By Jana Lisboa.
“I don’t hear voices. I’m not angry at my father. I’m fine.”
It’s easy to be accepted as normal, except when none of the sentences above is true.
I do hear voices, in the Imperative: “Sit down. Behave yourself. Obey your father. Do not cry.”
Words enounced by my father directed to me in the Past Never Perfect of our relationship. He tried to correct and objectify me, once he started being told: “Careful, she is cute and smart, she is going to be handful”.
I wanted to run but had to sit as a lady. I urged to tell him all about my titanic crazy plans, but he always had others for me, solider and bigger. Even when I could choose, I was supposed to do as he told me, he knew more and better, he is older.
He hunted me to be a gigantic woman but every time he was around, I felt like a miniature. I was infuriated. Infuriated at my father. But that was fine because he taught me that fury is far better emotion than feeling hurt. In reality, these are just different representations of a broken heart.
Eventually, I grew up and to feel that way, I’ve made my breasts become barriers. As a woman I was no longer cute, nor smart, I was cynical. Cynical just like him so I would not bow to none. Not even him.
I’ve learned to deny: “I won’t sit. I won’t do. I won’t obey”. And I’ve also unlearned how to cry.
We fought like titans in mythological times, and after, like proud and resented demigods we barely spoke to each other. Neither of us were willing to humanize and listen what one another had to say. I’ve finally learned to answer “It is all fine” even when it wasn’t. At last, I’ve unlearned how to cry. As he told me to.
Yes, this is the life. It hurts. And you cannot cry. You have to suck it in!
Then, I knew that he was going through a surgery and inside of me everything felt wrong. The entire week I sat near the telephone, trying to call, but, impressively, to press thirteen numbers suddenly seem to be the hardest thing to do in the World. The second was to articulate words after I’ve heard his terrifying “hello”.
The phone rang and it was just like that one time, when once we went to the supermarket and I saw the ramp, asked to go there but he told me “no”. It was big and I urged for the speedy, so I ended up going. It was thrilling until I fell over my face opening my chin. And I cried. Oh, how I cried. I cried as I was afraid of the reprehension, because like him I didn’t know how to say “I’m sorry”. He came and he picked me up, wrapped me with his arms, and he didn’t tell me I was wrong, he didn’t demand me to stop crying, he didn’t ask me to explain anything.
It was so. He called and I burst into tears. It was just like that one time, when once he was big, I was tiny. And it was great to be small since I could cry out all that was hurting without having to know the words to say I was sorry, while no explanations were required.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jana Lisboa, the flower-shaped girl: was born and raised in a huge family under Catholic and military influences. As a little girl, she wanted to be a dog, which was technically impossible. As only option, she decided to become a flower since it was more sociable acceptable to little girls born and raised in a huge families under Catholic and military influences. Then, she grew up and turned into the illustrative text book of What Frustrated Metamorphic Desires Can Do To a Human Being. Academically speaking, she holds a bachelor’s degree in Social Communication. Intellectually, mediocre. Chronically, ironic. She would still prefer to be a dog.
