96 - A God, Healing

Lin

So I've realised something about the struggles I've had with regards to eating.

And it all links to my ancestry.

My ancestors, the Gauls and Celts, revered wild boar and pigs as sacred animals, totems of strength, intelligence, empathy and respect. 

Community based animals who take care of their own, much like our society.

If you know what the symbology of pigs is now, you probably know where this is going.

It also relates to how the Romans and Ottomans treated us, both Gaulish and Greek cultures, when they invaded our lands.

Let me start first with Rome, given that this is the most relevant to the situation.

The Romans, once they had seen us in battle, defending our home, defending our own, decided that it would be best for them to refer to us as barbarians, a people without law or honour.

Ironically, we were defending that honour and were within our right to. The Romans were the ones with no morals. All you need to do is read their mythology.

They used our reverence of the natural world, particularly animals such as horses and pigs, to undermine our ancestry, authority and religious beliefs, to ensure that all that remained of us was ash.

But they couldn't destroy everything.

And as time went on, pigs began to be referred to as a symbol of barbarism, uncleanliness, greed, gluttony and hubris, all of which are far from the truth of what they are.

They are misunderstood, innocent creatures, much like my people.

As I look at how Gaulish and Celtic people were treated by the Romans, and the Greeks similarly by the Ottomans, I see us being treated much like an alluring threat, much like hunting boar in their eyes: for them, our conquest was a game. 

And our pain meant their success.

Our healthy ways of eating, our physiques, our trades, our diligence to what we loved, including our families, was spat and shat on like an outdoor lavatory.

And to this day, the descendants of Rome's behaviours are exactly the same.

I spent my whole life being called a pig, having mrs voldy once or twice refer to me having a 'pot belly' when I cried about the boys (who were also Ottomans) at school bullying me for my stomach sticking out. (Also keep in mind I was pregnant at the time with my daughter, and I had no idea.)

All of this was because of their spite, their jealousy that I came from a significantly better, more advanced culture than they did.

I remember them all clamouring for my body, lamenting that they wished it was theirs. Men leered at me about said body, wanting me to sit like a bird in a gilded cage for the sake of every now and again having their way in pleasure with me. And the control, oh the control! To have dominion over everything I ate, wore and did, so they could feel better that their lives were disrupted by multiple illnesses and injuries they caused themselves by not being careful, nor being aware of their own needs.

Out of everyone, I was the only one without a physical impairment or ailment that stopped me from doing things. And they were bitterly jealous of that.

What's worse, is that they happened to be taking care of a godly child, who they caused severe trauma to, and had to clean up the mess they made, as said child (me) could not.

It must have felt like a kick in the teeth, to not have gotten the results they wanted from kidnapping me.

I ended up not only being gorgeous, but clever, and perceptive, and willing to walk through fire for those I love.

Just like a pig.

And, you know what? I'm proud of it.

Ironically, I became the very paragon of what they wished they could be: a pig among pigeons.

Guess what, voldys?

Pigs eat pigeons.

I can sense someone smiling behind me, and as I turn, I catch a flash of flaming auburn hair, some of which is fastened into plaits. The rest curls around a pale face that regards me with large viridian eyes. Her crimson lips curve into a smile.

Yes, we do.

She tugs her shawl over her shoulders, rolling them to puff out her chest. I haven't seen her wear such vivid greens and purples since the days before Rome...

Demat, Bormana.