Yesterday, I told my dad.
We were on the phone, talking. He spoke about my brother and how much he resented his silence. He could not understand. I told him that it didn’t matter; he had to respect his choice. Still. We were silent for a long time it seems. Perhaps lost in thoughts. Then I heard it, a sob, a deep sob, almost a groan, the groan of a small animal in excruciating pain. It scared me. It scared me because it was me making that noise. My dad listened. I was gasping for air. Oooh dad, if only you knew. Tell me he said. I was crying. Dad, I was molested when I was four years old. I was molested by my brother. I heard my dad cry. It was the first time I ever heard him cry. Why didn’t you tell me, I would have protected you. Oooh God… His voice broke. Why didn’t you tell me? I listened to him cry for a while. I told him everything. He listened. He didn’t doubt me. He didn’t think I was crazy. I needed to know. How come my brother knew about these things? Unless he was really sick, someone had done it to him. Was it him? There was another long silence only broken by my dad’s sobs. All that time I knew something was wrong. Your brother was molested but not by me, it was that guy who coached him baseball. One year he came home dressed as Santa Claus. He had kissed your brother on the lips in exchange for his gift. It shocked me. During all these years, I have never been able to shove away that picture from my mind. We cried together for a while. I’ve wasted my whole fucking life working on boats, away from my family, always by myself. I’ve sacrificed everything because I wanted to make sure you had a good life, that you needed for nothing, and during all that time, you were hurting, all of you. Why? I only wanted what was best for you. I wanted to give you all that I never had. We never had any money, but my parents loved me. What a waste. I’ve lost my family for nothing. Don’t ever doubt that I love you. If I would have known, I would have killed him. I wish you weren’t that far away. We cried for a little while longer.
Dad… I always knew you loved me.
Monday, January 26, 2009
Saturday, January 24, 2009
The Answers
There is something absolutely exhilarating about therapy. Whenever I come back from a session with John, I feel as though I am levitating. Everything is a little clearer. I have always felt that way, even in the beginning when things were a little heavier, when there was much more to sort out. The amazing thing about it is: the answers. There is an explanation for almost everything, usually a simple one. One that would have eluded me because of where I come from. All of a sudden, things make sense and when they do, it is much easier to move on. Eventually, there comes a time when you realize that you’re not that – crazy - anymore. Then the therapy becomes more about polishing the corners than rewriting the past.
There is also the fact that this person has known you from the worst on. That person is on your side. He wants you to reach your full potential and he will cheer for you when you achieve it. If for no other reason than the gratification it provides him for having done a darn good job with you.
I was discussing my powerlessness towards the novel with John. He helped me realize that one of the reasons I had not been able to write a word thus far, was because it went from being an amazing project to being a job. I didn’t have to impose myself a strict regiment as to when and how many words should be written in a particular time frame. It took away the joy and the pleasure of the action. But it also became potential for failure. Because every time I failed to write the required amount of words, I felt like I was failing my project. And nobody wants to feel like a loser. And the guilt generated prevented me from even writing on my blog. Ultimately, I stopped writing altogether while all I ever wanted was actually to write more.
The moment I understood that, I started writing again.
I read recently a book introduction by a famous Afro-American writer who said that from the time she was a little girl she felt a stranger in her family and her hometown. She added that nearly all writers have experienced that feeling, even if they had never left their native city. It’s was a condition inherent in that profession, she suggested, without the anxiety of feeling different, she wouldn’t have been driven to write. Writing, when all is said and done, is an attempt to understand one’s own circumstances and to clarify the confusion of existence, including insecurities that do not torment normal people, only chronic nonconformists, many of whom end up as writers after having fallen in other undertakings. This theory lifted a burden from my shoulders. I am a misfit; and it seems that there are others like me out there. I have never fit in anywhere. Not in my family, not in my hometown, and worst of all, not in my own culture.
