A short true story of my neighbors daughter. Part 1
โMamaโ pt 1
โCricket, cricket,โ and the fan always filled the room so loud at night, like it was the only thing brave enough to make noise in all that silence. Itโs always dark, hot, and sweaty in the room, the kind of heat that sticks to your skin and makes it hard to breathe. Mama didnโt like the cold, so the windows stayed shut, trapping everything inside with us.
โOh no, here it goes again,โ she says.
All day long Iโm in pain, this pain stopping me from thinking straight, from moving, from feeling like a normal kid. Sometimes it hurts so much I forget where I am, like my mind leaves my body just to escape for a little while.
โUghโฆ I guess Iโll ask her.โ
โMom,โ I whisper.
โMama.โ
She wakes up with those same tired eyes. Eyes that stare back at you like theyโve already seen too much, like thereโs nothing left inside them.
โWhat?โ she yells.
โIโm hungry.โ
I didnโt know what it meant to be a bitch, a burden, but I learned at 5.
โOWW,โ I cry.
โMom, why did you throw me out the door?โ
โFIND YOUR OWN FUCKING FOOD!โ echoed so loud in my head it felt like it cracked something inside me.
I realized there was no saving. No rescuing. No soft place to land.
Mama always loved the men more than us.
I thought once you had a son, everything changed. I thought maybe then things would finally be different, finally better, finally enough.
I thought it changed for you. For the best.
But I quickly learned the harsh truth at 5 years old:
Love is a choice.
And Mama never chose us.
โBre, can I ask you something?โ
โSure, girl, whatโs up?โ
โIs my mommy getting in the car with those guys again?โ
โZoom, zooooom.โ
There she goes.
2 p.m.
4 p.m.
8 p.m.
Damn.
9 p.m.
Hunger twists inside me like a knot.
Let me find something to eat.
Anything.
Even if it isnโt enough.
To be continuedโฆโฆโฆ
Reading this story deeply moved me and reminded me of how critical it is to recognize signs of child neglect and emotional pain in our communities. Many children suffer silently in similar circumstances, dealing with neglect, hunger, and emotional abandonment without anyone to turn to. The vivid description of the oppressive heat and the constant noise of the fan creates an atmosphere that almost traps the reader in the child's world, making the pain and loneliness palpable. From my own experiences volunteering with child welfare organizations, I have seen how children in situations like this often develop a profound sense of isolation, compounded by the feeling that they are a burden rather than loved. The narrator's realization that "love is a choice" is a harsh truth that many children face when their caregivers fail to provide the nurturing they need. This story also underscores how important it is for neighbours and friends to remain vigilant and supportive, as sometimes a small gesture of kindness or listening can make a life-changing difference. I also appreciate how the story captures not just the physical hardships like hunger and pain but the psychological wounds inflicted by rejection and neglect. Children in these situations may internalize blame or develop mistrust in relationships, impacting their emotional development. Sharing such personal stories cautiously and respectfully can raise awareness about the struggles many vulnerable children face and motivate more people to advocate for child protection. I encourage others reading this to reflect on the importance of creating safe spaces for children to express their feelings and seek help. Whether through community support, educational programs, or direct intervention, every effort counts towards breaking the cycle of neglect. The story's continuation promises to shed more light on this difficult journey, and I hope it inspires empathy and action among its readers.
