The next morning I woke up early, before 4.30 a.m. and slipped out with the help of one of my sympathetic new friends. I took a bus and came to Kandy. I got off near the lake and walked and walked with my bags until I reached the house with the kind Aunty. I opened the gate. She sat reading on the verandah, looked up and smiled at me. ‘Come in. Sit down … did you run away? Yes? Don’t worry, you’re safe now.’ She gave me tea and biscuits. I didn’t tell her the truth. I didn’t know why. She would have understood but I am afraid to tell the truth to people. They don’t usually believe the truth. I can’t tell them I was homesick. That I missed my freedom, missed Nanna, missed the excitement in Colombo of my life with Nanna, Debbie, her son.

Getting up at 4.30 a.m. every morning, worship in the morning, worship at night again, vegetarian food, tasks, carrying bricks and stones. I had to weave tales to convince her that life was horrible there. I began … nothing to eat, a cane, boys afraid to speak, their hands fluttering like rags, weals and marks on their legs … no time to bathe … Her eyes opened wide. I wanted sympathy. I wanted her love, her attention. She grew angry that I had been subjected to all this. I went on and on, I couldn’t stop myself. Why? It wasn’t like that at all, yet … I didn’t want her to send me back ever, ever again. This Aunty would protect me until I was back again in my little room with Raphael, da Vinci and Michaelangelo. Of course I didn’t tell Aunty the Ninja turtles existed only in my imagination. They were so real to me. Thinking about them alone brought me so much comfort.