And although my childhood was but a formidable mass of misery and complexes so tangled and perverted that even today I can’t quite understand them all, even with John’s help, it appears that there aren’t too many wounds left that time won’t be able to heal, time and a bit of help.
So if chronic nonconformity is the key to a great writing career, I guess I am still in the running for this Pulitzer Price after all.
There is also the fact that this person has known you from the worst on. That person is on your side. He wants you to reach your full potential and he will cheer for you when you achieve it. If for no other reason than the gratification it provides him for having done a darn good job with you.
I was discussing my powerlessness towards the novel with John. He helped me realize that one of the reasons I had not been able to write a word thus far, was because it went from being an amazing project to being a job. I didn’t have to impose myself a strict regiment as to when and how many words should be written in a particular time frame. It took away the joy and the pleasure of the action. But it also became potential for failure. Because every time I failed to write the required amount of words, I felt like I was failing my project. And nobody wants to feel like a loser. And the guilt generated prevented me from even writing on my blog. Ultimately, I stopped writing altogether while all I ever wanted was actually to write more.
The moment I understood that, I started writing again.
I read recently a book introduction by a famous Afro-American writer who said that from the time she was a little girl she felt a stranger in her family and her hometown. She added that nearly all writers have experienced that feeling, even if they had never left their native city. It’s was a condition inherent in that profession, she suggested, without the anxiety of feeling different, she wouldn’t have been driven to write. Writing, when all is said and done, is an attempt to understand one’s own circumstances and to clarify the confusion of existence, including insecurities that do not torment normal people, only chronic nonconformists, many of whom end up as writers after having fallen in other undertakings. This theory lifted a burden from my shoulders. I am a misfit; and it seems that there are others like me out there. I have never fit in anywhere. Not in my family, not in my hometown, and worst of all, not in my own culture.
And although my childhood was but a formidable mass of misery and complexes so tangled and perverted that even today I can’t quite understand them all, even with John’s help, it appears that there aren’t too many wounds left that time won’t be able to heal, time and a bit of help.
So if chronic nonconformity is the key to a great writing career, I guess I am still in the running for this Pulitzer Price after all.
Friday, January 23, 2009
The Evil Eye
There is this new girl at the office who started working with us perhaps six months ago. Although her debut seemed promising, she turned out to be a complete disappointment. We had hoped for another bright, pleasant, hard working person, who require next to no supervision. We got the complete opposite. Worst still, her attitude was such that no matter what you’d say to her, or how you’d say it, she would systematically remain mute while looking through you as if you weren’t there. There were no “good morning to you”, no question asked, no reply provided, she simply did not utter a word.
It didn’t take long for our interest to fade away and a certain frustration to surface. As a result, most of her work was divided amongst people who preferred still to work harder than waste time training and retraining her. Because no matter how much effort and patience was applied, she could not remember from day to day what she had been explained. The tension escalated even more as she seemed perfectly comfortable doing the bare minimum while we struggled along.
Of course, we all shared part of the responsibility in this fiasco. There was obviously something we had collectively done wrong to make her feel so inadequate and so un-welcomed. My office is not a bad place generally, but I guess we are used to more assertive people. Let’s just say this was not a period of glory we should be proud of.
Still, it was obvious she was miserable, and this alone was enough to make us all miserable as well. But we didn’t know what else to do without feedback on her part. So we did nothing. We watched the situation deteriorate more and more every day, waiting for her evaluation period to end so that we could all be put out of our misery.
That is, until the day she brought to the office an amulet against the – Evil Eye -. The message was as clear as could be and a formidable sense of shame dawned on all of us. Yet, soon after, changes started to occur. Things became smoother. She opened up, we opened up and even though we were all very careful, a sense of camaraderie slowly emerged.
One night not too long ago, we rode the elevator together. Out of the blue she mentioned her amulet and the fact that the bad vibes had dissipated, that she finally felt good in the office. She was happy that – it – worked, but then again, from the moment she had put it on the wall, she knew things would get better.
