The Other Side of the World - Essay Example

The Other side of the World I always celebrated my birthday on the 4th May, of each year. However, on May 4th 2003, I could not celebrate my birthday. That year, snow was still visible on the pavements, as spring came a little late. I had hoped that sunshine, and possibly a bag of fruit drops, would be my birthday present. However, there were no signs of a cheerful celebration. I had fallen into a heavy sleep the previous night since neither the cries, nor the loud bang on the main door walk me up.

I only slightly opened my eyes to realize that the noises I heard were not in my dream. It was my mother’s cry. I have, to date, documented this day as the worst of all days in my life. I had never imagined, in my weirdest dreams, that I would ever see mother in tears. I sprang out of bed, but before I could open the door, grandmother flew the door open and got in. My heart beat heavily and bids of sweet rolled down my spine. “For how long have you been a wake Vivian?” were my grandmother’s first words to me.

I wished I could see her face and read whatever story was written on it, but the light from the window was dim. Before I could compose myself to answer her question, she informed me that the police had come. Since I was a toddler, I feared and hated the police with passion. This had been as a result of a cruelty assault I had witnessed sometimes back. I had, since then, disapproved anything the police did, whether good or bad. With my grandmother’s mention of the police, my blood seemed to run cold and my heart increased its beats by an excess of one or two.

It was at this point that I summed up words and asked what they had wanted. “They put your father under arrest!” these were the last words my young mind could comprehend from grandmother. I said nothing else. Yorkshire is a small town; people know each other quite well. When I went to school that day, I noticed fellow pupils and teachers looked at me with curiosity. I, in several occasions, noticed fingers pointed at me. It seemed that everybody, with an exception of me, knew what had happened.

Everybody treated me as a stranger in the school. The only person who treated me with the love and compassion I yearned for was Ivy, my closest friend. Later I asked her, “Please what is it that my father has done? My mum has not told me anything.” She told me that she too did not know the truth since so many stories were created and told in the school. However, she told me that she had caught her parent’s conversation the previous night and they mentioned a shameful Mr. Lubynt. “I don’t know what that meant, but I am sure it is something terrible, associated with dangerous bandits,” were her concluding words.

These were the worst words I had heard anybody direct to my father and have, ever since then, remained fresh in my memory. For about a week, I tried convincing mother to tell me what it was father had done. One cold morning, she gave a submissive look and told me, “Your father is guilty of acting against the Soviet Union, treachery.” I did not want to believe this. I convinced myself that it was a mistake. Father was a kind and honest man. At least that is what I had grown up to know. I had heard people say that the Soviet was the best union ever in the country.

Yet father rejected it! My father was imprisoned later that year. Back at school, I was an outcast. I tried in vain convincing everybody who cared to listen that I did not share the same rebellious believes as father. I was ridiculed and bullied by both boys and girls, but I never showed despair. I made plans to convince everybody that I would never abandon communism. One day, I met a girl I had never seen before. She invited me to a place where three other girls sat. I thought this was one of the many tricks of affront I had experienced.

However, she sounded indisputable and I moved closer. “Your father is a conqueror!” these words caught me off guard and I prevented my feet from running. “We all have taken notice of your father’s input to the underground movement,” she continued. I did not know what to say or do. Confused, I stood and looked at them as one would stare at a magician about to perform a trick. These were genuine-looking girls, convincing me that, father, a man I had, for close to three months, tried to disregard, was an idol.

I began hanging around with my new friends, and learned several things that were forbidden. I learned about the crimes and villainy of Communism. By the time the schools closed for the holiday, I had realized that some essential truths have been hidden from people. Though I was an outcast in the school, I was happy that I had discovered something that most people may never get to know. I wished they, too, could see things from my perspective. It is now eight years ago since father was imprisoned.

Today, the 4th May 2011, I am turning 18, and there shall be no celebrations too.