Dream Spun

i slip into a dream where my parents love me for who i am.

i’m a doctor with hands that heal and hands that hold the coarse and calloused hand of a man who i love. he’s muslim. he greets my parents with a smile and proper salaam each time. he brings something to the house every time he visits- dark chocolate ice cream for mum, syrup mangoes for dad. he jokes with my older brother about finance and anime. he bonds with my younger brother over music. we sit at the table: a family. he passes me salt, my mother talks of marriage and i smile. my stomach doesn’t twist painfully, awfully, worryingly, because i can see myself marrying him, easily. i get to bring him to parties and dinners of family friends. we stay in a corner together sharing a plate of food and he tells me i look pretty standing under the tree while he eats a samosa. he doesn’t know why, but i do, and he needs to let me know. my parents call him over and i roll my eyes in annoyance, but, secretly, i love it. they get to extend a hand to their friends and say, this is her boyfriend, the same way the rest of their friends do for their children.

they are proud. they are happy.

in the dream i’m not holding the soft and safe hand of a woman. i’m not a failed writer with dandelion dreams that blow away with the slightest resistance. i’m a tough girl, a girl that takes the jokes they make about her insecurities on the chin. i’m not an emotional girl. i’m not a sensitive girl. i’m a good girl- i shut my mouth and i smile. i do the dishes and i cook without prompting. i’m a happy girl. i’m a pretty girl. i’m a girl who does exactly as she’s told. i’m not tired, or burnt out. i’m not hurt by the fact that my mother treats my younger brother better than she’ll ever treat me. i’m not coming out for a third time begging to be believed, begging to be heard, begging to be loved. i’m not dying my hair or piercing my ears. i’m not compromising myself in order to feel their love because it comes without conditions. i’m not crying to myself, alone, at night about a girl who broke my heart while my mother consoles a daughter who is not hers over an acceptable heartbreak because it was caused by a man. my mother is not looking at me with a twisted face as i tell her i might kiss the girl i go on a date with. i don’t feel disgusting. i don’t feel awful in my own skin. i’m not trying to erase every cell of my body because it feels so wrong to be alive.

i slip into a dream where my parents love me for who i am not. they are proud. they are happy.

I'm a recent graduate from the University of Cambridge with my Masters in Creative Writing. I've always been very emotional and try to relieve some of that through my writing. It's been my goal since I was a little girl to publish a book and I'm trying to steps toward that. I currently reside in Johannesburg South Africa at the age of 25 and am looking to make the world more aware of African writers and all we have to offer.