Scapegoat

Share a lesson you wish you had learned earlier in life.

When I was young, I saw something that shaped the way I see life and justice. I was coming down the staircase when I witnessed my father’s sister slap my mother. Without hesitation, I stood between them and said, “If you have the guts, slap me instead.” The room froze in shock. My uncle shoved me back upstairs, but I broke free and came down again. Even as a child, I knew I had to defend my mother.

The conflict began because my mother had bought an organ so my sister could learn music. My father’s sisters declared that our family had no right to music, no right to joy. Beneath their anger lay the real issue—my father had gambled away my mother’s family wealth, including the house she worked so hard to build. His greed dragged us into shame, and his sisters blamed my mother instead of him.

My father’s side of the family used their own savings to rescue him because he had a young family to feed. But instead of gratitude, his sister spread lies about my mother to the whole community. My mother, with quiet strength, told her side of the story to the judge’s wife—the very woman who had introduced her to the marriage. When the truth spread, the shame turned back on my father’s sister. Embarrassed, she tried to make amends, but my mother never spoke to her for eleven years. Silence became her dignity.

My father, who prayed to the Devi and sang songs of devotion, never understood the true worth of women. He killed the golden goose with his greed, and in the end, he lost everything—his wealth, his respect, and eventually his mind to dementia. Men like him destroy what is given to them because they cannot see the value of independence, sacrifice, and partnership.

Contrast that with Lee Kuan Yew, the founding father of Singapore. He built a nation by listening to his wife, quietly respecting her wisdom even though she walked behind him. His greatness came from recognizing her worth, and that recognition shaped a country.

From my own childhood, I learned resilience. That day on the staircase taught me to fight back for truth and justice, to never stand silent when dignity is at stake. It taught me that independence and self-reliance are not luxuries but necessities. That is why I chose not to marry a man like my father—one without security, without respect for women.

Most men waste their time in coffee shops or bars, drinking and blaming their wives for their downfall. They are foolish men, blind to the sacrifices women make. They only know how to take, never to appreciate. Very few men truly honor their wives.

The lesson I carry—and the one I wish I had known even earlier—is this: Never wait for others to define your worth. Protect it yourself. Resilience is not given—it is forged in every moment you choose to rise, defend, and move forward.