What does it take to break the curse of hate?
Understanding, tolerance, respect?
It takes more than love. Love, by itself, can't fight hate or heal wounds. This battle needs dedication, commitment, and patience.
Can a lonely heart fight hate?
If you have accepted yourself, it will definitely happen. Hating is easier than loving, and a single word can break a heart.
Is it necessary for two hearts to beat together to end hatred?
No, if you are firm, you can do it yourself…
Two hearts beating in sync are stronger, since love is greater, and if one falters, the other can help it stand up.
I was thirteen years old when I decided that I no longer wanted to be a woman. It was a decision made after so many humiliations and injustices.
In my family, there were my parents and my three older brothers: Caleb, Joseph, and Gabriel. I was the only girl in the home, often considered the princess. People saw me as fragile, defenseless, and in need of rescue.
During my early years, my family treated me well and indulged me. They fulfilled almost all my desires and pampered me.
“I want a doll” “Here, Sara, we have brought you ten”
“I want ice cream” “Here, it's your turn to have the strawberry one for the princess.”
“I want a blue dress” “Take pink better; it's a colour for girls”
“I want to play football with my brothers” “They can hurt you; better stay with mom”
“Why can't I dress up as Spider-Man?” “Superheroes are for boys; princesses are for girls”
As I grew up, the role of the little girl became dull. Feeling always protected and revered felt suffocating. This special treatment caused division between my older siblings and me. My parents were responsible for it.
The resentful grew as we noticed the difference in treatment. It sank deeper with each observation.
“Why do I have to take care of her again? I have a date with my girlfriend.” “You cannot leave her alone because your brothers have activities in the afternoon.”
“Help your little sister carry her things from school” “What? But if she is idle, I am not her servant.”
“Give your little sister the last slice of pizza” “It's not fair; I wanted to eat it”
It was impossible to stop it
My brothers began to move away from me; they were not hostile, but their silence was more painful than any blow.
School was my refuge for eight years, where I could be myself. I was more than a girl there. I could play football in a skirt. Likewise, I could eat chocolate ice cream. Furthermore, I could scrape my knees without judgment. Nobody asked, “What happened to the princess?”
Primary school was a great time. Most kids wanted to play and enjoy life, regardless of their home life.
High school was a shock; the pink world of childhood came to an end.
All the monsters in the children's library escaped and manifested themselves. They acquired identities, with names and surnames. Either a teacher or a classmate chose you to be their stress ball. The classmate's sole purpose was to belittle whoever remained.
And my family situation didn't help make these high school clichés any more bearable.
My parents went to the principal's office to complain. I had told them about a classmate lifting my skirt. This made me an even more noticeable target. This was a complete nightmare.
I couldn't defend myself. People believed femininity meant not being violent. The people who wanted to protect me locked me up. They thought isolating me was the best option.
Everything accumulated, and one day it exploded…
One of my classmates takes photos of my underwear and sends to the rest of the class. I couldn't handle it, and I punched him in his face. The professor tried to take me away from my classmate. But, that imbecile took the chance to touch my body.
The director was the worst. Instead of defending me, he defended the teacher and classmate. This was because “I had overreacted to a simple joke”, he said.
Finally, I exploded against my long hair. My hair, the one that my parents were proud of. It scattered on the bathroom floor.
If this is the price of being a woman, I never want to pay it again.