When I was a child, I thought that being the little doll, the smallest one to them all, would save me.
I would be there, cradled by their embrace, tiny and thus needing the shelter they offered. I would open them up, one by one. Crack the sides, lift the faces with smiles and eyes looking into distance.
And then, the last one, the one that does not crack, the little baby, that would be me.
Once I become an adult, I realised that I always got it wrong. I was not the one in the middle, the little baby. I was the one on the outside. The one showing the painted smile to everyone that looked.

When I run away from this truth, I thought that the distant land, the strange one to them all, would save me.
I would be there, cradled by foreign community, stranger and thus needing the shelter they offered. I would not open myself up, one by one. I would not crack the sides, not lift the face with a smile and eyes gazing into the distance.
And then, the first one, the one that does not crack, the strong woman, that would be me.
Once I tried, I realised that I always got it wrong. I was not the one not to crack, I was the one to be the first one to open up. The one to stop showing the painted smile to everyone that looked.

When I realised the truth, I thought that they looked through my eyes, the biggest one to them all, that their experience would save me.
I would be there, compelled to go through different motions or trains of thought I could not get out of. I therefore tried to remain still, so I do not hear the clank inside me. The rattle of thoughts and convictions.
And then, the next one, the one that does crack, another hurt woman, that would be me.
Once I started to move, I realised that I carry them with me everywhere. The rotting parts, not aired enough, because they have been so closed that the pain festered inside. The colour spread to their lips, painted them shut. The mould, originating from their tears on the wood, clouds my memory in blue fluff. People say breathing mould is bad for you as it can grow in your lungs. Try living with mould in your brain! And then stop showing the painted smile to everyone that looks!

When I was young, I thought I could let go of them. Forget them, start afresh. Open myself up, make myself vulnerable, remove the generations past. That I would save me.
I tried.
And I was left empty inside.