I wish I was here. Sitting with you all and enjoying the fun. This is my story:
My mother was one of those classy ladies who lived in the suburbs. She came from a very wealthy family. She abstained from sex till she met my father. My father was from a wealthy family too. He lived in the same neighborhood. Mother and father met at a party. They did not mingle that much because they were being chaperoned by their parents (my grandparents). Through their friends, they got each other’s contacts and later on met up.
Their first date was over a cup of coffee. Some of their friends were their just to keep an eye on them. Mother (Let’s call her Stacy) found it quite awkward but after a few dates, the girl shyness faded and the real beautiful butterfly matured. In father’s arms she found comfort and was able to forget the pressures of her family.
According to Stacy’s diary, the first time they made love was magical. Giving in to him was awesome and he made her a woman. You see, their love was pure, selfless and forbidden. They were from different backgrounds – what I mean is mother was African and father was Asian. The families did not approve.
Later in the relationship mother found out that she was pregnant. She was totally scared but found the courage to confide in father (Let’s call him Parth) and tell him. Well, he was partly responsible. If he had used protection and not ignored her plea, this would not have happened.
Stacy and Parth gathered the courage to tell their parents who were so enraged. My grandfather threatened to disown his son. Since they were not able to fend for themselves they were forced to do the inevitable. They were against it but it was beyond them. Stacy reluctantly went to the clinic and terminated the pregnancy. She was not the same after that. She was in and out of depression for three months. Parth was forced to end the relationship.
Three years later they got together and eloped. Their families are not happy with it but they both believe that love prevails. If they had done that earlier they would have had me and I would be a beautiful toddler.
Sometimes I look at them and wish that was me they were holding, kissing and cuddling. I am surrounded by all these other babies who never got a chance to tell their stories.
©thelma migue, 2010
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