“You know, it works both ways” I replied.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you were convinced that things would change, it made you feel safe, you behaved differently, and you started smiling to people. So people responded to you differently. Perhaps you were your own – evil – all along?”
We reached the ground floor, the elevator’s doors opened and I left. She looked stunned. It had never occurred to her that she might have been partly responsible for her misfortune.
It didn’t take long for our interest to fade away and a certain frustration to surface. As a result, most of her work was divided amongst people who preferred still to work harder than waste time training and retraining her. Because no matter how much effort and patience was applied, she could not remember from day to day what she had been explained. The tension escalated even more as she seemed perfectly comfortable doing the bare minimum while we struggled along.
Of course, we all shared part of the responsibility in this fiasco. There was obviously something we had collectively done wrong to make her feel so inadequate and so un-welcomed. My office is not a bad place generally, but I guess we are used to more assertive people. Let’s just say this was not a period of glory we should be proud of.
Still, it was obvious she was miserable, and this alone was enough to make us all miserable as well. But we didn’t know what else to do without feedback on her part. So we did nothing. We watched the situation deteriorate more and more every day, waiting for her evaluation period to end so that we could all be put out of our misery.
That is, until the day she brought to the office an amulet against the – Evil Eye -. The message was as clear as could be and a formidable sense of shame dawned on all of us. Yet, soon after, changes started to occur. Things became smoother. She opened up, we opened up and even though we were all very careful, a sense of camaraderie slowly emerged.
One night not too long ago, we rode the elevator together. Out of the blue she mentioned her amulet and the fact that the bad vibes had dissipated, that she finally felt good in the office. She was happy that – it – worked, but then again, from the moment she had put it on the wall, she knew things would get better.
“You know, it works both ways” I replied.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you were convinced that things would change, it made you feel safe, you behaved differently, and you started smiling to people. So people responded to you differently. Perhaps you were your own – evil – all along?”
We reached the ground floor, the elevator’s doors opened and I left. She looked stunned. It had never occurred to her that she might have been partly responsible for her misfortune.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Writer's Block
For those of you who have read my previous postings, you know that on New Year’s Eve, I resolved to start the writing of a novel. Needless to say, it is an exciting project to me, I think about it night and day. Everything is going fine, save perhaps for the fact that I have not yet be able to write down a word. My mind goes blank. As a result, not only do I not feel like an amazing writer in the making, but I feel like a complete disappointment. And each day that goes by without my typing out a few words on the screen, stresses me further. My unexpected fizzle is now encroaching upon my self-confidence. I need your help before I start doubting my ability to write altogether.
How do I get pass that stage?
How do I get pass that stage?
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
The Novel
“There are various ways to overcome fear, Alexander. None works,” she replied. City of the Beasts by Isabel Allende.
Until now, writing a novel had just been a dream, and dreaming is very pleasant as long as you are not forced to put your dreams into practice. That way, we avoid all risks, frustrations and difficulties, and when we are old, we can always blame other people for our failure to realize our dreams.
My troubles started a few days ago when I committed myself to start the writing of my novel on New Year’s Eve. Since then I have felt so terrified by the fact that I actually must start it that I have been suffering from insomnia for the very first time in my life. I have that knot in my stomach as if I will be sick any minute now. But I will do it. At midnight I will be sitting in front of my computer. I will even drop you a line on Twitter. Now, let’s just hope it will not be on that night that I’ll suffer my first writer’s block.
Until now, writing a novel had just been a dream, and dreaming is very pleasant as long as you are not forced to put your dreams into practice. That way, we avoid all risks, frustrations and difficulties, and when we are old, we can always blame other people for our failure to realize our dreams.
My troubles started a few days ago when I committed myself to start the writing of my novel on New Year’s Eve. Since then I have felt so terrified by the fact that I actually must start it that I have been suffering from insomnia for the very first time in my life. I have that knot in my stomach as if I will be sick any minute now. But I will do it. At midnight I will be sitting in front of my computer. I will even drop you a line on Twitter. Now, let’s just hope it will not be on that night that I’ll suffer my first writer’s block.
