She cried again last night. As usual I had nothing to say but pat her to sleep. Almost two and a half years of continued weeping at night. Shouldering the burden of soothing a 7-year-old, what wisdom does a 10-year-old have to bring it to a stop. Lying next to me, sharing a single bed “Akka, where is mommy?”, the same question asked repeatedly, drowned only by the whir of the fan keeping us cool on sweltering summer nights. Looking at her this morning, you would never know the existence of her nightly griefs. Grandma held her hand whilst we both waited for our 6 a.m. school bus. Her short curly hair, dark blue primary pinafore, white shoes, slouching under the weight of her school bag pregnant with heavy textbooks, she looks so ordinary. Or maybe not, we both were unusually skinny and scrawny. Something we have constantly been made fun of at school; a few more years later down the line when we both approached puberty the bullying is only made worse for being flat chested. God
A genocide of flora and fauna. A Whale drifted ashore with its bowel pregnant with your single use plastics. NO. Not gory enough. Desensitised. It all seems distanced and far off. It's happening to them not to me. Not me. Not my family. Not my friends. The fine dust that chokes the airway of my child. The microplastic beads that stealthily makes their way into my bowels. The prickly heat stinging my once weatherproof melanin skin. The pesticides slowly poisoning you and me through the innocent consumption of our five a day. It all began with just a desire for a little bit more convenience. Our demand for convenience fills the pockets of greedy irresponsible capitalist. Hah! Always looking for the obvious culprit to take the blame. It's you. It's my family. It's my friends. It's us. We're all to blame. Our bottles of shampoo, our 9p shopping bags, our fast fashion. The binge. The great 'Renaissance' of Consumerism. A genocide of f