Sometimes, I consider myself very lucky. Lucky because I am alive! I am alive for some of my neighbors. Sounds weird? It is weird and sometimes funny. I was like a mistake of my parents. When I first appeared in the world, inside my mother’s womb, she wanted to abort me. May be she was too busy to have another kid or may be my parents were happy with their one and only daughter. When she was all set to abortion, some of her neighbors, I mean apas and vabis next door suggested her to keep me. They gave her hope that I would be a baby boy. She was optimistic about it. I don’t know why, but she was kind of sure that I would be a boy. That time ultrasonography was not popular among people. So, she didn’t take that effort. She even decided that she would make her boy a football player because that time FIFA World Cup was going on.
However, all her dreams ended in smoke when I finally landed. I bothered my parents a lot that day. My dad had to carry my mom to nearby maternity home at the middle of the night. The gate of that maternity home was locked. My dad climbed over the gate to go inside and opened the door for my mom, who was groaning with pain. Entering the maternity, they found out that the doctors were on strike. They refused to serve. Then dad pleaded to them and somehow persuaded them to serve my mom. I was born. My mom was disappointed, but my dad was happy. He entered the house next day laughing loudly. Neighbors thought he had become a father of a son. But how do I know that he was happy? He might have pretended.
I don’t have that courage to ask my parents if they are still disappointed because I am not a boy. What if I was aborted then? Of course, I would not have been sitting in front of pc and writing the blog now. I wouldn’t be there where I am now. I have heard that those kids who are aborted go to heaven. If it‘s true, it would be much better for me because I wouldn’t have to make my life hell among studies. I guess, my parents are satisfied, though I haven’t met their expectations yet. I simply don’t understand them. As I live far away from them, I think that they miss me when they ask me again and again when I’ll come home. All my thinking turns out to be a misunderstanding when I get to know that they are too busy to receive me from station. They may not be at home even to welcome me. I may have to get the keys from neighborhood and warm up my lunch. Whatever it is, I don’t want to think about it anymore because it takes the hell out of me. At the same time I can’t resist myself thinking about it. Why are my parents so inexpressive???