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IDENTITY

What is identity? Is it the thing that defines a thing, person, item ethnic groups, race, tribes, religion, or what exactly? Whatever the definition of this word is, I am yet to discover my own identity.

I am more confused each and everyday. I will live with this confusion for as long as I live, a life of pains, bad memories, betrayal, deceit and courage with a couple of bad choices I made to rise above this hell called my life.

This book speaks about the hurdles and fights I have gone through in my short life, some miseries caused by my parent’s wrong judgments and bad choices and some that were just pure bad luck and some experiences that were raw due to my own bad judgments and mistakes.

I cant believe its already been 24 years of my life and im still at point one looking and still hoping for the sun to rise and shine on my life, I often think it will never happen, and on some days I wake up very optimistic….

My question to God is often…. Dear God, when will my day arrive?

CHAPTER ONE:

“I’m not going to wake you up again, cause if I do! You know what I’ll make you do.” These are the words I woke up to everyday for a while. I was two or three years old. At the time I really had no idea of the relationship between me and this very mean woman who treated me and my brothers like slaves, I finally got to know who she was to me when I was about 12years old.

Every morning she woke me up by aggressively pulling the bed sheets off my tiny body, as a little child looking for warmth I would pull them back on my tiny body and get on with my sleep. She would stand there waiting for me to pull the sheets back on to finally slap me and drag me to the living room where there was a huge space enough to fit two complete living room sets and a dinning room and still have space to play. In this venue she would punish me by putting me upside down, my hands on the carpet and my whole body suspended with my feet on the wall, I would shiver from exhaustion of my body weight and bleed from the nose.

I fell over and over which I wasn’t allowed to do as she would usually time how long I was suppose to be punished in the upside position. Falling meant more minute’s added o the original time and a couple of slaps in between, I wasn’t allowed to cry because that meant I was still a baby and she would give me harder punishment and hit me harder. I learned to shed tears without making a sound.

I kept hearing sniffs of a crying person but couldn’t see who it was, I kept trying to be as silent as possible cause I had already fallen three times and my punishment was worsened every time I fell, showing my tears and sniffing was only going to get me in more trouble, I tried so hard to stop but couldn’t, I fell one more time and while trying to get up my head felt so heavy and I was very drowsy at this point, I couldn’t see anything for a while. My vision was blurry probably because of the upside position. I could smell blood from my head, its like all my blood was flowing heavily in my head.

Of course this was not the first time this happened and this feeling wasn’t new to me. I had made peace with it because it’s not like I had known any love or care before, I didn’t even know how I got here. At that time and age it didn’t really hurt me as much as it did when I discovered that it was abuse. In the middle of my confusion I heard the sniff again, now I realized that they were not coming from me, I followed the sounds with my eyes and saw my brother Luc kneeling on tiny stones on the floor, shivering from the weight of the pestle he was made to carry. He was so afraid to drop it regardless of the weight, he had tears rolling from his eyes, and holding back his mucus from rolling off his mouth and shirt by sniffing it all back in and swallowing.

Wondered how long…