Impossible

[With apologies to ‘Adidas. Impossible Is Nothing.’]

My father was a brute of a man. My mother, a perfect neurotic. They were irrational, paranoid, critical and abusive towards each other – and their children. They were self-obsessed, carrying personal failures and frustrations to their very end. They ignored solutions to their problems, even when those solutions stared them in their faces. They did not care what became of their children. Everything revolved around their problems.

As I grew up, I learnt to shun them. Not to be like them, in spite of their blood running through my veins. I knew life was impossible with them. I knew it was impossible for me to become like them, then or in the future. To me, impossible became something. It became a goal to achieve.