I have been asked hundred times, “Why do you write?”, “What’s the point of writing all these?”, or the more common, “Aren’t you ashamed of yourself for talking openly about such shameful subjects?”
In the beginning, I tried answering.
And then, I got exhausted.
Why should I be compelled to answer to such ridiculous questions when I am not the one on trial here, nor am I responsible for all of these injustice that make me want to scream and set the world on fire until all is burnt out and only the most sacred and most pure part of the humanity remains intact.
So I just put up a stone wall around myself and continue to write.
I write for my mother who has been abused all her life and never had the courage to speak up.
And I will continue to write even though she hates me for speaking out against the abuse that destroyed her life and mine along with it.
I write for my best friend, who has been punished by her strict and traditional family for the crime of being born as a girl for her entire life.
I want to tell her story, because she does not know how to tell it and because she has entrusted me with it.
I write for the sake of my ten year old self, who was sexually abused over and over by a relative and not only she had no one to stand on her corner, but has been repeatedly blamed by her family for luring and tempting her abuser.
I write for my childhood that saw me being continuously and violently being abused by a mother who was extremely miserable in her own life and was in no way capable of taking care of herself, let alone a daughter.
I write because all those beatings that I took from a frustrated and helpless mother only resolved my will to live and to help others like me live.
I write, because I am a survivor.
And if a single girl reads this column and finds the will to go on and the will to survive, then I write for that girl.
So come on, let’s start this journey behind curtains and walls, across the oceans and across continents until we bring out in the open all that is unspoken, all that has been considered shameful even though we know the shame is not ours to bear, until we are able to stare at the faces of the abuse and the abusers and one day come up with the courage to take over our destinies.
My life is mine and this story is mine to tell.
So without any fear or shame, I will write.
It will be my humble offering to all of you who wish to take on this journey with me.
To be Continued…