Generations

I often ponder about the perpetuous anathema in my household, because growing up, that abominable behavior was quite normalized. I’ve always heard derogatory, disrespectful remarks or comments, God, they’re so standardized; my conception was that being unique deserved aberration. Though, younger me questioned why I only heard these discriminating words and bigoted lies in my own house; it seemed as if these rigid beliefs were intertwined with my family alone. I never realized how different our cultures were; I’d been enfolded in our similarities rather than our backgrounds and our internalized morals. As expected, their perceptions were quite different from mine. They grew up in India; where commenting about others appearance is normal, where mental health is degraded and rendered invalid. Learning about all the kids committing suicide over a bad grade while having no psychological care horrified me; though I finally could see my parent’s perspective. Now, I’m not justifying my parent’s words or actions- I’m simply acknowledging their internalized standpoints. Though I can’t help but wonder if their diminishing remarks reflect on their own treatment. … How can you change someone when it’s too late? My parents. They were frequently pulverized whether or not they acted wrongly. In pieces, bruises, and long red strokes. Yet it was condoned; due to being “generational.” My ankles were cut, I was force fed snake ashes, I was forced to drink water out of ant hills— because it was “generational.” Thousands of years of longevity led to force and prejudice. It led to nothing but the death of our just traditions and impartiality within our family. Though, these feelings are quite interiorized, and it’s too difficult to take it out; I hope to break this cycle, though for now, my shrieks are muffled.