The hands that fed me......

I haven't returned to my hometown since my twelfth. I didn't feel like going back. I never miss it because the concept of the word "home" is very perplexing for me. I believe belonging to someone's blood is as bad as oversharing to a stranger when both are supposed to do you harm and interfere with your mental peace. I am a big disappointment, for my abuse tolerance limit is precariously low. Sometimes, I wonder how difficult it will be to fake tears for the dead ones when you are not sad, not happy, not nothing. I mean for them to be dead.

Then there are some connections I share with people who have nourished me for who I am today. I am truly indebted to them. I belong to the privileged lot who hollers the F word on the streets. F here stands for both "Fuck that" and "Feminism". No, we don't actually understand the responsibility of taking such big, fancy and cool words. We are just young and therefore reckless. We say what we don't mean just for the sake of feeling how our tongues roll on these. We like saying that.

When I am tired of such flashy affairs, I put my academic arrogance aside because now I am hungry. My food is served hot because I never forget to find mothers, sisters and girlfriends. They make sure I eat good and we collect firewood together under screeching hot urban islands. I tell them stories. I make them learn the F word. I talk about the number of guys I have fucked. They tell me their stories. They do not understand the F word. They were homeless during the pandemic. They tell me their husbands came into their life like spattering rain while they had children to feed. We run away together sometimes. 

They tell me they do not like being touched. I touch them sometimes. They like it. They just don't like pop and one kid out. Pop and another kid out. We visit the abortion clinic on weekends. We spend so much fun time together. 

They tell me they want to get rich. They don't understand the F word. I do not tell them that they can't ever be rich, not in this lifetime. They don't understand the F word. I don't tell them that broken things can be resurrected but not broken things beyond repair. They do not understand the F word. I do not understand the F word either.