a year before, i remember wondering why my mom chose my dad. because if i were her, i would honestly not choose to throw away my dreams for him and his kids.
today, i think im finally understanding my mum better. she is the youngest in her family, poverty running through the household but still there's no deficit in empathy, passion and sharing. a seven year old dreaming to be someone powerful in the society, from the outskirts of her village, bagging prizes on a district level. eight years later, she leaves her home despite many opposed to the idea of sending the youngest and a woman to a place about 4 hrs. many including the ones who sexually assaulted my mother.
but she has dreams of her own to fulfill. key word, dreams. she has no one to mentor her, care for her, give her the time and space to study. she had no one to even promise her that they will ensure she studies.
until my father shows up, and promises her the same. that she will be able to study. that he wants her to accomplish her seventeen year old dream.
reluctantly, she jumped at the chance. my mum spent almost 23 years of her life not being prioritized, loved and cared for. she was never the first option because she was never the option.
my father provided the same for her. she is always the priority, and when i say always. always. i saw fear reflecting in his enter demeanor when he saw my mother today getting her nebulization done. he cuts the call, because he cant watch her. can't watch her age, can't watch her leave him before he does. tells me, "it should not be her." with tearful eyes.
my mum spent years with a family who didn't care if her elder brother tried to drown and kill her because she won in a game of chess against him when they were younger, didn't care when she said she wanted to prepare for civil services, didn't care when she said she didn't want to get married then.
my father is not a saint either.
