The Quiet Faith

  There is one picture from my childhood that has stayed with me for decades. I was about five years old. I had just come out of the shower when my mother became angry with me. I don't remember what I had done, or whether I even understood what she thought I had done wrong. I only remember running out of our small flat before I had time to dry myself or put on my clothes. She came after me holding a cane, shouting and scolding as I ran into the common corridor. The neighbours began to come out of their homes. Adults watched. Children watched. Some looked at me with pity, while others laughed. I curled myself against the metal grille, frightened of the cane and painfully aware that everyone could see me. At five years old, I did not have the words for humiliation. I only knew that I wanted to disappear. For a long time, I thought what stayed with me from that day was fear. Looking back now, I think it was something deeper. It was shame. Somewhere along the way, I also began to belie...