"I choose to love you in silence because in silence, I feel no rejection."
Kakeru Naruse, 'Orange.'
About four years ago, when I was twelve, my Mother and I went to visit my grandmother on the outskirts of town.
Sun shone on my skin and the feeling of pure bliss overwhelmed my body. The car whizzed past various emerald and lime-green trees, the chestnut-brown branches becoming a blur, the bleach-white clouds an irregular smudge across the cobalt-blue sky, fading into the horizon. The birds tweeting their tunes as the day drew to a close.
Approaching the large two-storey building that stood rigidly above us, I took the initiative to observe the ivy, which intertwined with the iron-grey pipes. The gleaming, arch windows and navy blue balconies, as well as the light brown roof and ink-black chimney. The uneven, beige steps leading to the midnight-purple door, decorated with a solid, brass door knocker.
Inside, perched on a large rocking chair, was my grandmother. Pale-pink glasses, grey hair that ended in ringlets, green eyes, welcoming smile. In her small, frail hands, lay some kind of embroidery, illustrating a diverse set of vibrant tulips, violets, jasmines, irises, etc.
When asking her why she had done this, her answer was that she loved all flowers.
All flowers except roses.
Especially blue roses.
After some small talk, hugs and a slight ruffle of my raven-black hair, grandmother abruptly narrowed her eyes at me, a new, unknown expression taking place on her facial features. Rubbing the lens of her glasses with the hem of her dress and tilting her head to the side, her next remark assaulted me as if it were a slap on the face.
"She's a bit overweight, isn't she Catherine?"
My heart sinking, mother responded with:
"She is but we'll fix that!"
"Am I an object to be fixed?" I think. "Am I a broken toy needing to be repaired?"
All these possibilities overflowed my mind, the conversation continued as the words uttered become printed into my memory. Permanently resonating in my mind.
"Maybe you're feeding her too much," was my grandmothers retort.
"Maybe," my mother wondered. "Maybe we can sort it out whilst we're here, Mum! You know, teach Valentina the true meaning of being feminine?"
"Exactly!" My grandmother exclaimed.
Looking into my eyes, she appeared to hypnotise me with that warm, welcoming smile of hers. A smile that takes the shape, way and form of a blanket, wrapping around your body until the coldness has completely diminished.
Caressing my cheek and then rubbing my head, she then proceeded to say:
"Men like women who they can put in their pockets. You understand that, right Valentina? The slim waist type of girl, with the flat stomach and skinny legs."
"And right now, honey," my mother whispered, kneeling down so that we're face to face, "you lack all of those qualities."
"But we'll change that," grandmother declared. "We'll make you great!"
"But do you guys not like me just the way I am?" I questioned.
"Oh love, this isn't for us, this is for you," they explained.
"But it's just baby fat," I mumbled.
"Baby fat is cute when you're a baby," Mum scowled. "You're almost a teenager! And being fat is not cute anymore, Valentina. It's unattractive."
"Don't worry," grandmother consoled me. "We'll take good care of you and your little... situation."
They made me starve myself for the whole week and surprise- surprise, I eventually grew ill and fainted from lack of energy and nutrients.
From there, my mother had no other alternative than to drive me to the hospital. After a couple of examinations, the doctors didn't take long to find out that I had PCOS.
Why am I telling you this?
Because I'm following orders.
I'm reminding myself of why I'm not special.