"In another universe do you still think we'd be" friends/lovers/mother and daughter, etc. And that makes me think that I survived in this universe, despite everything.
Also, the older I get, I believe, I should be able to manage my thoughts and emotions well. Whatever happened to me is something of the past. Almost four years have gone by. I have dealt with a lot of negative emotions since that event and something that bothers me till this date is that all my parents did in response to him doing things to me for years was my mom giving him a slap and telling him to not enter our house, ever. But when I was at home, I'd still see him. His apartment is a few buildings away. I used to see him on the road so often. Last year I went away from home, and I've felt safe, but that is, safe from him. Today this old man approached me at the temple and his intentions were nice, but I'm not really accustomed to really old men with all white hair. My parental grandfather died two years after my paternal grandfather is dead and my maternal grandfather isn't really that old plus he dyes his hair so often. But this man who approached me today was almost exactly like the man who tried to assault me and other kids back in 2013.
My father used to frequency visit my uncle. That was where he spent his childhood. There were three row houses and behind it were this building surrounding a circular space. In front of the row houses were another line of row houses. As a kid I used to frequently visit my uncle and his family. There were kids in the circle surrounding complex and the row houses. A lot of those kids were my friends. We would meet in the afternoon/evening which is generally when kids play. These kids meant a lot to me because this was the only time I got to play with kids except school, which was not very much either. So, there was this old man who lived in the third-row house. He was old. He was definitely taller than me, he had white hair, somewhat and used to wear all white cloths. He used to give stickers to kids, and I was obsessed with stickers back then. I absolutely loved stickers. The other kids were of my age or just slightly older or younger. Most of us were below ten.
My uncle was about to shift because that whole area was going to be broken down and remodeled, so it was almost the last time I was visiting that place. It was almost routine to greet the row house people and then play with friends whenever I visited. Although the last time I went, he called me in. He was already sitting on a chair. He asked me to sit on his lap, I did hesitate but obviously I thought he had no bad intensions. But then, he started to touch my stomach over my cloths, his hand then went inside and touched my bare skin. And as things go, his hands started sliding downwards. It was scary. It almost reached when I let go off him and ran away. I was so scared. Everyone was like HIM my cousin brother who did things to me).
I went inside and told my mom about how this one uncle touched me wrongly and as always, she said he was probably trying to cuddle me. I HATE THIS THING ABOUT MY MOM WHERE I GENUINELY TELL HER WHAT WRONG OTHER PEOPLE DID TO ME EVEN AS A CHILD AND SHE USED TO BRUSH IT OFF. SHE ALWAYS BRUSHES IT OFF AND I HATE THAT.
I went outside to play that day too. The other kids arrived. I asked them if they got any stickers from the old man recently. A boy just a year younger than me said that he's grown weird. Another girl said he tried to touch her wrongly. I said that he too tried touching my stomach. We didn't play that day. Talking about these things made us really upset and we went back home. This is the last memory I have of them and probably the only thing I'll remember about them till the end. Also, this event was the only one where I shared how something bad had happened to me and the people listened with attention and did not show sympathy or were trying to be sorry. Listening is enough.
I went to school the other day. In one my big grid maths notebook sheet I wrote to one of my friends how this man tried to touch my stomach with a red something (I thought it would be symbolic of the blood I wanted after killing him) and my friend said sorry. I still talk to her sometimes. Her birthday is on fourth of July. It's also a song by Sufjan Stevens.
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