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  • The first time I saw an adult cry was at my grandfather (Nannu Gejtu)’s funeral. I was 7. My parents were brushing away tears and avoiding my inquiring eyes. I was not sure what was happening. Then, I was handed a flower wreath and told to walk with my cousins. It was a long walk across the village where Nannu Gejtu lived and there were a lot of people following us. I had never felt so important and worn out before. The wreath was quite heavy.

    My mum used to cry at anything that was emotional. Once the scene on TV became too charged, I used to turn round and check if she was about to cry. She always did and at age 12, my taunting was a great way of hiding the fact that I was going to cry too.

    As I grew older, I started crying more. Generally it had something to do with boys – unreciprocated love, futile arguments, eventual break ups. Once I even found out that there is a finite amount of tears one can shed. I willed myself to continue crying over one particularly horrendous breakup, but no more tears came out.

    The longest I’ve ever cried was 2 months. It was during a rehearsal period in preparation for this dramatic role I had. The director was particularly insistent on real tears in every rehearsal. Daily crying did leave its mark on my forehead.

    Nowadays, I cannot stop myself from crying at anything. I am definitely becoming my mum, and I can already envision my future – my son and my future child (don’t know the sex yet) turning round and finding me a slobbering mess and laughing their heads off, joined affectionately by my husband. Hand me a tissue!
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