But Buaji never made me feel like what I said was wrong; she didn’t inhale it like gossip, and she didn’t sensationalize it by getting livid on my behalf. She listened. And I didn’t know that I needed that so badly, but I did. I needed someone to hear me, really hear me, and tell me that what I felt was okay to feel, because I didn’t trust my own senses. And I needed to know that, despite all the material comforts I enjoyed and all the gifts that Papa bestowed upon me, what I experienced was difficult, and I wasn’t bad or weak for thinking so.