The Karma Continues...
I am determined to start the New Year as the decent person I have been most of my life, save perhaps for some exceptions which came about during the course of this ending year. However, nothing says that I cannot allow myself one last strike, in the hope of clarity, before reverting to a more courteous being.
As expected, just in time for New Year’s, another close encounter of the third kind occurred, this time via e-mail. I guess it had occurred to him that I may have avoided his numerous phone calls deliberately. Obviously his primitive brain understood as much as to conclude that the telephone was not an effective manner to reach me, but not so much as to grasp that perhaps I had no desire to be reached at all.
Here is the verbatim content of his e-mail; the result of weeks of reflection no doubt:
“Hey, I tried calling a couple of times. I know you have caller ID so I guess you already know. I just wanted to thank you for the time we spent together and say that you made 2008 a special year for me. The Creme Brulle (I can't spell that) was spectacular that night. I will never forget. Have a good new year and if you feel like calling me go ahead.”
I simply could not resist the call of badness: “Let’s make 2009 truly special: vanish”.
How long before I hear from him again? All bets are on.
As expected, just in time for New Year’s, another close encounter of the third kind occurred, this time via e-mail. I guess it had occurred to him that I may have avoided his numerous phone calls deliberately. Obviously his primitive brain understood as much as to conclude that the telephone was not an effective manner to reach me, but not so much as to grasp that perhaps I had no desire to be reached at all.
Here is the verbatim content of his e-mail; the result of weeks of reflection no doubt:
“Hey, I tried calling a couple of times. I know you have caller ID so I guess you already know. I just wanted to thank you for the time we spent together and say that you made 2008 a special year for me. The Creme Brulle (I can't spell that) was spectacular that night. I will never forget. Have a good new year and if you feel like calling me go ahead.”
I simply could not resist the call of badness: “Let’s make 2009 truly special: vanish”.
How long before I hear from him again? All bets are on.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
In Retrospect
This past year has been very difficult, intense, draining and exhilarating all at once. It started with gruesome, mind-numbing discoveries which thrust me to question every aspect of my life so far. Every choice I ever made, every thoughts, preferences, all the challenges and difficulties I have had to face over and over, my reactions to people, to events, and ultimately the vision I had of myself, of my worth, strengths, capacities, dreams, desires and most importantly, of the space I was allowing myself to occupy in this world.
It took a full year of painful reflection to realize that I was a person worth knowing, that I could have dreams of my own, that I was entitled to live and blossom and open up to people, to circumstances and that sometimes I may be hurt, but most of all, I’ll be fine.
With questioning comes frustration, rage, anguish, and eventually retaliation but also, understanding, acceptance and determination, if only to move on, to leave it all behind, even though it will forever linger somewhere in your mind.
This year also witnessed the agony and death of a long friendship, a friendship which had transformed itself over the years, into a ruthless path of hot coals. Still, a friendship which I will always cherish for what it once was.
In the midst of the ebb and flow, in the most unexpected of settings, I found myself sharing breakfast with an unusual personage who quickly became a friend. Not yet one who can pretend to years of acquaintance but certainly to reflection, respect and intelligence.
Unbeknown to him, he provided me with the key to let all my torments go: a blog, this blog. A space where I could share my story with others who perhaps face the same challenges, where I could share my mind about the most trivial of subjects, if I so chose. But also a space where I can slowly open up, expose myself to the world, share my dreams, my increasing joys, learn to brave up, a place where I can dare to dare.
The same friend posted on his blog recently predictions for the New Year by Tom Asacker. Two of them really made me think:
The first one said that many things will change in the next year, but many people will not. That most of us will be doing, thinking and feeling more or less the same things this time next year as we are now. That if you don’t want that sameness, you should grab yourself by the collar and yank yourself off of that comfortable, well-worn path and onto the one less traveled by you. To let go of your past and grab onto your future. Because while you’re waiting for that grand insight to point you in the right direction, the beauty of life is flying right on by.
