Loving Mother’s Cries

It hasn’t been long. I remember it like it’s happening right in front of me. But there’s no other way than to let go these feelings, these nightmare-liked realities I had to face. Indeed, I look back to see that I had always been strong. I’ve always been determined. And these positive feelings in me keep me awake- keeps me remembering I’ve got to prove that I did what I liked.

I grew up when Bhutan began its rapid revolutionary growth in terms of development. My childhood days were in that transit where there became lots to do indoor rather than outdoor. Machines came ruling lifestyle – watching television become more fun than being with friends outside- that’s just an example, I should say everything changed.

I grew bigger. Adolescence reigned. That temptation to experiment new things began. Then, I was no longer a kid. I was a young beautiful high school going girl. Beautiful, I was. Yes, beautiful. That’s not a brutal brag to confess that I should have attracted at least a few hundred boys. I’ve got proofs to show this.

Writing love letters was still a trend despite facilities for digital texting- SMSing and Facebook came into the light. When I was in class nine, I received a few hundred it, from my classmates, juniors and even those in class twelve. Almost, every night I had to spare some time reading those. It was sometimes fun, editing some and sending it back. Some were lovely, I would long to read those at this moment to but I haven’t stored even one. And I accepted some- yes, I had multiple boyfriends, actually ‘boyfriend’ can’t be the right word to describe because not all of them fulfils its definition.

Of all, I had that one special boy, fulfilled the definition. Indeed, I acted harsh on him in the beginning but later it turned out that I’d a special space in my heart for him.  Seeing him made me happy-technically, I must be saying, his presence brought butterflies in my belly. Once who’d been that young prince charming of mine, changed everything in me – changed the way I see the world today, who I am today and who I should be tomorrow.

A year in relationship was a short moment with so many things to remember…

 But what changed? I spoiled my parents trust on me as a beautiful daughter and my charm as a beautiful girl in the society. Yes, I see that everything changed but I can’t say it was entirely his fault, neither mine. That was the temptation for experimentation as a young growing girl – I was a dauntless girl, I was ready to accept everything- every challenges. This doesn’t mean I was crazy in love, but I respected his feeling. I was ready to do everything in his name.

It was only when my belt became shorter day by day to tie my belly when I began feeling apprehensive that I must be pregnant.

How can a sixteen year old girl confess her parents that she’s pregnant?

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I was devastated, completely. There was no way I could breathe easily. 

Thank god, a kind woman, a mother of two, of course the mother of my friend who indeed was a victim like me, who was a neighbor to my family helped me get to hospital for check up (without my parents’ knowledge).  I was tested positive. She too couldn’t confess it to my parents.  Nothing kept me strong. All I could think of was my last option. But how can I dare kill my baby within me!

A few weeks later, she had that guts to help me convince my parents. Thank god, she saved me and my baby.

I can still feel that cut deep within me when my Apa and Ama came near me and cried like the hell. How could have it been possible for me to think myself to be alive?

But I still was their daughter. I wonder how parents do resist such devastation from their own beloved and trusted sons and daughters. And of course, could other parents have accepted like me?

One conflict solved.

My belly kept bulging bigger and bigger. I couldn’t go to school. I missed him. I needed him near me. But how can a young boy be strong enough to come near me and be father of a kid while he himself is in growing stage? I begin feeling the presence of baby within me. How can it be easy for somebody to carry another in her belly?

But how hard would have it been for a young girl give a birth a baby? There are incidences that happen even to those younger than me. Really, those little mothers undergo unthinkable pain. This is my experience and I know it, I felt it.

My parents thought I can give birth at home itself.  However, it was another story. I was referred to a local health unit but the health workers felt I was a severe patient.

I was referred to Mongar Hospital.

To become a mother isn’t a piece of cake. Remembering the pain I had to undergo, makes me unconscious even today, seriously.

Yes, I tried for normal birth but it was impossible.

Then, I don’t know what happened.

By the day I could open my eyes, my baby daughter was already thirty seven hours old. The sink that I felt in my belly and the relief that came in my heart broke me into tears but I was too weak that I couldn’t even move my hand to wipe my tears off.  I sighed, but uneasy one. It brought me pain in my stomach rather than refreshing my senses.

The instant my Ama saw me opening my eyes, she carried my baby towards me. Behind my baggy and heavy eyelids, I saw my baby, a little pinkish head – that was first time I ever saw a new born baby.

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It took me some months to regain my strength. Believe me, for several weeks, I couldn’t go to toilet also.

Another conflict done.

What’s the next? How can my daughter be a proud and beautiful girl in the society without a father? One thing I forgot to share, my parents didn’t want me to marry my boyfriend. I had no space to say over their refusal rather than to accept cordially, for it was enough that they accepted me still as their daughter. They thought, my boyfriend can never be a good husband to me because he was already an addict.

Things turn better as you cling on then how terrible they seem at the beginning. Rubbing rough stones yields smooth pebbles. That was what I believed and I turned true.

I am still a student but a proud mother of a young little school going girl. Thank you, everyone who helped me making it possible.

That’s not lived-happily-ever-after kind of story. Sadly,  I ain’t mother to her because she never call me Ama. But I’m happy that I did what I wished, only the thing that was wrong is I never thought of what if what I think right goes wrong.