It was on that night that I was proved wrong…

I was scared… dubious… I couldn’t trust anyone. I always felt the need to rebel against my parents. I don’t know why, but I interpreted their advice as a command and squirmed at the thought that they were exercising control over me. All along I longed for support. I longed for love; I longed for care. My mistrusting nature kept me from being happy. As a result, I was lonely… But it was on that night when I lay between my parents that I realized how wrong was.

They had returned love for my hate and kind words for my sharp ones. Despite my many blunders, they continued to believe in me. Despite the fights and temper tantrums, they continued to think of me as their darling daughter. I was indebted to them for life and no gift could compensate for their love. I knew that I couldn’t continue  to be hostile anymore.

My mother patted my back while my father lovingly stroked my hair. I struggled to keep my face straight as my throat choked with emotion. The tears threatened to start their downpour at any minute. Seeing no other way of escape, I tiptoed out of their room.

As I closed their door, I took one last look at them and muttered, “Thank you.”


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About Ria Gandhi

“I really think I write about everyday life. I don't think I'm quite as odd as others say I am. Life is intrinsically, well, boring and dangerous at the same time. At any given moment the floor may open up. Of course, it almost never does; that's what makes it so boring.” ― Edward Gorey

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