The Open Window

In my father’s house, he had the attic reconverted into a room he could use for his special needs. I always thought it’s a bit odd that it was the attic and not the cellar as the wretches always seem to follow their activities in the cellar LOL Once W made a remark that I find worth considering. He said, whatever you ban into the cellar of your house, you ban into the cellar of your life and your thoughts. Something you hide, something you’re not proud of, but still something you don’t want to let go or even something you are not conscious about. I don’t know.

There was a window in the roof which my father had pasted over with a piece of wallpaper so that not much daylight came in at all, but he used to open the window when the room was smelly from sweat and fear. I did not scream. There was no use screaming, it just made it worse. But when I lay underneath him while he was working on me, I liked to look at the open window and imagine that I would slip away through the opening like a ghost one fine day, vanishing and never reappearing. I find it remarkable that I did not imagine myself as a bird or a bee or something else you would think of being neat. Just a ghost, merely a thought or a sigh, like I had not even been there before.

That open window helped me to endure, I guess. It seemed like my way out.

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