The second said that most people will sit quietly in their seats and watch life unfold around them. That the best way to know what kind of life you want is to put yourself in charge of creating it. To let the pull of what excites you and what you care most deeply about be your guide.
At first I was devastated in some ways, thinking back about the last year. Then I started putting things into perspective. Sometimes action is more than just physical. And I had plenty of it. My world shifted several times during the year. It was not comfortable, it was not easy, but it was enlightening and it made space for new beginnings, just like the ending of that friendship had done. Removing some of the dusty old – things - we carry makes space for brand new ones, which correspond more to who we have become. I could have done more, I am sure, but I did the very best I could. And that I am proud of.
What will the New Year bring? I don’t know. What I know for sure though, is that at midnight on the 31st, I will be sitting at my computer writing the very first words of my novel. So let’s wait until this time next year to see what really happened. Some of us – me – might be tormenting publishing companies, others might have succeeded in losing some weight or would have joined shameful organizations, and others might be sitting in front of the TV, watching their own show being played.
Whatever happens, keep in mind that the longest journey begins with the first step.
It took a full year of painful reflection to realize that I was a person worth knowing, that I could have dreams of my own, that I was entitled to live and blossom and open up to people, to circumstances and that sometimes I may be hurt, but most of all, I’ll be fine.
With questioning comes frustration, rage, anguish, and eventually retaliation but also, understanding, acceptance and determination, if only to move on, to leave it all behind, even though it will forever linger somewhere in your mind.
This year also witnessed the agony and death of a long friendship, a friendship which had transformed itself over the years, into a ruthless path of hot coals. Still, a friendship which I will always cherish for what it once was.
In the midst of the ebb and flow, in the most unexpected of settings, I found myself sharing breakfast with an unusual personage who quickly became a friend. Not yet one who can pretend to years of acquaintance but certainly to reflection, respect and intelligence.
Unbeknown to him, he provided me with the key to let all my torments go: a blog, this blog. A space where I could share my story with others who perhaps face the same challenges, where I could share my mind about the most trivial of subjects, if I so chose. But also a space where I can slowly open up, expose myself to the world, share my dreams, my increasing joys, learn to brave up, a place where I can dare to dare.
The same friend posted on his blog recently predictions for the New Year by Tom Asacker. Two of them really made me think:
The first one said that many things will change in the next year, but many people will not. That most of us will be doing, thinking and feeling more or less the same things this time next year as we are now. That if you don’t want that sameness, you should grab yourself by the collar and yank yourself off of that comfortable, well-worn path and onto the one less traveled by you. To let go of your past and grab onto your future. Because while you’re waiting for that grand insight to point you in the right direction, the beauty of life is flying right on by.
The second said that most people will sit quietly in their seats and watch life unfold around them. That the best way to know what kind of life you want is to put yourself in charge of creating it. To let the pull of what excites you and what you care most deeply about be your guide.
At first I was devastated in some ways, thinking back about the last year. Then I started putting things into perspective. Sometimes action is more than just physical. And I had plenty of it. My world shifted several times during the year. It was not comfortable, it was not easy, but it was enlightening and it made space for new beginnings, just like the ending of that friendship had done. Removing some of the dusty old – things - we carry makes space for brand new ones, which correspond more to who we have become. I could have done more, I am sure, but I did the very best I could. And that I am proud of.
What will the New Year bring? I don’t know. What I know for sure though, is that at midnight on the 31st, I will be sitting at my computer writing the very first words of my novel. So let’s wait until this time next year to see what really happened. Some of us – me – might be tormenting publishing companies, others might have succeeded in losing some weight or would have joined shameful organizations, and others might be sitting in front of the TV, watching their own show being played.
Whatever happens, keep in mind that the longest journey begins with the first step.
Subscribe to:
Comment Feed (RSS)
Posts
