He was searching for a sociology book for his research when a small brown diary captured his attention. It was placed between the books in a way that made it seem like its owner wanted to hide it from others’ eyes. The cover had a unique pattern that made it appear different from other books on the shelf. He picked it up and casually opened it to the first page expecting something ordinary, but his eyes froze on the first line:
“But being a female doesn’t make me any less of a human”
Before he could read further, a cheerful feminine voice called his name from the group nearby. Unwillingly, he closed the diary and walked back to join them. But the words stayed in his mind, leaving him curious.
The next day, he went to the library again and grabbed the diary, curiously opening the first page to start reading.
“Today, my brother asked me, ‘Why do you even need to study?’ I wanted to scream but remained silent, staring at him blankly, as always. Sometimes it becomes very hard to maintain our identity in front of people who do not give us a margin to change with time.”
He took his eyes off the diary for a moment, as if trying to absorb the depth of her words, then turned the page to continue reading. The next page opened up with another incident of her life:
“My mother wants me to serve the men of my family. She wants me to sacrifice myself and my preferences for the sake of the approval of my father and my brother, and in the future, for my spouse as well.
How ironic it is that she expects me to live the way she was forced to live her entire life, without realizing that she suffered from it a lot and still remains a target of so-called male dominance.
Why is patriarchy so deeply ingrained in us that even its victims are unable to break its chains?”
Her questions were simple yet powerful enough to shatter someone’s peace of mind. He paused, then started reading again, so immersed in the diary that he forgot about the life that existed outside it.
“Yesterday, my mother came into my room out of nowhere and started yelling at me. It took me a few minutes to understand the reason behind her behaviour, and the moment my mind was able to process the context behind her anger, everything around me seemed to pause. She kept yelling at me, labelling me a ‘bad daughter’ and a ‘bad sister’ just because I refused to leave my studies midway and go to the kitchen to heat up some food for my brother. And because he ended up doing it by himself, I became ‘bad’ and ‘disobedient’ in her eyes.
And I still wonder if my worth depends solely on how quietly I follow everyone.”
He kept reading, unaware that he had been sitting there for a straight three hours. The diary had many incidents, both in sequence and out of sequence, from her university life. The first one was from her early days of undergraduate studies, and then he almost read every incident of her life until he reached the present date.
Days passed, and his visits to the library became routine, without realizing that he was reading someone’s personal diary without their consent. The pages continued to fill day by day, showing that the girl still visited the library frequently. Every page revealed a new incident, more sensitive than the previous one.
“Yesterday I got the answer to all my prayers — at least, that’s what I felt. My friend called me last night and asked me to check my inbox. At first, I got mad at her. I mean, who calls at 11 p.m. just to say, ‘Go and check your inbox’?
But when I checked my phone with half-closed eyes, I was stunned to see that my name had been shortlisted for an international scholarship as an exchange student by my university. That too, in my dream country.
I ran to my parents’ room for sharing this good news, expecting them to be proud of me. But their reaction ripped my heart apart. This wasn’t what I had imagined. Who expects their parents and siblings to respond as if they are not happy in your happiness?
‘So? What are you excited about? Do you not know you can’t leave this house for your studies?’ — this is what my father replied.
And at that moment, I learned how a single sentence can hold the power to shatter someone’s biggest dream.
I tried my best to convince them with logic, explaining that it was good for my future and career. But my mother responded with, ‘No matter how much you study, you’re a girl who is supposed to do household chores and manage your family. In the end, this is all that counts, and this is your actual job.’
I had enough arguments to make them understand, but before I could say anything further, my father told me to leave the room, saying, ‘If I hear anything more from you, you should stop thinking to continue your studies altogether.’
With a heavy heart and teary eyes, I went to my brother and asked him to take a stand for me, but he behaved just like my father, agreeing with him that letting go of the scholarship wasn’t a big deal. My friends shared the same opinions too. They said that at least I’m given freedom to continue my studies.
They call me free, but am I?”
