When we decided to leave, I knew the things that they would say.
I knew they’d say we were running away.
I knew they’d say I have no right to have an opinion anymore.
I knew they’d say we were cowards.
I knew they say…
The part I didn’t know, is that the people who would say it the loudest, would be the people I love. The people I am tied to by blood. I never knew I’d be called “trash taking itself out” and I never knew I’d be told it’s my privilege that allows me to go. And THIS is the part that hurts the most.
Truth is, South Africa IS unsafe and I took the first chance I had to get my child out of there.
So let’s set the record straight, just for fun…
I worked on the ground WITH the people who have the worse lives, I’ve NEVER been one to shy away from reality.. BUT this PRIVILEGE you say I have… which I can only assume refers to the money it took to get here, is money that I would rather not have if it could be undone.
I traded my FATHER for this privilege. I traded him over the course of five days as he lay dying. Brain matter seeping out his ears. I cried and I prayed and a god I no longer believed in ignored me. I’m smarter now, I know what a waste those prayers were. I traded the man I loved first, the man I loved most for the money in my bank account. I NEVER talk about money. I NEVER talk about what I have and how I came to have it. Many of you won’t even know this story. Many will have wondered how I can afford to stay at home and write because that’s what I love to do, many more will think fuck it’s expensive to move, how did she do it. Well, here’s the answer: it’s the privilege of having lost my dad. It’s the privilege of having watched him DIE in front of me. It’s the privilege of growing up not having a dad. Not having the parent who you loved and adored. It’s my privilege and I bear this burden alone. I do. So there you go.
You can call me names. You can point fingers at me. You can say what you like but you sit there and play victim when you KNOW how this came to be.
I never imagined that this would happen and I surely am not someone who responds like this, I don’t want my blog to be the keeper of bad memories and hurt but today, I am HEART BROKEN! I am so sad for myself and I am sad for my mom who has had to deal with this shitty person. Mom, this isn’t about you or me.
This is about people and their OWN issues. Their own torment and their own internal struggles. People who have no where to put the blame so they lash out.
I will no doubt delete this because I don’t like to air dirty laundry but don’t fucking tell me it’s a privilege to have my father dead. Don’t you fucking do that.
So here I am, in this new life, with my family and I’m happy. Your bitterness will choke you but it will not take away the life that MY FATHER gave me. Over a decade later, HE DID THIS FOR ME. So frankly my dear, I don’t give a flying fuck about your “problems” with my choices.