Layers unfolding

It was all over the news last night and this morning. Someone picking mushrooms in the forest came across a bone that could be that of the 9 year girl Peggy K who went missing 15 years ago.

I don’t have a child(ren) of my own. I won’t ever know how it’d feel when your child failed to come home. Years ago, as a child myself, a couple of boys went missing. Never found. Rumours had it that those boys were used as “beam supports” for the highways our government was building. Superstition. Black magic. Still couldn’t comprehend why anyone would do this to a child(ren), why a child(ren) didn’t come home. Over the years, police came up with sketches to show, if the boys are still alive, how they  could look like.

When I was a child myself, I had thoughts of running away and never come home. My mother always said she picked me up from the garbage and she used to hit me (not abuse but I got hit for not doing well at school or just because I didn’t help her do household chores or something). I also watched a lot of TVs where e.g. a grown up woman only found out that her own mother gave her away when she was born and the family she grew up with was never her real parents etc. When my mother constantly saying such things like I’m not her child and being strict with me, I wanted to go and find my “real parents”. I told my neighbour children whom I play with. I can’t remember how often I said that but it must be often enough that my neighbours told her mother and her mother told my mother. Well, the good thing was, my mother stopped saying those things to me.

There was another time when I wanted to go away. My grades were OK but I struggled with Science. The modern day parent would have sat me down and go through the books with me but all my mother did was said that she will not sign my test papers the next time I get a bad grade. As a 10 year old child, I didn’t know what to do. I could only study that much on my own. Our school teachers weren’t the nurturing sort. You just go to school, keep your eyes and ears open, scribble as fast as you can while they talk and regurgitate what the teachers said back at tests. Children these days do not know what my generation had endured.

Anyway, my grades didn’t improve at the next test. All I could think of is my mother is going to bash me up and I didn’t want to go home. Imagine if I hadn’t, would I still be around today?

Fast forward back to now, when I heard the news today, my mind was filled with all sorts of questions. Who did it? Why? But I also have a question for her mother: How does she feel now that she “found” her daughter? Over the years, it must have been a torture not knowing if your child is still dead, or she could still be alive. The hope. The expectation. Now if the bone belongs to Peggy, will there be closure?




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