When I was little, my youngest uncle had given me a set of oil pastels to draw with. They quickly became my favorite. I even brought it with me when I moved to America. I had it for a bit until they were practically taken from me. We had a family friend come over to our house and they had a daughter who was like three at the time. I was six. Unfortunately, she eyed my favorite oil pastels and wouldn’t leave without it. I was reluctant to give it to her and looked over to my parents. They understood my feelings but didn’t say anything to her parents. What could they say when her parents themselves weren’t saying anything to their daughter? In the end, baba told me to give it to her. I was appalled and angry at the baby’s parents that they could have let something like this happen. Yeah, sure the baby might not be able to help it, but isn’t it their duty to teach her what’s right and what’s wrong. The mother was apologetic that her daughter took the crayons but to me it didn’t matter how apologetic she was. She didn’t stop her daughter from taking it. She didn’t take the time to realize how special those crayons were to me. I cried that day, after they left. I cried and I moved on.
And you know what happened to my crayons?
A few months later when we went to visit their house, the aunty was telling my parents and I that she is often times saddened to see the broken pieces of my crayons lying around when cleaning the floor. I wish she would have seen my fists clench at that moment or see how hurt I felt. ໒( ᓀ ‸ ᓂ )७ She actually had the gall to mention that in front of me when it was she who did nothing to stop her daughter in both cases. Ugh, people I tell you ໒( ⇀ ‸ ↼ )७. Gets on my nerves.
On the bright side… this time I bought a set of oil pastels when I visited Bangladesh °˖ ✧◝(○ ヮ ○)◜✧˖ °
I was so happy to buy this. I felt I had found something I lost years ago. So many beautiful memories are attached with this little thing. (︶▽︶)