My Little Obsession

01

1996

Aoom's feet were cold, but she didn't dare knock on the door again. She stood on the porch, watching through the window as her brother and sisters ate dinner at the table, laughing, spilling rice, and teasing each other. The warmth from the inside glowed through the glass like an unreachable dream. But the door, once again, had been locked behind her.

She was six.

The air outside bit at her cheeks, but she wrapped her arms around her knees and pressed her back against the rough wood of the house. Her tiny bed was just a few feet away. A threadbare mat laid out under the porch floor. It was damp from the evening rain, but she had grown used to the chill.

Inside, she could hear her mother's voice, soft and doting as she asked her youngest son if he wanted more food. The same voice that became sharp, like the edge of a broken bottle, whenever she spoke to Aoom. But tonight, there would be no voice for her. Tonight, there would be no glance in her direction, no question about whether she was hungry.

She had learned long ago that the hunger didn't matter.

Aoom's stomach growled, but she pressed her lips together, holding in the sound. If she made a noise, they might remember she was there. If they remembered, her father might come outside. His footsteps would be heavy, his mouth curled in disgust. — Why are you still here? Get out! Even the dogs don't want you nearby.

Aoom looked toward the far end of the yard, where the shed loomed dark and small against the trees. The dogs, her father's prized possessions, had their own little kennel with blankets and bowls of food. They had names, each called in a loving voice when it was time for meals or walks.

She had no name that mattered. Just "girl".

Sometimes she wondered what she had done to be born wrong. Was it her fault? Was there something broken inside her that made her parents look at her as if she were a mistake? All because she wasn't born a boy like her parents wanted.

The dogs' barks echoed through the yard as her father went to them with pieces of meat. She watched him kneel down, rubbing their fur, cooing softly. A lump rose in her throat, but she swallowed it back. Crying didn't change anything. It never had.

She rested her head on her knees, willing herself to sleep. Sleep was the only place she could escape. The only place where the cold, the hunger, and the emptiness didn't follow her. In her dreams, she imagined a world where someone, anyone, would see her. Not as a shadow to be hidden, but as a person who deserved to be loved.

But each morning, the harsh light of day reminded her - she was not born to be loved.

When Aoom woke the next morning, it was still dark. She had drifted off at some point, only to be awakened by the sound of her mother's voice, telling her to fetch water from the well. It was always the same; first to rise, last to sleep. Her brother and sisters weren't expected to work the way she was. They were the ones who had been born right. Aoom had been born wrong, and the punishment for that was a life spent at the edge of the family, always looking in but never allowed to step inside.

Her feet were bare as she walked the path to the well, shivering with every step on the cold earth. The bucket she carried was too big for her small hands, but no one cared that her fingers ached, or that her back hurt from bending over the heavy weight. By the time she returned, her siblings would still be in bed, and her parents wouldn't look at her.

She sometimes imagined running away. Leaving the house, the porch, the shed behind, and never coming back.

The dogs barked in the distance, their cheerful sounds mocking her silence. Inside, her father's voice rang out, calling the dogs for their morning meal. She stared at the bucket in her hands, the reflection of her face on the surface of the water rippling with each step she took. Sometimes she didn't recognize herself, this small, dirty child with no smile and no light in her eyes. Was that really her? Or just the ghost of someone who had never been allowed to exist?