The Scent of Jasmine

(By Alsa S)

The jasmine perfume, usually a comforting fragrance, now filled the air with a suffocating sweetness. It was Grandma's favorite, and her visits, though infrequent, were a beacon of warmth in the otherwise grey and stormy household.

My father, a successful businessman, ruled the house with an iron fist. His booming voice, laced with sarcasm, echoed through the rooms, a constant reminder of his dissatisfaction. My grades, my messy room, my inability to live up to his idealized image of a perfect daughter – all became targets of his ire.

My mother, once vibrant, had long since succumbed to the weight of societal expectations and my father's demands. Her days were a monotonous cycle of household chores, catering to his needs, and stifling any hint of individuality. Her smiles were rare, replaced by a weary resignation that permeated the atmosphere.

I learned to shrink, to become invisible. School became a refuge, not for the joy of learning, but to escape the constant criticism. My laughter was muted, my voice barely a whisper. Loneliness became a constant companion, finding solace in the pages of books, building a world where I was loved and accepted.

Family gatherings were a minefield. My father's critical remarks, my mother's forced smiles, the whispers and judgmental glances from relatives – all felt like a suffocating weight on my chest. I learned to dread these occasions, to dread the inevitable disappointment and the gnawing sense of inadequacy.

One day, during a particularly vicious argument between my parents, something within me snapped. The years of suppressed emotions, the constant fear, the crushing weight of expectations – it all came crashing down. I ran, leaving behind the familiar suffocating walls of my home, leaving behind the toxic haze that had enveloped my childhood.

The journey of healing was long and arduous. Years of therapy helped me unravel the knots of trauma, to reclaim my voice, to rediscover the joy of living. I learned to set boundaries, to prioritize my own well-being, to break free from the shackles of my past.

The jasmine still lingers in my memory, a faint echo of a childhood stolen. But now, the scent is no longer associated with fear and dread. It is a reminder of my resilience, a testament to my strength in overcoming the darkness. I carry the scars of my childhood, but they are not wounds that define me. They are reminders of my journey, a testament to my unwavering spirit.