If Cemeteries are the Bankvaults of Interred Dreams…Haters Masquerading as ‘Friends’ are the Killers of Those Dreams!
Everything my uncle’s wife did to me — the verbal abuse, the punching, the slaps, the spitting, the belittling, the humiliation, the derogation of my parents — she did it ‘supposedly’ in the name of love: ‘to make you humble and submissive so you could have a good future.’
There’s a saying that cemeteries are the bank vaults of unfulfilled (or interred) dreams. If that be so, I say nothing kills those dreams faster than words from a hater who’s masquerading as a ‘friend.’ Which is what makes my grandmother’s counsel all the more valid. Match every word a person speaks to their character allows you to decipher whether the advice is given really is intended to do you good. However, since this is about personal growth; since it is about your understanding of where you are coming from so you can know where you are going, it does beg the question, how can you know another person enough to distinguish what is real or fake about them if you don’t even know your own self, if you are not willing to take time to know your own self?
Often, the one thing someone supposedly dislikes most about you is the very thing they secretly wish they could be!
I have always wondered what my aunty saw in me that irked her so much? Was it my quick-wittedness and my inquisitive nature? Could it have been my tenacity and refusal to break despite her many attempts to break me, or my ability to dream dreams she considered too grandiose for a child from such a humble position as myself? Was it even my audacity at daring to voice out those dreams, or the fact that I, a mere, ‘inconsequential’ little girl from an inconsequential background had ‘dared’ to pronounce that I wanted to be a doctor — the one profession she had earmarked for her favoured child? What could have induced a grown woman to dislike an eight-year-old child so much that she was willing to degrade herself to ‘cut’ that child to size? Yes, I sometimes had the feeling that even she was embarrassed by certain words she used to demean me — one such comment was so shocking that even to this day, as old as I am, I cannot bear to have them come out of my own mouth.
The reason a person hurts you is rarely ever about you or what you have done, but more about the thing in them. So, stop blaming yourself for someone else’s inability to show you compassion, or love you!
One of Aunty’s proudest boasts was her love for her children. It was understandable. She was married to my uncle for over ten years before she was able to conceive. This fact alone made many people wonder how she could have experienced the heartache of bareness and still failed to protect children entrusted to her care. You see, I later found out that I wasn’t the only foster child my uncle’s wife had maltreated. As a matter of fact, she damaged the left eye of the last girl who stayed with her when she back-handed that one across the face because of some supposed infraction. The girl was never again able to see correctly with her left eye. My family only learned about this much later.
