I Gave Him the Chance to get Angry with the World
I was sad last night. Some street artist harrased me and I fought back. He was around 16 yo, and angry. He was very angry when what he could find that I remained calm asking, “what did you say?”
I held myself saying stuffs. I thought about something. About the poor education, the corrupted government, the things he should have earned in his age but couldn’t afford to. He stood still, maybe he liked it to be mad, he has the chance to be, with someone he hated the most: people who can afford ‘everything’. I was sad, although I was aware with all my nerve to get ready for anything. He carried a ukulele, a poor one. And a ticking bomb ready to blow right in my face. I held myself saying stuffs. The thing I want him to know, that this girl fought back.
Long after that, my husband came pick me up. He knew something happened, but kept it to his own. I need that. My stomach hurt, or not. I need something, or not. I want to talk about it, but not really. I let ‘it’ happened. I let it just be. But the first thing I felt when I woke up was…how sad it is…where he come home to? (While I woke up with someone I care next to me) Has he eat last night? Did he do drugs?
I don’t feel like to have breakfast today.