For as long as I can remember, I've wanted to fly. Higher and higher, till the world is tiny and nothing else matters but the rush of the flight - the feeling of being truly weightless, the feeling of being free.
It would be nice, I think, to be like the birds, without a care in the world, for nothing to matter, for the sky to be my safe haven.
And maybe dancing was it for me, because it was this sort of escape from reality. I didn't really pay attention to my surroundings while I swayed along with the music, eyes closed, limbs flailing, lost to the world.
Dancing is my way of flying.
But he was always there, holding me back, holding me down till I was rooted to the ground - the girl who dreamt of flying was now too afraid to even jump. Too afraid of him.
---
I remember once, when I was seven, I was sitting on a swing alone on a Sunday, because all of my friends were either out shopping or at their relatives'.
I didn't want to go home because that place felt like a prison, and I wanted an escape from it.
There were a few boys kicking an old football around nearby, and other than them there was no one there, really. I wanted to join the boys, too, but Papa had told me not to talk to boys, they were a bad influence.
And I didn't want to disobey Papa - the last time I'd done that, it had ended with both Mama and I crying.
So I just sat there, swinging gently, content with watching them.
But then one of the boys came up to me, grinning and showing a missing tooth, and asked me if I wanted to play with them.
I thought of Papa for a moment, and what he had told me - but then, what could go wrong with a friendly game of football? Besides, I wouldn't really talk to them, I'd just play with them. Papa hadn't said anything about that.
So I nodded, grinning, and walked over to them.
Though the boys booed and jeered at first ("You brought a girl to play? Everybody knows girls are weaklings, they can't play!"), after I played with them, they seemed to decide I wasn't so bad after all.
And I was having fun - my clothes were splattered with mud and I was sweating like a horse, but I was having fun.
But that was the exact moment Papa had to come out to buy groceries, and had to see me on the way to the store.
The look on Papa's face at that moment is something I don't think I'll ever forget.
He dragged me home, not saying anything, not even letting me say goodbye to my new friends. His silence was what unnerved me the most.
When we got home, he asked me, very calmly - too calmly - "What were you doing?"
"Well, I was playing, Papa." I told him, confused.
"With boys. And what have I told you about boys?" He asked me, still very calmly.
"That I shouldn't talk to them, yes. But see, I wasn't talking to them, I was only playing with them - "
"Don't you dare," said Papa in that dangerously calm voice. "Don't you dare find excuses and loopholes. You have disobeyed me today, you have let me down. Mucking about in the mud like some boy from the streets...disgraceful."
I didn't really understand everything else he said then - I didn't get how a harmless game of football could "tarnish our family's reputation" and "ruin my life."
