Red Love

Poet

I rapped hard on the door, jumping up and down on the spot. I literally could not hold it in any longer... i was about to pee myself.

Hurry up, i thought.

My mum opened the door and before she could even say hello i rushed past her shouting "Assalamu alaykum," as i went. I threw my bag on the floor, ran into the toilet, struggled with my zipper and button and sat down on the toilet seat.

Ahhhh.

I flushed, washed my hands and walked out to find my mum shaking her head at me. This routine was almost an everyday thing with me and my 3 sisters: Laila, Shakila and Habiba. We all hated using public toilets so we'd wait until we got home, by which time we'd be bursting.

I grabbed my bag off the floor and ran upstairs after taking my boots off.

"Kaseema...!" My mum called.

I stopped halfway up the staircase. Sigh. What now?

"Yes amma"

"How was work?"

"It was good"

*silence*

"I'm going to go and get changed then pray, mum."

I hurried into the bedroom before my mum could say anything. I always liked to keep conversations swift and short with mum because, although i cared for her and respected her, if i ever got her started on talking about something she would never be quiet. I got changed into my comfy pyjamas and flung my work clothes into the blue basket that was perched onto the dresser in my room - another habit of mine which my mum despised. I had the smallest room in the house and even though i was the eldest and needed space for my college books, notepads and my homework, i had to share a room with my two younger sisters. The only sister that had her own room was Laila. I envied how much privilege my parents gave her over me, irrespective of the fact that she was SECOND eldest.

After throwing myself onto my leopard print covered, double bed i decided i really did have to pray before the prayer time was over. I performed wudhu, lay the prayer mat on the floor and began to worship.

I had barely put away the prayer mat and my youngest sister Habiba walked in, making stupid noises and silly faces. She was 10 years old and irritating as hell, at that. Me and Laila, who was 16 years old, had an inside joke about Habiba needing mental help. I know, i know, it isn't funny at all but when you have a sibling as annoying as Habiba, you can only resort to the abnormal as an explanation for her behaviour. Shakila was my quiet sister. She never spoke much, avoided confrontation and spent most of her time on her phone, like every other typical 13 year old.
Me and my sisters had a good relationship, in general. We had arguments and fights just like any other group of 4 sisters but overall, we told each other our secrets, helped each other and most importantly, we protected each other. We were a unit.

Being the eldest of the unit had it's many disadvantages, of course. I was blamed for practically every fault in them, blamed for every wrong they did, blamed for their misbehaviour or rebelling, blamed for their attitude problems. It was ridiculous.
My home life in general was the definition of stress. From housework, to studies and maintaining a social life... it wasn't easy at all. One always suffered in the end. Most of the time, it was my social life as i had to prioritise the other two but all teens know having a social life is just as important.

I practically did everything at home in terms of chores. Laila helped sometimes but only after being told 40 times. By the time she even got to doing anything, i could have done that same thing 10 times over so asking her was pretty pointless. I felt like the second mother figure of the family, the one everyone dumped their responsibilities on. The only person that ever attempted to lighten my load was my father, thank Allah for him.

Besides the boring work at home, my studies were another burden.
I was very passionate about my education but sometimes i felt like i could do without it. It weighed on my shoulders like a ton of bricks. All the pressure to do well, while keeping up my home responsibilites made me want to give up. At times, i felt like adults could never truly understand the struggles of the youth in our generation, even if they tried. Each day, my dreams of becoming a beautiful poet felt further away and it depressed me. Despite everything, though, i put my all into what i did and knew i had to come out with decent grades so i could one day spread beautiful messages to people, through my words. That was my aim, my goal. Unfortunately, i had no one to push me towards it. Frankly, no one cared enough so I remained my own motivator and my own discouragement, at the same time.

Habiba was still in my room, jumping up and down on the bed. I ignored her and looked at the massive pile of homework on my window sill.

Sod A Levels and sod education, i thought to myself, whilst grabbing the sheets of paper and beginning to read. It was an extract from my Child Psychology pack. Euuuurghhhh.

I rolled my eyes, grabbed my headphones, turned up my music and closed my eyes.
I can't wait to go back to work and talk to Michael again...

A/N:

Assalamu Alaykum - a Muslim greeting that means 'may peace be on you.'
Wudhu - a form of washing one's self before beginning to pray.

A little bit about Kaseema's family in this chapter and her general home life.

Please give me feedback and I hope this chapter has met your expectations!