimes, I was treated like I didn't matter at all. Sometimes I wouldn't get my favorite food, sometimes I couldn't go out to play, or bring friends over, and sometimes...I couldn't sleep with my aunt. My brother got everything he wanted. But, it wasn't always like that. Until things got much different afterwards.

Sometimes after my 3rd birthday, I found out we had actual parents in America. They existed. I was very excited to finally see them! And they came. The first time, my mother and father came. The next two times, over the course of a year and half, only my mother came. It felt good seeing her, and extremely sad whenever she left. She told me, before she left, that it was time for my brother and I to come back to America where we belonged. I was overjoyed. But, for that to happen...we had to get a passport. And for that, I had to travel to Bombay with my uncle. I don't know why my brother couldn't come with me. I had to travel with my uncle alone. I didn't think of anything at that time because, not only was I young, but my mind was elsewhere. I was too happy to question anything.

But, I wish I never traveled with him to Bombay alone. I soon realized...it all began from there.