A letter from May 02, 2023

RED CAPSICUM In the future, I will own a cottage far far away. Surrounded by an orchard of pear trees, with a clear little moat all around it. It will be far away from motorways and humans, somewhere isolated where peace rules supreme. And the only noise will be that tinkling little stream. Ma came home today, her mood turned foul the minute she found that Baba had eaten all the meat. Working at McDonald's must not be easy never eating breakfast so imagine her dismay when there was nothing to eat with the rice. Ma then slept whilst Baba scrolled, Ma had told me that she would forgive him once she had a good rest. I sat down, from four to six, and studied Spanish tenses with fervour. The fours hours of spanish in the morning quickly forgotten. Dinner time was fast approaching but still there wasn't a sound in the house. The big handle approached the six whilst the small had been waiting for it to catch up. Ma comes into my room finally, 'Have you prayed?', she asks like she does everyday. I think obviously not, to myself, because I'm not very devout. Shh. Don't tell her that. So I pray and go down, to find I've prayed the wrong prayer. I come up again and then down again and Ma's holding my dinner. 'Have you eaten the CAPSICUM?' What's a capsicum and I ask her so. 'It's a vegetable.' That helps a lot. I ask her for the colour, the shape... not realising she meant a red pepper. Vegetables are yucky and she knows I think so. She breaks out into a frenzy, shifting into an ogre, with only two answers in mind. Yes. Or. No. I say no I don't think I did. Would you like me to tell you what I ate today? Because I don't have a clue what a CAPSICUM is. Her face contorts and she asks me again. Yes. Or. No. Dinner's in my hand, and I eye the stairs but think better of it. My dad is in the living room, under his red blanket, phone in hand. He shows me a CAPSICUM, first he says its a chilly, then shows me a red fruit on his phone. Isn't it a vegetable? Oh. That's a red pepper. I definitely wouldn't eat that. Feeling injustice, silence tears pour down as I spoon my dinner. The fried egg warm and salty, just like my tears. I look at my dad, he's looking at me- maybe he feels pity? He shifts into another ogre, throwing his red blanket aside, demanding that I leave his sight. I leave, he screams 'Take your DINNER' -maybe he does care I run away, dinner in tow, up the stairs and into my room my mum following quickly behind, phone in hand a small heavy contraption- perfect for hitting children I still have a little crescent on my left arm, from the hot hair dryer fiasco Dad is must be mad, because I made a fuss about tortillas If he eats all of them, what I should I take to school for lunch? Ma starts to scream and Baba comes up and starts to shout. We're both *******. And he hates us. Wish he's never met her or had me. He leaves. She stays. 'How do you not know what a CAPSICUM is? Aren't you intelligent' She says it over and over again like it's some sort of chant. I cower, eyes widened and watery, as the tears fall again. She leaves, not before ordering me to eat my dinner. I force myself to eat as the clear snot falls for my nose and drips onto the plate among the vegetables. I eat all of it. Now I am left in tatters. Emotionally worn out. Like used clothes. Wishing I had never been born. My window gleams beautifully as rays of the setting sun flood my room. It must be beautiful outside, should I die? My dad just came in, ironed school clothes in hand He hooks them gently onto my doorknob and gives me an unsolicited head pat. Don't touch me please. He closes the door and the tears fall faster. He comes back in and my face lights on fire. 'Did you drink water, if not, come down.' Cool lights steam through the window kitchen as I fill my bottle, I grab a piece of kitchen roll and I'm back right up. I thought writing it out would make me feel better. But it hasn't. Not really. I know by the tomorrow the ogres will be on their knees, begging for forgiveness. Only to be enraged again when I don't forgive them. But I always forgive and I always forget. Before I remember when it's already too late. I'm too comfortable when I should be cautious. Spanish speaking looms and I think I'm doomed... failure. A cycle of failure when one leads to another, perpetuating and growing ugly thorns that ***** me in the end. Please don't laugh at this when you're older. Because your pain was real and I deserve compassion.