Bella Is my name and I'm 20 years. I live with my parents, I have three siblings. And this, is my story:
"Dad, my sister Ann is sick. She is in the hospital, can I go and spend some days with her? Just to help her with some chores pending the time she'll recuperate.
You are going nowhere. But, dad she's not....I SAID YOU ARE GOING NOWHERE. I HAVE SPOKEN, he replied with a thunderous voice before I could finish my statement. In fear, I ran to the safest corner of my room and cried till I couldn't.
I only wanted to help my sick sister, but he won't let me go anywhere near her, even when she wasn't sick. This is the first child of the family and I don't know why my dad despises her so much. He once said, Ann is not my child, I have disowned her. The reason for this huge hatred, is unknown,even to my helpless mother.
We all know my father for one thing, and that's his refusal to every permission. We cannot do anything without his permission. I remember vividly in high school, I went for an impromptu competition. I called my Father and informed him about my movement, we were actually going to another town for the competition. My school received the information late and we had to travel to the town that same day. My father refused, blatantly. My teachers begged, my mum pleaded with him but he was adamant. They explained to him that it was impromptu.
He somehow agreed to let me go. Deep in my heart, I knew this wasn't going well. I came back the following night, I greeted him,he refused to acknowledge my presence. In short, he later scolded me that next time I disobey his orders, he won't listen to anything that concerns me. I was scared, I don't want to be disowned by him and make my mother carry extra burden.
Since then, I had to obey his instructions, because he once threatened to disown me when I disobeyed him again.
Whenever I asked for permission, and he refused to grant my request, I'll go the safest corner of my room, weep, write a sad poem and sleep. I asked for permission to learn a work, after sitting home for more than four months, he refused and I wrote this poem below, in pain....
A young adult,
Voiceless with a voice,
Do I have the chance to speak up?
Absolutely, Yes!
I say as I’m instructed,
To speak up,
I need to ask for permission,
On what to say and how to say.
A voice to call mine is devoid,
When will I get a voice of mine?
When will I be lucky to express myself?
When will I be free to voice out my pains?
When? When?
When will the time to get a voice of mine, come?
My father won't let us visit any relatives. Though, my siblings sometimes disobeys him and go out with their friends. But, I don't have the courage to do so. I became so used to the four corners of my room. Now, going out irritates me, I actually feel scared to go out. There are days I'll be indoor without stepping outside the gate, apart from going to church.
There's going to be a program for youths in my church in the town my sister, Ann stays. I was happy I'll get to see my sister again after a long time. I started informing my father of my intentions to attend the program, he didn't give me any response. I called my sister,too and informed her. I am supposed to go tomorrow morning. Only for my father to tell me yesterday, I'm not going anyway. Ah, I was broken. This is a church program for God's sake, not a party. As usual, in his fearful voice that sends chills down my spine,he said "I have spoken". Without a reason, he said I can't go to church.
I went to bed, angry and sad in tears. I was so frustrated last night. I cried and cried, this frustration is too much. I feel choked, alone and unloved. My home is not a home. It's actually a prison for me. If I dress up and my father sees me, he'll ask where I'm going. I can't even dress well at home, without being questioned. I don't have friends, I'm lonely.
Now, I have made up my mind to run away from home tomorrow morning. I'll steal some money from home and run, I will never come back. I don't care if I die!
***
Hmm, life can be funny. This story is just fiction. But, can there be any home like this? That feels like prison? Or hell?
This is the original and it first appeared here https://read.cash/@Roshni/my-home-is-a-prison-103babb7