The Daughter who Inherited silence





One of my strongest memories was of the man coming out of the house in the moonlight, his eyes red as blood his steps slow yet loud

The woman in the is covered with purplish handprints. She wears it like it’s an art piece.

On school days the woman can be seen on the streets. She peddles her wares to take care of their children . She’s home in time to have his food ready for him.

Every night it is a repeat performance. His reasons for throwing the contents of her hard end dinner changing like his mood.

Sleep is her only escape as she is adorned with more purplish colors.

My strongest memories never show the woman ever being happy, or the man never being the reason for her despair.

My memories are so strong because they birthed me.

One of my most vivid memories is of a man stepping out of a house on a moonlit night. His eyes were bloodshot, and his steps were slow yet thunderous. It was a sight that stayed with me for a long time. However, it wasn't the only memory I had of this man and the woman who lived with him.

The woman, too, was etched in my memory. Her body was covered in purplish handprints, which she wore like an art piece. On school days, I would see her on the streets, peddling her wares to support her children. She would always make it back home in time to prepare dinner for her husband.

However, every night, the scene would repeat itself. The man would come home, and his reasons for throwing her hard-earned dinner on the ground would change with his mood. It was a constant cycle of abuse, and the woman had no escape. The only solace she found was in sleep, where she would be adorned with more purplish colors.

My memories of this couple never showed the woman being happy, nor the man being the cause of her despair. It was a tragic situation that would stay with me forever.

As I grew older, I realized that these memories were more than just a personal tragedy. They were a representation of the larger issue of domestic violence that affects millions of families worldwide. The woman's purplish handprints were a painful reminder of the physical abuse that she had to endure every day

Domestic violence is a complex issue, and it is not just physical abuse. Emotional abuse, financial abuse, and sexual abuse are equally damaging and can leave scars that never heal. It is a problem that affects people of all ages, genders, and socio-economic backgrounds.

On days like this, I remember the woman well enough because she was never happy.

I remember the man well enough because he made her that way.

As a society, we need to recognize that domestic violence is not a private matter. It is a crime that needs to be reported and punished. We need to create safe spaces for victims to seek help and support. It is our responsibility to educate ourselves and others about the signs of abuse, and to intervene whenever we see it happening.

My memories of the man and woman may have birthed me, but they also taught me a valuable lesson. They taught me that we need to stand up against domestic violence and create a world where no one has to endure the pain and suffering that the woman had to go through. It is only then that we can truly call ourselves a compassionate and just society.

I want to do better