By Dhiya M.

Imagine being an immigrant child crying so quietly yet filled with immense amounts of pain. You feel that pain. Crying on a frequency only mosquitos can hear. Your eyes are swollen from crying, your shoulders from holding the pressure, your heart from the aching pain, your face from masking your sorrows, your brain from the overwhelming thoughts. As you feel the need to fulfill your parents’ wishes, to take advantage of what you have around you, to feel grateful that your parents moved to the US for your studies, it weighs you down. You’re just a child and yet you have the weight of the entire family and extended family on her shoulders. But it feels like the weight of the entire world. Your world. You cry hoping you can talk to someone but you know that you don’t want to burden someone else with your problems like your parents do to you. You wait for your family to go outside on a walk so you can blast music loudly, cry the lyrics out loud and dance to your heart’s content without being judged for playing around. You wait for the day 12th grade finishes so you can finally live for you. You wait for the day you can speak up for yourself when you are being mentally abused. If only they knew. 

It’s Sunday did you go to the market and buy the vegetables; Of course I did; Make sure my breakfast is made as soon as I come out of the shower; Don’t make it cold; but don’t make it too hot; You must iron my shirt before I take a bath; I always do, it doesn’t hurt to do it on your own for one day; Don’t ever mumble or speak up to me, you have to always respect me; respect goes both ways; Never forget to wash the clothes outside the house, I don’t want water to come inside; I clean the house anyways, so why does he care; Before going to the market make sure to dress respectfully; speak well of me; don’t act as the rebellious trollop you look like; Trollop; I’ve got me covered from my shoulders to my ankles; Remember to get the best jackfruit there is; I’ve been craving for food that actually tastes good for so long; The audacity to mock my food in front of my but I have to keep my cool– like mother said;  Walk feminine with your head down– no one needs to see your face; I’ll keep my head however I want god dammit, all of me is a women, from my walk to my dress to my smile to everything; I put 3 500s on the table–bring me back the receipt; And never talk to anyone else unless it regards the price of the vegetable, and and never engage in conversation with any man; So should I steal the vegetables, the things I have to do; You’re back, be a women and fetch me some water;I was gone for and hour, it  takes exactly that much time to go to the river and catch the water and bring it back, and he couldn’t even do that; Remember you don’t get to speak until I say so, when the guests come over today; don’t go around like a trollop and speak; you are only subjected to say any words until I give you permission; Great, I’ve got to clean the house, cook for everyone and act like his personal servant; Before the guests come, get this through your thick skull; Don’t talk back; Don’t speak with your head down; Don’t look at them; Never disrespect me; Don’t disrespect them; Serve me and then serve them and afterwards you can eat the leftovers if there are any; Don’t dress well but don’t dress too poor; If you see other women greet them and stay away from them–I don’t need you telling others about your miserable life; You mustn’t object it anyone come into close contact with me; Trust me, I’d be happy that you’re distracted and take my chance to runaway

About the Author

I’m a 15 year old girl. I wrote this piece for kids who relate to being under pressure on others and themselves. I love dancing!