Don’t pity me.

Dark clouds covering the sky, chilling wind are biting into my flesh. I expected a downpour, but it started with a light drizzle. A light and cooling drizzle, in the night. I walked down the streets, enjoying the peace around.

Don’t look at me with those eyes, as though I needed the extra sympathy.
Don’t ask me questions that are disguised as concerns, to fulfill your curiosity.
Don’t talk about me behind my back, as if I should be the headlines of the news.
Don’t make me feel that I should pity myself, for I will not.

I learnt to rely on myself regardless of situation. I was forced to be strong, and resist all forces by the environment I grew up in.

I was 8 then.

“What a thunderstorm! Girl, are you waiting for your mother?” Someone who seemed to be talking to me, faced me and opened her mouth. I gave no reaction, because I was waiting for the rain to stop.

My classmates waved at me while they held their little umbrellas up high with one hand. They turned back to hold on tight to their mothers’ hands with the other, after waving. The rain was depressing, yet they were having a wide smile on their face. I looked around me, there were lesser people now.

I heard the roaring thunder, I felt the chilling wind. I was scared. I was feeling cold.. and lonely. But I didn’t show. I withdrew all my emotions and expressions.

“Why are you staring at the rain? Have you called home and ask someone to fetch you? I can lend you my phone if you need to call.” Another person seemed to be enlightening me. I faced her with a blanked look.

I got tired of waiting, I sat down at the stairway and continued my wait.

The surrounding had slowly lose its brightness and.. it was getting colder.

The rain was finally reduced to a light drizzle. I walked on the streets, on my way home. By the time I reached home, it was dark outside.

I took out my key and opened the door. I switched on the lights and looked around.

The four familiar walls again..


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