[Naina]

The only sensible thing to do in a chaotic situation is to take control of it. That's where I come in.

Mom and Dad gave me "the talk" when we got home. No, not that talk. Not the one about growing up and becoming a teenager. That'd be too ordinary.

I mean the talk about how "everything's alright, yes, everything's fine". The one we have every patch-up. The one we have every few weeks.

I hate this uncertainty. I hate living in a house reeking of resent and neglect. Every night I lie awake with what-ifs flooding my mind. I hate this constant, never-ending fear. I hate my parents for causing it.

Everyday, I wake up at six, to clean up the house, put it in some order. I have to keep it clean or I'll go mad. I clear away the dishes, remove all signs of the last night's fight and then go to make my breakfast. Maybe go to the supermarket if we're running low on food.

When I was a kid, I used to dream of the perfect life for all of us. Mom taking me for a girl's day out. Dad and Mom laughing together, like they used to, when I was three. Enough food and money to manage. I hoped and believed that the problems were just because Dad didn't have work.

They weren't.

Sometimes, it all gets too much, which is why I still dream. Dreams in dingy rooms with no light. They're dusty but better that than dealing with my parents. My parents don't want me. It's obvious. Once we visited India. There, there were ayahs - nurses - to look after me. All my parents had to do was put their feet up and chat with their friends. They loved it. They'd love to have an ayah for me here.

Little girls should be seen and not heard.

I wish I could fire my parents but going to an orphanage wouldn't do me much good.

You might call my hatred childish. But I’m no child. I left my childhood behind years ago. Before I turned eight, revealing secrets became my outlet.

People treated me like a freak, even when I was a child.

I was a perfectly fine human being. All that made me different was my insight and they tormented me for it.

I’ll get back at them, I said to myself, every time someone hurt me. I’ll show them.

All I wanted was a friend. Someone who cared and stood up for me, so that I wouldn’t have to fight every moment of the day.

I was a religious child. I prayed to God every day, begging for someone to love me. I waited eagerly, certain that someone would come.

Days became weeks. Weeks became months. No one came.

That’s when I knew that all you can rely is yourself and I swore to take revenge on my tormentors.

Immature? Perhaps. Justified? Definitely.

I reveal secrets without remorse. I still want revenge but now, I’ve gotten better. I’m no child crying and throwing a tantrum. I’m a young adult, pursuing my path as Nemesis. The balance to people’s lies and deceptions. Every day, for the rest of my life.

I spend my day between school, observing others and handling my parents. I never need to spend much time on school, just a little time to avoid getting in trouble for the homework. I have a perfect memory. It's always been useful.

I've had this memory for over ten years. It's why I'm Naina. I remember everything and process it all. That's what analyzing is all about really. Receiving and interpreting data. It's my blessing and curse. That's why I'm Naina. That's why I can see.

It's been ten years since I started reading people and subconsciously knowing their secrets. It's hard to believe that so much could change in that time.

A lot of things can happen in ten years. Most of the time you wish they hadn’t.

Largely because ten years is excellent at adding wrinkles and crow’s feet.

[/Naina]

Well, this is it, I guess. Tomorrow this time I'll be at the airport. When I get back, this blog will be over. The question now arises: Is anyone interested in reading the original story, Behind My Mask?

I'm pretty sure it wouldn't attract much interest, but I thought I'd ask. Do you think I should post my story? I have fifteen chapter so far, including a few flashbacks, and a couple from perspectives other than Naina's.

If you're interested in reading Behind My Mask, please comment on this entry. Thanks.