It was not the first time his hands were trembling, he was going back home, but he didn’t want to. He remembers his childhood and that stick in his room, he still have scars on his body, that house gives him chills, he don’t want to enter there after the death of his mother there nothing to look upon, whenever he see that lady at the place of his mother the blood run through his veins like chills, after all, his childhood was spoiled seeing his father with another woman when his mother used to sit in a corner. He saw his father beating his mother and him. He still carries those experiences with him. Those memories are still fresh, like it was yesterday when he moved out of that house and he remembers the boarding school experience, where also he was not accepted, he felt rejected in every part so didn’t want people to come close reject him, make him feel the way his father did and today when his father is not well, he doesn’t even wish to see him. What and irony it is, there was a time when the father didn’t need the son and there is a time now when the son doesn’t need the father. It was a hatred he developed he didn’t wish for anyone and that house was not just a house it was a blackboard of his childhood memories and the struggle he was still facing

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