STORY OF MY LIFE | PERSONAL ESSAY

Born Without A Name

While I was in her womb, the fortune teller told them that I would be a boy.

It made them so happy that they made a long list of boy’s names and bought all the baby boy’s stuff.

I was the biggest disappointment for them when I arrived.

“Damn! A girl!” he said.

So, I didn’t have a name.

They just put my birth month as the first name and allowed some busybody nobody to make up my remaining name to fill in the birth certificate.

Anyway, they didn’t use my official name much because they gave me many other names after that:

Stupid, Idiot, Bloody Fool and Bloody Swine because I was dumb. There were more, too many for me to remember.

They didn’t bother to understand the reasons behind my behavior, and perhaps that lack of effort made it convenient for them to redirect their own frustrations and disappointments onto me.

I became an easy target, a canvas for their unmet expectations and a receptacle for their physical aggression.

Maybe they just hated me.

I’m glad I didn’t succumb to those abuses.

I was also called a Bastard. At that time, I often wished that I were actually a bastard, secretly hoping that my biological parents would someday come to my rescue.