Trigger warning: The following piece describes scenes of sexual abuse.
In fourth grade, when I learned of Michael Jackson’s death, I was devastated. But along with sadness came curiosity. While I had known of the singer’s music since before his demise, I wanted to know more of how he gained inspiration to make music. See, I also wanted to make music because I thought that it would bring pride and joy to my parents, something a 9-year-old girl would normally want.
As time went by, I became more comfortable around you and you took advantage of that. I remember going into the studio wearing a shirt and a black skirt. You told me I looked “sexy” and that I was “hot.” Back then, I thought it was harmless. I felt good, actually. But now, as an adult myself, I cannot fathom how a grown man like you would have the stomach to tell a prepubescent girl that they appealed to you the same way Kasumi fromYou didn’t stop the comparisons.
I wanted to tell my parents of what you were doing to me but I just couldn’t bring myself to break their hearts. I wanted to be their pride whenever there were gatherings. I wanted to be that kid who played the piano. But since the day you touched me, all I can do is quiver in silence at the sight of that instrument. I would shrug and keep mute whenever someone asked me why I never played in public. I was ashamed.
I don’t know where you are now but I hope you find this letter someday and realize how much pain you’ve put me through. While your remorse is not guaranteed, I just want you to know that you were no good to me as a piano teacher nor as a person.
Thank you for your courage to tell your story, Cai.
_Eileen_47 :((
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