It was a Sunday morning. I woke up to a strange pain and cluster of entangled feelings in my body. I was wet. Wet with blood. I was menstruating. I couldn't believe, changes was I witnessing. Mum came up and from a distance started guiding me with the rituals. She denied touching me. I was abstained from my regular activities and caged up in my room. Could you believe, I wasn't even allowed to sleep on my bed! I could not take the situation normally. I was submerged into a trauma. My body begged for someone to pamper it. The lower part of my body felt like it was being crushed by a huge tanker. It was a load too much for a twelve years old to handle, all alone. Time fluctuated on its pace and so I grew up with knowledge and virtues. I learnt in my biology classes, how menstrual cycle actually works and impacts on human existence. Now, I wonder, a woman blessed with the virtue to continue the human race is treated like a waste ought to be disposed off; then who are we? Aren't we all impure as we are all born from the fusion of the blood released by the ovules in the ovaries? The same blood I shed off every month is despicable but if I fail to give birth, they put a question mark on my dignity. God asks us to be the most merciful and it is he who created the universe, the males and me. He created me the way I am. He didn't make any rules but his creations did. You and me, we are slaves of the same God but you decide whether I can offer my prayers or not; isn't it ironical? It is 21st century, yet here prevails the custom of despising a woman who menstruates.
The base we come from is impure, the question arises on ourselves. Are we really pure?
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