Lies cover disliked truth

The first lie you were ever told was by your parents. They are one of the few people who can lie without their facial expressions, giving them away. Rarely do they ever tell you about the lie either, and the truth leaves you with feelings of shock and fear. You would sometimes wonder, “How many more lies have they told me?”

The lies begin with Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy. My grandmother called thunder ‘gonibilla’ and we believed it was a demon. When we were small, my brother and I would stand by our grandmother impatiently while she prepared milk toffees. She would try to shoo us away. When we wouldn’t stop bothering her, she would widen her eyes and say, “The gonibilla will get you if you don’t leave.”

The lies started as stories to stop us from being a bother. They were also told to keep our imaginations alive. Yet, there were more to these lies. Lies told by our parents that are hard to forgive.

Since our garden is home to a few fruit trees, we prepare fruit juice on a regular basis. The first time my mother gave me star fruit drink, I was a bit worried. Yet, I trusted my mother, when she said it was made of star fruit. I ended up falling in love with the fruit.

I have happily enjoyed avocado juice, centella or gotukola juice and a few other drinks that weren’t quite appealing at first. My mother never had the need to hide the type of fruit used to make fruit juice. Which is why, when she gave me a glass of lime juice, I gulped it down, although it was sweeter and less limey than usual lime juice.

The next day too, I was given a glass of the same lime juice. A week later, having downed many glasses of the drink, I walked into the kitchen while my mother was making it. I was truly shocked to find out that the lime juice wasn’t from lime, but from cucumber. I admit that cucumber juice is absolutely delicious, yet, the lie still remains a lie.

I also love sago with milk. My grandmother used to keep a glass of chilled sago for me to drink once I returned from school. One day, the sago seed was missing. Instead there was quite thick milk that tasted slightly different. I asked my mother if the sago had been added. She said that the sago had been mixed with milk for some time, and that it had dissolved. I believed her and drank the milk. My mother laughed at me once I emptied the glass and told me it was barley and not sago.

My brother and I, like most children our age are mortally afraid of vegetables. We grew up believing that contrary to what everyone said, vegetables not only tasted bad, but weren’t necessary. Thus it was unacceptable to learn that vegetable soup, which I thought consisted of potato and carrot, also included pumpkin and other undesirable vegetables. I was even deceived into eating kohila and canned tuna, which I detest.

The list goes on. I could write a book if I was to list all the lies told to me by my family. They may seem unforgivable, and as I look at my mother while she reveals a lie, I think how unfair it is to keep the truth from me. Yet, as she smiles, I can only think, “How well you know me.” For all those lies, they were only told because she knew how much I would dislike the truth.

The Nation