My Mother's Secret Life:The Saddest Movie I Ever Watched.

This happened everyday. I have accepted my sad story. I watch it everyday when I go home and when I look into my mother’s eyes. I am still hanging in there waiting for my dad to find out for himself.

Author: Aline Igihozo

I have always been a fan of "based on a true story", testimonies, biographies and sad stories movies. I have been that kind of person who relates on all of these stories; that’s the reason I am telling the story.

At first I thought I just like these movies, or maybe the stories being told. I remember spending days searching on Google “The most sad true story movies”, that's when I knew I was really into these types of movies.

It got to a point where my close friends had no idea what to make of me. One day when my friends came to visit me, I overheard them saying I was weird, whispering why on Earth I would be interested in them.

I wished I could tell them why though. “Who does that? That’s the last type of movie I'd want to see.” Gloria said. They all agreed with her. I came back in the room smiling as if I had no clue what the conversation was all about. It is very funny how I didn’t get mad at them, I knew they were right.

I knew it was weird that I didn't watch other movies, and I knew people of my age hated such types of movies.

They are not even that fun, right? It is just some sad stories of some people who have gone through some things in life. Not many people liked them. Except me.

I even tried to stop watching them, but how could I? How could I abandon them when they gave me a sense of peace and freedom? Watching them made my life feel less miserable. Watching them was the only way I could live my life without feeling the loneliness in my heart.

I loved watching sad movies because I knew my life was no different from them. It was as awful and sad as any story in the movies, and guess what; I loved how these movies had different endings.

I grew up in a rich family and was considered as one of the luckiest cool kids in my hometown. My dad was a businessman who went abroad on business trips and bring home chocolates and gifts from every country he visited.

He always brought home a T-shirt from every country he has been to. I liked wearing them because it made me feel like I have been to all those places as well.

I felt like he carried me with him wherever he went. Not to mention how he always told me stories of cool places he has been and his adventures. And then he would promise to take me there someday.

My dad always called us at night to ask how our day went, and promise he would do his best to come home soon.

When it was time to go on a mission, my dad acted like a soldier going to war. He would promise to call everyday so that we don't miss him while he was gone.

However, that is not the reason why I loved watching sad movies. It's not even the reason why I felt the way I did.

The thing is, whenever my dad left, my mother brought another man to our house. She said he was my second dad, and whenever I raised my voice she would beat me to shut me up.

I didn’t mind being hit or tortured as long as I was trying to be that one person in the house who recognized my dad. I recognized how he went out there to provide us a good life.

This man would come the following day after my dad left. Even on casual days when dad left for work in the morning, either mum would go out or the man would come to our house.

This happened everyday. Whenever it happened, I would run into my room and cry. I saw the way she smiled at my dad whenever he came back home like the perfect wife alive. My hearts would break into pieces.

The more this affair kept happening, my mom feared I would talk to my dad. She started abusing me, and scaring me of what will happen if I open my mouth. I was never at peace whenever dad left, I could start counting days until he came back.

I hated to hear her saying how she missed him and how we both longed to see him, every night he called.

I felt sorry for myself and my dad. I hated myself for betraying him. What kind of daughter was I? When my dad would call me Princess, with love, I knew I was guilty as my mother was. I wished he could look me in the eyes and read everything I wanted to tell him.

At some point, I really wanted to tell him. Well, be in my shoes; yes I was scared

of my mother, but I was more scared of splitting my family than anything else. At the end of the day, I knew I was the one to blame.

I was the one being selfish not to do what was right. I was being selfish to not care about my own mother beating me up to swallow her secrets and suffer to keep her wrongdoings.

My life was sad. I hated whenever kids at school and some of my friends picked on me saying that I was born rich in a rich, beautiful, and loving family. That one would hit me right in the gut. I had a loving family? I wished they knew.

Therefore, as I watched these sad stories movies, I related to them. I related to every story in the movie and had hope whenever they had a good ending. Actually, these stories made me feel like I wasn't all alone in this.

They made me understand there were many people going through the same thing, or something related. If they could get through it so can I?

As for my current situation, I am still hanging in there waiting for my dad to find out for himself. I can’t bring myself to say I have always known that my younger sister isn’t my dad’s. I have accepted my sad story. I watch it everyday when I go home and when I look into my mother’s eyes.