Wrong Side Of A Parallel Universe

Personified, she would be a concrete slab, cemented to an unmovable granite base, emotionally. She is a joker, fun, loud, and a social nut who pulls her own purse's strings. Being married once, as a virgin to a loving( at least at that time), studious, no-nonsense, all-about-the-numbers kind of a man still left her undulant from how she felt about loving the sound of her herself.

Wrong Side Of A Parallel Universe

By Cheryl Anoe

She refuses to be led. The leading she only prefers is God's, she is one person you wouldn't picture in a prayer retreat in contradiction to her character, surprisingly she is a Christian. Despite the miasmas which arise from her husband, by virtue of living and sharing children together, she insists that she deserves mercy because she puts aside her fears. Fears of the lampoons, satires, and criticisms from the traditional men who have their own version of culture which does not change. She doesn't fear detractors of her actions as she packs her oversized bag with no intention of turning her mind back, "return soldier it is".

Happiness is the highest good as opposed to pleasures. The will of every rational being is that will which lays down the practical law of conduct or principles. The will for each one of us is free, autonomous as we have a duty to think and act for the sake of all, but not for the traditional men, they think otherwise. Pleasures have their own limits since they are centered on individuals. As she stuffs her expensive outfits brought at the expense of the husband. She recalls how he has been her cheval in their first days of tying the knot. She can't help it but smile, teardrops slipping stubbornly onto her pale lips, that's when she realised she was having second thoughts about wiping everything of hers even her cologne from the purgatory, "I'm a woman who knows what she wants and what she should not want", she murmured to herself to prevent being billowed by infectious memories.

She tore her white apron she always wore to placate her husband whose view on every married women was being a worker and wore her high knee dress with no dots, flowers or any prints; just dark pitch black. She looked at the stylish decolletage material covering her body in examination of course. She suddenly felt like a dirge. Her own melancholy drains her, her happiness exhausts her too. She is wrung by pity towards her old enough children whom to exists in this world must go through her heart, yet she is already failing, she is leaving! Her mind drifts back to when she would tell her children stories about bodachs( not that I love to mention them but for your education, I have to), they are mythical beasts of the isle, scare away children and ogres(brutish giants from folktales).

She quickly snapped out of these thoughts because of the reason only she knows. As she gaited through the large reflecting French doors, loneliness became another aspect. Loneliness comes in two varieties which are basic. When it results from a desire for solitude, it is a door we close against the world. When the world rejects us loneliness is an open door, unused. It might feel like a nip of a spider, bite of a snake, sting of a scorpion, it's a phase and no phase succumbs a lifetime, phases vanish. Relationships are intricate, so is love. If the complexity persists pack your shit and move out, no traditional man or surrounding conduits, detractors can change the abuse one bellies unless the victim becomes a page-turner even with a terrific twist.

What matters is happiness. Once she was fully settled in her room at 'home', going through her belongings she had left for her ex-husband's house( already )  six years ago. She took her phone, logged onto social media, paged the internet, got to read other abused women's encouragements, and how they moved on and are spectacularly drowning in happiness, she wanted this too. She was tired of men whose characters are a replica of satan's ; misery, pain and torture are their 3-course meal. It flashed across her mind that he would come home late, drunk, beat her up and leave her in the condition of a packet of saltines after being crushed to put in the soup. She would look like a melanoma patient with bruises and scalds.

The way she was being carried away by the memories, anyone who saw her would tell to the bone that she was filled with silent suffering in the name of affection. She was jerked from her memory by an online advert, a poster to be precise which read, "The image of lost broken and abused women has been that of desperation and fear of destitution of herself and the children, but when you come to 'us'(the organisation) you picture resilience, you see rebuilding". She did it anyway. The 'see this ad' icon popped out and she clicked with no sense of regret. We may wonder how she was so fast at acquiring vigor and vitality. Trust your intuition, your own natural psychic magnetism. When she read other women's experiences with abusive partners, she felt as if her outer ego has been cut loose.

Thomas Eddison invented the first sound movie camera, not that he invented the first movie camera. Sound becomes the keyword. What's your sound? An abusive, violent, garrulous, insultive, unloving, unfaithful spouse portray marriage as something enough to make your head spin. It has layers as an onion and they fade. The onion's layers never taste different recipes determine taste, so does marriage.

Learn from the mistakes you and others did. Tell yourself you are too young for diapers and take the road the world makes for us to new things, that's if we are willing to learn. Women, we look to them for certain venturesomeness or audacity, bravery, resilience, even a recklessness not excessive vulnerability.

Above all they are heroines, perhaps we expect heroines to be active, rising to the opposition, resisting coercion, asserting their own energy not being passive. Trust your intuition as a woman, walk when it ignites a spark in you when it needs for you to hold your breath, hold it until the society even detractors think you are going after the geniuses world record. Women do matter  Lonely, confused, ashamed, have the courage to eventually inform a social worker. Choose dignity over victimhood and courage over despair.