The Strong Me

A strong woman, that's what I am referred as. But am I really?

When I was a child, my dad used to be over protective of me. I was a weakling. He would walk me to school to make sure I wouldn't come across anything that will make me cry. I was a person who couldn't speak for myself. When pressure was eating me, I would just burst in tears. I was a kid who wouldn't say what I want. A child who would just say "yes" to whatever people would say, even though I did not fully agree. That was me.

Over the years, there are changes but little in me. All the trials I encountered had somehow made improvement in my attitude. I was regarded as a "strong" woman. A woman who can tackle most problems I face. A woman who can survive alone without a protecting man (and live in a dangerous place called PNG). A woman who can readily face any trials. These are all encouraging assumptions from people who knew me. They are clueless about how weak I really am inside.

If being strong means the ability to display my pain, being able to cry in front of somebody, then I am strong. If it is strong to need comfort most of the time that I am sad, be able to write down everything I feel to self-heal, then I am strong. If strong means, ability to suppress my feelings and sacrifice what will make me happy because of fear...then yes, I am a strong woman.