His Blind Parents

His parents were blind. Well, they weren’t blind in the literal sense. They chose not to see the torment, the pain, the suffering he was in, often refusing to believe him. Often turning a blind eye.

He was a sensitive child, different from the other children, someone who would stick out from a crowd. He was not into sports, like boys of his age, in fact he detested it. He loved arts and craft and loved to dance and act, much to the charging of his parents. He was not very studious and had learning difficulties. But most of all he showed no interest in girls.

He was not bold or strong, but at the same time he was not too weak. He walked with a sway in his steps instead of a swagger like most boys of his age.

He was an outcaste who was constantly picked on, made fun of, verbally and physically abused. He was constantly subjected to bullying. When he tried to complain to his teachers they just dismissed his claims, stating he had an agenda against the boys. Even  his parents refused to support him. They believed he was just trying to make an excuse and being over dramatic.

If that wasn’t enough, he had suffered years of sexual abuse at the hands of the one who was supposed to care for him. When he told his parents about the abuse, they once again refused to believe him. They said he was making up stories and telling lies and sullying the good name of a person of great repute and standing in society. They turned a blind eye to the constant rape  he suffered.

In all this pain he found peace and solace in arts and crafts and his dancing, but this too irked his father, who constantly taunted his wife saying “what type of son have you given me, he’s more a hijada than a boy! He’s definitely not my son!”

His father’s words were like a dagger to his heart.

Then one day his parents decided to put in a boarding school. They hoped that being in a boarding would make a man out of him.

Unfortunately, his torment didn’t end. In fact, it got even more worse. The environment may have changed, the tormentors may have changed but the pain and suffering remained the same.

He still was constantly picked on and bullied by the boys, called homophobic slurs, suffering verbal and physical abuse. If that wasn’t enough, he was constantly berated by his teachers for his lack of ability of keeping with his studies.

Then one day some boys caught him staring at another boy in the locker room. They cornered him in the washroom and confronted him and used homophobic slurs. 

They pinned him against the wall. They each took turns at sodomising him. When they were done with him, they left laying there on the washroom floor all bruised and bleeding. They threatened that if he ever spoke a word of what happened they would make his life a living hell. 

This was the last straw. He knew, like always his parents wouldn’t believe him and do nothing, and so would the school  authorities. 

He decided to put an end to it all.

Even in his death his parent turned a blind eye to the trauma he suffered. They believed that their child took his life because of his inability to cope with his studies, the pressure of studies. They didn’t ask for an investigation even though there were bruises on his bodies, especially his privates. They believed a version that the school provided  who were more than happy to cover up the incident that threatened the good name of the institution.

A week after his death, his parent received a courier. They were shocked when they realised that the courier was from their son. It was his journal where he documented every single abuse, every single trauma, every single rape, in detail.

As they read it carefully  the scales that blinded them finally fell off , and they finally saw the torment he suffered, how he suffered for his sanity. They were shaken to the core.

There was so much they wanted to do but they couldn’t do because they had  refused to believe him. It was now too late to do anything. They had lost, what should have been their precious boy, because of their own blindness.