Blog prompt: Think of an example of injustice that you have personally encountered or witnessed. It might be a profound injustice or just the first time you noticed the world was unfair.
This was not the first time I have felt injustice. This was not the first time I felt that the world was unfair. But it is the first thing that popped into my head. And probably always will. On May 2, 2000, I was born at O’ Conner hospital in San Jose, California. All until I was nine years old, my purpose in life was to experience life how a kid does. Park dates with my aunt’s friends. Horror shows with my uncle. Biking with my cousins. Eating teriyaki bowls from Jack in the Box. Grocery shopping with my grandparents. Practicing skits with my aunt’s friends. Going to church with my aunt. Shopping with my mom at Ross. Eating bbq chicken tenders from KFC. Playing hopscotch in daycare. Writing letters during lunch time. Reading letters at night time. On the phone some times. At nine years old, my dad was released from prison after ten whole years. This is what we have all we have been waiting for all these years. It’s about time we move out of that one bedroom apartment and one bath on Agate drive. My mom was so focused on building a family. So we moved to San Jose, where I was born to a four bedroom and two bathroom house. We bought five dogs and had 4 more puppies. My dad got his own tattoo shop. My parents bouse two new BMWs. My mom signed maybe four different leases before I reached the eighth grade. In the seven grade, I gained two younger sisters and a only one Louis Vuitton purse but probably ten pairs of True Religion jeans. I really started to not get along with my mom, but it was okay because if she decided she hated me that day, my dad would most likely take me shopping or buy me a new game for my Nitendo DS. Or at least I mean he would have if it were not for the time he got caught for illegally growing weed. We had to move in with my dad’s little brother, his wife, and two kids in a two bedroom apartment. Cramped up. Suffocating. But my mom got us out of it. Those months dragged on but could not keep up the steps of the townhouse we moved into.
I did not finish this response the day I started it, and I am not quite sure where I was going with it. However, to get back to the specific event I was working towards, it was some time in January of 2018. We live in Davis now where my mom finally bought a little mobile home for her family. I had just walked home from my first ever job interview that did not go very well and there I was in another argument with my mom for a reason I could not even remember. Useless, stupid, worthless were just a few words my mom spat at me that night.
“Your dad thinks you are ungrateful too.”
“Well dad can’t say anything because he sexually abused me for eight years so how about that?”
I did not actually say that to her. I mean I texted it to her, because I could never swallow that lump in my throat to leave space for my words to escape my mouth. After all those years, why did I feel like I needed to say it right then and there? To maybe get my mom to be on my side for once? So that maybe, just maybe, she could be there to comfort me?
Ten minutes of yelling and tears went by.
“Summer, what do you want me to do? Do you want me to kick him out? Because if I kick him out then I have to kick you out because you remind of me him? Do I tell the rest of the family? What are they going to think? What about Sophie and Stella? Why didn’t you say anything? Do you even care about your sisters? Did you like it?”
“Babe, I promise I learned from Summer. I have two daughters that I love now.”
Things were never normal, but I knew after that moment that things would never be the same. I know the world is unfair, but at times I do wonder, why me?
Word Count: 720
Third Eye Thieu 