Tag Archives: child abuse

Blessed to be Canadian

Standard

In Africa a frail women balances a clay pot on her head, carrying cloudy water to her four children so they can have a drink of water to fill their grumbling bellies.

In Iraq a small boy is cowering behind his rusted shack, covering his ears in a weak attempt to block out the screaming and the roar of bombs that terrorizes his home village.

In China a teenage girl gags on the toxic air, forced to wear a mask just to breathe and walk down the overcrowded streets.

In Mexico a toddler plays with a broken bottle he found on the beach, among the heaps of trash washed up onto the shore.

In India a nine year old girl is sold by her family into slavery so they could pay for their son’s education.

Yet in Canada I get up and drink a big glass of water from my well.

In Canada I’ve only watched action movies with the explosions of guns and bombs.

In Canada I walk outside in the morning surrounded by pines and maple trees and inhale the crisp air.

In Canada I put out my garbage every Thursday morning so it can disappear when the truck comes.

In Canada I have my own education where an unlimited world of knowledge awaits me.

I’ve been blessed to live in Canada, a paradise too many take for granted.

Advertisements

An Underwater Feeling

Standard
An Underwater Feeling

  Breathe in.

               Breathe out.

Quiet, can’t let him know I’m here. Yet I’m curious. Like an itch that must be scratched, I pull back the blanket that conceals my presence under my single bed. I can see thousands of tiny dust particles threw the light that shines through the crack, floating and undisturbed by my escalating heart rate. I peer around my bedroom that I have inhabited since I moved here five years ago with my Mother.

Things have changed so much since then.

I see my discarded clothing on the floor from yesterday; I see my tenth grade math textbook and long forgotten homework stack in the corner. I can make out the bottom of my black dresser and bookcase, stuffed full of the only footprints I have left so far in the world.

And now I can see the door swinging open and crashing into the wall, shaking the one story house on the back roads of Fredericton. I quickly let go of the blanket as my stepfather’s boots come into sight.

But I am not, and was never, fast enough.

`              “You think you can hide from me you little bitch!” He roars as his footsteps come towards the bed. I shrink against the wall and squeeze my eyes shut, praying to dissolve into dust.

Read the rest of this entry