Cassandra was my first vampire – the Cassandra who rejected Apollo and, through spite, cursed her to tell the future, only for no one to believe her. She tried though. She tried so much to tell everyone to avoid the pain. Unfortunately, her truths hit her and others back ten times more with that pain.
I was around 8 years old when I first learned about the Greek myth. I was sleeping over at a friend’s house and her mother, a middle school teacher, talked about Greek mythology over the breakfast table. I was enamored. Other children may have thought Cassandra a fool for rejecting Apollo, but as confused by her choice as I was as a child, my heart ached for this priestess. It was only years from then that I realized I saw my sisters and me inside her, our shadows the dark curtain of her long, long hair.
“We look at other people’s pain and take it on as if it’s ours.” This is what my older sister said through a phone conversation with me. I carry that sentence in my own heart and throat like I do with every truth in our family.
Our family loves us. Our parents love us. But when it comes to telling the truth of any issues in our family, it seems to burn us back. I told my father that his jokes were cruel for me to listen to. I get called a fat cunt in response. I was 25 when that happened, but I felt 16 and helpless. He apologized a few days later. I forgave him, but I am still hurt to this day from those words. But I cannot tell him that because I will get hurt all over again. I love my father. I know he loves me. But this is not enough for a good relationship. I cannot watch where I step each time I talk to him. And, no, I can never tell him.
Cassandra is a vampire because she suckles for warmth and tenderness as if it is blood to fill her body. As if telling her truth will finally be her salvation. It kills her in the end. Like any story with a vampire. People look down on her, sneer at her, and fear her. Even when her prophecies turn up as truth, people, including her own family, ignore it as much as they can.
Can I ask why, in modern times, people embrace Persephone when Cassandra lives in every girl? Why embrace the story of the woman stolen by a man instead of the woman that rejected one? Why is one woman’s story retold over and over across so many different mediums while another woman is the footnote?
As I ask these questions, I realize that I have the answer as to why Cassandra rejected Apollo, a man she knew had the power to harm her. Cassandra said no because he could have hurt her ten times more if she said yes. No one should have power over a lover. Is this why I have not had a lover well into my early thirties?
My great-grandparents traveled to Mexico from Palestine, our Cassandra’s homeland. Palestinians are all Cassandra. I fear one day that Aegisthus and Clytemnestra will kill us all. And then who could speak our truth?
I would rather tell the truth and be mocked than say nothing at all. I am a Palestinian woman and everyone refuses to believe me because they fear my truth. I beg them to fear it more.