The ambiguity of happiness

The sky over our five-bedroom duplex was painted blue, tinged with the sparse thickness of whitish clouds - all illuminated by the flames of the sun.

Source

I was Sitting right in the middle of the garden basking underneath the sun's radiance while envisaging the perfect picture of my future self before I heard a loud scream which cut me off, plunging me back to the very same reality I tried escaping from. The scream was that of my Mum's.

"Leave my shirt alone, if not, I'll don't hit you again." I heard a deep penetrating voice say.

"I won't, do your worst" My Mum replied.

It was at this point I realized my parents had started their incessant scuffle. My short-lived disney imaginations were replaced with the bitter feel of sadness, disappointment and above all, tears!

I rushed into the house, trotted to the dining.

"What's happening?" I asked but was replied by silence.

Pieces of broken plates and cups were littered on the tiled floor. I glared at the horrific scene for a while before turning back to my parents who had separated from the fight. My Dad sat on one end of the Dining table, while my mum sat on the other end, both breathing so hard that it could be heard by someone in upstairs.

We all kept mute for about 2 minutes allowing the slightest of sounds even the flapping wings of an housefly, echo through the silent air.

"Nothing, go to your room." My Mum finally replied.

"Mtcheww..." I hissed while leaving for my room.

It was nothing new to me or my siblings but it wasn't something you'd want to experience from the two people who mean the world to you.

My little innocent mind harboured every scene slowly eating into my growing mind, instilling thoughts as though I were an adult with responsibilities. While I compared my family to that of my friends which seemed united each time we paid a visit. Perhaps they concealed their discrepancies the few times we came around, allowing us to see what they wanted us to see - A happy family. You can never tell.

"Ngozi, I'll be leaving to a new state."

"Why? Because of Daddy?" I asked in a broken tone.

"Of course not. Why would you ask such a question?" She replied while keeping mute as though she were expecting an answer.

"Nothing." I wore a fake smile.

She gave me a warm forceful hug as though it was the last time she'll ever see me and said...

"I love you."

A Year passed by and my Mum travelled to Edo state where she settled to expand on her career. Back then, social media wasn't something we were used to, so we communicated few times over the phone. I spent time with Dad and got to realize that he was just like every other Dad: loving! This was contradictory to the perception I always had of him - A wicked Man!

Well, perhaps it was the scenes that were imprinted in my mind — the broken glasses, the tears and screams of my mum — all of which twisted my perception of him.

Sometimes, I look back at my childhood trying to picture his smiling face in remembrance of the moments we once had while he was breathing, but those memories are subdued by the numbness and loud screams. It is clear to me now that these incidents are somewhat inevitable and perhaps I was too innocent and fragile to comprehend and withstand what laid before me.