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Dear Diary,

As fresh tears welled up, I rubbed my eyes with the back of my palm instead of letting them trickle down my cheeks again. My tears were priceless and so they were meant to be shed for priceless people instead of a**holes. With a bit of struggle, I roughly zipped up my suitcase and hailed a taxi. The unsealed brown envelop contained my freedom paper officially given by the court. The first time I read it, I cried like crazy. I don’t know why. But I thought I had done something wrong.

Though I had given my life, my time, my money, my everything before making the biggest decision. But I couldn’t help myself from breaking down. It was a mixed feeling; sad, hopelessness, vacuum, depression, disappointment and bitterness. I cried because it made me feel good. I cried because it felt like the right thing to do. I cried not because I regretted anything but I cried because I felt lighter. I cried because I felt the shackles that locked me up from living had vanished miraculously. For the first time, I realized that crying could make you happy as well. Divorced. And with that tag, I arrived at my parents’ place; this time for good.

The first few weeks were a horrifying trailer on my trail. Everyone soothed me; ammi, abbu, and siblings, despite being bathed in my trauma. Everyone was kind. Helpful. They gave me space. Never invaded my personal entity. Took care of me during my iddat. I felt like a guest in a place where I grew up. It was okay but then it was not okay. I felt like a stranger trapped in my own shell.

But maybe things will gradually go normal, I thought. But I was wrong. Relatives called. Neighbors came. Friends messaged. Everyone wanted to hear my story. The whys? The what? The hows? After filling in, it was the usual mutual conclusion, “You took the right decision!” and then the real entertainment of gossips over tea trollies would start.

As the iddat period came to an end, I started re-furnishing my resume. I was tired of shedding tears for something that had happened and ended. I was tired of presenting my pale face to my family all the time. I was tired of punishing myself for a crime that was not committed by me. I was tired of hiding away from people. And more importantly, I was tired from answering their useless questions all the time.

As soon as I struggled to come back to life again by settling down in my career, some nosy aunty poked my ammi to start looking for my proposal and get me married again. And the unkind Fairy Godmother took away her sensibility and she got trapped in that aunty’s pathetic suggestion. I revolted. I fought. I cried. I emotionally blackmailed. But no one listened. My own parents who used to crown even the stupidest ideas of mine before I got married were acting as though my suggestions bore no value. The strange feeling I had before, was implanted again.

After my divorce, I felt freed but caged in my own way. The freedom was not the one I enjoyed before my marriage. If I was to depend on any of my family members, it would feel like a burden unlike before. If I was to become independent, I had to start facing people. If I wanted to voice my opinion instead of allowing other people to make decisions for me then I had to look them straight in their eyes. I had to answer their questions. Without any guilt. Without any sympathy for myself. Only then would I feel stronger. Independent. And completely free.

The birthday party invitation card that I had previously tossed away with disinterest caught my eye. I had skipped family gatherings and hanging out with friends. Since the divorce, I had become an expert in running away from situations and people. But today, the first key to my freedom awaited. I knew I had to take the first challenging step to a new free life. I made my way towards my dresser and applied a thick coat of red lipstick. The powerful lip color masked my broken inner self. Today, I will celebrate my freedom and face everyone who pitied me. Today, I will do what felt right after crying my eyes out. A fresh start with my favorite lip color and it didn’t feel bad at all.

P.S. Please don’t inbox me with your sympathies because I am not a Divorcee Allhmdulilah. It’s just that I am a Writer and can feel everyone’s emotions way too closely 😉