He read everything with grief so deep that it was visible by his expressions. He turned the page without wasting any time, feeling sorry for her, but what could he do after all?
“Today, in the morning, while I was getting ready for university, my mother noticed my swollen eyes and asked me, ‘Are you not feeling well?’
I almost laughed, ‘How do you explain an illness that comes from being unheard?’
I only ended up thinking.”
He looked at the page silently, not knowing how to react. It was hard to accept that someone’s life could be in such turmoil simply because of gender inequality.
He opened the next page to continue reading, but the pages were empty. He placed the diary back in its place. The last entry in the diary was from one week prior to that day.
Two weeks passed. He visited the library continuously to check whether the girl had written anything new, but nothing had been added to the diary. It was something unusual, which also made him concerned for her.
That day, he entered the library with a worried expression and picked up the diary, hoping for any news from her side. He saw that some new pages had been written, and as he was reading those pages, his relief was soon replaced by concern. The words were there, but not in the same way they used to be before. There was more hopelessness in her words, as if her grief had multiplied with the number of days she had remained unavailable. The ink also seemed smudged on the pages.
“Is someone’s ego and stubbornness worthy enough to cost a human life?
How could they do this to my mother?
She died while begging to be taken to the hospital!
I still remember the day when my brother got a slight fever. My parents could not sit at peace until they took him to the hospital at midnight immediately, despite my father being upset with him that day.
Then why was there so much ego and so-called stubbornness when my mother seriously needed a doctor?
Just because they had a fight in the morning and my mother refused to attend a gathering the same day, my father aggressively refused to take her to the hospital that night, knowing that her blood pressure was very high and her regular medicines were not helpful enough.
His ego led to hypertensive encephalopathy (high blood pressure brain disorder) and the immediate death of my mother.
It has been three weeks since I last saw my mother, in a cold, expressionless version. And my eyes can’t unsee it since that day.
I miss her. Her last moments haunt me like a nightmare. I feel so scared. I really feel the need for my mother. I am afraid because this society won’t let me breathe in peace after losing her. If I couldn’t even protect my mother’s life, how can I expect to protect my own?
Only I know how difficult it was to come to university today. I can’t keep this diary at home, and there is no other safe place for me. And I don’t know what’s going to happen next.”
The next day, he was sitting on his usual sofa near that shelf, wondering who the girl really was, and then he opened the diary. The most recent page revealed grief so palpable that it was impossible to ignore.
“I don’t want to slaughter my personal freedom for the sake of the male security linked with marriage.
Now they are forcing me to get married, with the logic that I don’t have my mother anymore and that her wish was to see me getting married. I tried to refuse politely and respectfully, and when they didn’t understand, my tone automatically became rebellious. And I am not feeling sorry, because I was tired of staying quiet. I won’t regret anything, because I’m tired of being treated as a stranger in my own family.”
His instincts were triggered, as something felt uneasy and unusual. The words were so cold and emotionless. The pages were not damp like they used to be before, as if she didn’t cry this time, because of the numbness of her mind. His heart was beating so fast. And then, the last line written in a trembling handwriting was enough to stop his heartbeat: “I didn’t want to die. I just didn’t know how to exist here as an apparently free puppet.”
In a state of uncertainty and shock, he flipped through the pages with shivering hands, but there was nothing more, except a loud silence. Her last entry was from a day ago. The remaining pages were cold and empty, left behind without any justified ending, just like her life.
Before he could process anything further, one of his friends came and told him about the suicide of one of their university fellows. What was even more shocking was finding out that she was the girl from his project group, known as the most lively and cheerful person of her batch, someone he had interacted with only a few times, and that too formally.
The diary fell off his hands, but that sound was suppressed under the weight of the cold silence of her death.
She had mastered the art of pretending. It was she who distracted him by calling him back when he was about to read the diary for the first time. Maybe she had seen him standing in front of the shelf where she used to hide her diary.
She was gone, silently yet loud enough for the echoes of her silence to remain forever. She lost, and patriarchy once again wore a crown of victory.
