I m Pure

Everyone called me the daughter of Mother Earth. I was adopted by a man of great power, and he treated me as his own — and so did I, as my father.

I carried enormous pressure on my shoulders, as if I bore a boulder everywhere I went. I was the symbol of strength and purity in the town.

Though I loved my father dearly, I always knew there would come a time when I’d have to leave his loving arms for someone else’s. But how could another man ever treat me like him? I always told myself: there was no chance a man this capable even existed.

Then the time came. My father brought many men to meet me, but none felt right — none pierced the heart like Cupid’s arrow. Until one day, a charming man appeared, one who didn’t just shoot the arrow — he broke Cupid’s bow altogether. I knew it was him. So did my father. My hand was given, and from the start, our bond was one of deep love.

The man I married was a prince. I believed he had great wisdom and noble principles. But as he prepared to become king, the politics within our family turned against us. No one wanted an outsider like me to hold power. We were exiled, sentenced to leave our home and return only after fourteen years.

We swallowed our pride and left without complaint, settling in a quiet town where peace still lived.

Years passed in seclusion. We were content, even joyful. But peace, like all things, is fleeting — for chaos is the true nature of this world.

One day, my husband went hunting. A strange man appeared at the door. I could only see his shadow, but my heart sank. No man can understand the feeling of dread that floods a woman when a stranger stands outside her door, and she cannot be sure of his intentions.

He knocked. I asked who he was. He said he was starving, hadn’t eaten in weeks. I was planning to become a mother — how could I ignore the broken voice of someone’s son?

My husband had told me not to step outside; it was dangerous. But he didn’t understand the maternal instinct. I stepped out with food. And I was betrayed.

The man was no beggar. He was powerful — his eyes burning with revenge. I was merely a pawn in his plan. He abducted me and took me to his land. My heart pounded with fear. The worst thoughts haunted me. But when we arrived… he did nothing. He never laid a finger on me. He treated me with respect.

It confused me — how can a man be evil and still have morals? Or is evil just a word we made up?

A war began to rescue me. Many died — not for love, but for revenge, for pride, for words spoken in arrogance. I was brought back to my land. I expected comfort. Instead, I received whispers and stares.

They accused me of infidelity.

The cruelest part? Even the women believed it. And I understood why they call this a man’s world — because so often, it is women who drag other women down.

I was asked to prove my chastity. In front of everyone, my husband demanded it. The same man I had loved and sacrificed everything for. The same man I trusted. How could he doubt me?

I cried for hours. My heart broke.

They told me to walk on fire. If I remained unharmed, I would be declared pure.

And so I did.

The flames didn’t burn me — but the eyes of the people did. That walk was the most painful moment of my life. If my father had been alive, he would’ve burned the village down in fury. I remembered the words I once told myself: “There was no chance that a man this capable existed.” I had always been right.

I survived the fire. I proved my ‘purity.’ But even if that man had harmed me — would it have been my fault? I would not have consented. And yet, that’s how it is for us women: the guilty walk free, while the victim is left to burn.

Despite being unharmed, the murmurs continued. My husband remained insecure. I understood then — we women are destined to carry the burdens of men’s broken egos.

To every woman reading this: Do not let a man’s insecurity become your punishment.

I was exiled once more — this time, pregnant with twins. I found shelter in a nearby village. I gave birth to two beautiful boys. In their eyes, I saw their father — and that terrified me.

Would they grow up to be men who value public image over their wife’s dignity?

I raised them with all the strength I had. They did not know their father, yet they carried themselves like kings.

One day, we were walking through the woods, and there he stood — their father, by a tree. He had come not to ask forgiveness, but to ask me to prove my innocence again. Even after all these years, his audacity remained.

He said he would take the boys.

I had no choice.

I called upon my mother — Mother Earth — and I asked her to take me back.

And she did.

To all the young women: this story is ours. Whether you call her Kita, whether the K be an S or N — it is the story of every woman who has been doubted, tested, and discarded. Let our pain be your strength. Let our legacy carry you forward.