No Guts, No Glory

I marvel sometimes with the self-confidence and (so-called) guts of some people.

Imagine this:

Your husband was working abroad, you got pregnant by another guy, instead of owning your mistakes you tried to hide them by pretending to be a victim of some witchcraft which making your belly swell out of proportion. When you can’t cover the obvious anymore you said you’ve been gang-raped with your sister as a mastermind. By the way, that sister lives abroad since time immemorial and never belong to any gang which area you are.

That sister answering the call of your mother (your ally and partner in crime) came home to help you (like always) but you spread ink-black rumors about her that when she showed up in your hiding place, the brainwashed voodoo master ran after her with a giant machete. How’s that? And another by the way: the voodoo master turned out to be the neighbor boy who was just a toddler when you were already a teenager.

When your five-year-old daughter tried to relate the truth to someone, you punished her by beating her up black and blue and shutting her mouth shut with the help of laundry nippers. You have a son too. But you shipped him off to your husband’s family after a fight which prompted you to put the baby (who was not even a year old) inside a travelling bag and zipped it close. Your reason? He’s not smart enough. Just like his father.

When your bastard innocent baby was born, you sold her to some couple you’ve never seen before right off from the hospital bed and forget all about her. Time to correct all the mistakes you’ve made.

You’ve done this by running off with the husband of your other sister and got pregnant again but nowhere to go. Where else but the house of your sister who is living abroad. She’s stupid and forgiving anyway. She will let you in. Before your new baby with your brother-in-law had her first birthday, you were eight months pregnant again. That second baby you deposited by the neighbors, a drug addict couple who can barely make the ends meet. What ideal parents for your baby girl whom you despise because how dare she to come in an untimely fashion. One problem sorted out.

Living in your sister’s house wasn’t enough. So grateful you are you sold the place without her knowing. And why not, the house was in the name of your mother anyway. Her money built it maybe but you got equal rights considering you are both spawns of the devil. Then you disappeared. You can never manage to face your own doings, let alone your sister.

Fast -forward. You are now in some place where nobody really knows you. You have five children and so many abortion in between. You see, you have the right to decide which offspring to keep and which not. You’re the mother after all. Yesterday you posted in FB something like this:

“I am satisfied with my looks (oh, I forgot to mention. The half-of your face collapsed from self-medication when you tried to abort your first out of wedlock baby) I am proud of my character, I’m happy with who I am, I will never change so others will like me, accept me reject me or judge me I’m still me. Because I’m born to be true not to be perfect.”

And I thought WTF! Are you for real? I have no problem with people wanting to be true, or happy or wanting to be accepted as they are because I want that too. Anyone can be proud of their characters when there is something to be proud of. But in your case…

I don’t know… Maybe it’s just me.