Get to know me better

Just an initial dash of my journey..

Hello!

I’d like to start this section by admitting, talking about oneself to an open unknown audience can be extremely intimidating and it is so. So please, bare with me.

Just an initial dash of my journey…

I’d like to start this section by admitting, talking about oneself to an open unknown audience can be extremely intimidating. Also, as you may know, remembering the past, is not as pleasant as we wish it to be, pain has some master mechanisms to re-open wounds that took years to heal, other wounds we are just so used to live with, is easier to ignore them with honest negligence.

So please, as a reader, as a human, bear with me.

By sharing my own journey I aim to build bridges between you and me, that can bind us to a higher level of understanding of, why we get to experience those peculiar situations in our lives that, made a change in our perception, our personality, even in the way we feel about others, about life, about us.

I must be honest with you my dear reader, this is for me as well, for my personal healing, to face the monsters under the bed, to get the skeletons out of the closet, to set myself free from myself. Therefore, thank you, for helping me when I need you the most.

So here we go, crossing fingers, wish me good luck!

My name is Mariana, I was born in Costa Rica in 1977 and was living here for 40 years of my life, I relocated to Italy in May 2018. So Spanish is my native language, I speak English and Italian as well. By saying this, I am not bragging, I am just clarifying my writing skills in English may be faulty, maybe incorrect. Although I am always learning, but I have a confession to make, currently I have a [your ram is full, and your processor is a core -2] issue. Meaning my hardware is getting dated and I no longer have all that space in my ram (hihihi silly excuse) But trust me when I say, I try my best and every word is meant with every drop of feeling behind it. So, I hope you enjoy it, hope you understand it, and if you don’t, let me know what I am doing wrong and I’ll fix it ASAP!

Thanks though for your empathic understanding on that disclaimer! XD

As I was saying, I am the oldest of 9 children (same father and mother) but I am 2th of the 13 children from my dad’s side. So, you can probably imagine what growing up was in a household where is full of kids running around, yelling and jumping, making their own path in life, wild and free, and you are the responsible for them (another child). Your father is absent most of the time, with a heavy alcoholism issue and even worse, a violent one. Being black label in Taekwondo is not what I’d like to call “The cherry on the pie” but, it is. A lady’s man to put it in a nice way, spent all his money in alcohol and women.

I don’t think I could remember how many times the neighbours called the police because of the loudness of his episodes. How many times, The National Infant Board (Pani in Costa Rica) social workers came to the house to take us to a foster home, people were worried about our safety. My dad managed to break most of my mother’s bones, her jaw, lost few teeth, her ribs, her ankle, her arm, she always had a purple eye or bruises somewhere, all that right in front of our eyes.

Sometimes my dad will come home sober, with lots of money (for us it only meant “FOOD” and NO FIGHTS). A bright spark of change in his eyes sold us a key to paradise every single time. He’d be funny, caring, loving, playful, he would take us for car rides to places where he’d create an adventure of what we were to discover that day. At those moments’ life seemed so perfect, my mum would smile, cook some incredible meals because she has always been a great cook; we could eat to faint. We could see his true nature, and let me tell you, it was beautiful. Too bad it never lasted longer than a few weeks, maybe a month. The fantasy that was built in those days would break just as my heart as I see him jumping in the car and not coming back for me. He’d abandoned us again, leaving my mother alone, pregnant with the next child, with no money, no glory and no hope. Just an empty space.

I beg your pardon. I need a little bit of air.

I loved my father so much. I even admired him as a child. He was my super-hero. He was never violent towards us, at least my mother would push him to punish us, he wouldn’t. I can only remember once he beat the shine out of me, because I hid from my mother my school grades which of course were bad. Until one day, on a Sunday morning my dad came home, I had the courage to show the grades to him, because I knew he’d not go wild angry on me, like my mum would. In my mind I had the perfect plan, my dad would save me from the beating I was to get from my mum for those grades. But what I did not take in consideration was, my mum’s reaction, she got really mad because I hid the grades from her for a week; so she asked my dad to punish me, she got into it, persisted that much to the point he did what she asked. That one time was the ONE time, you get such a beating, such a proper beating, that while you are lying on the floor, you wish, right there, just to die. I was just 9 years old and all I wanted was to die.

My mother the other hand, used to be, so I been told by so many people, the most beautiful girl in town back in her spring times. They say she was so beautiful; traffic will stop just to look at her go. So beautiful people still remember how she stunned the town with her looks.

My mother gave birth to me when she was 18 years old, my dad is 11 years older than her. She insanely fell in love with him and fell indeed into a toxic relationship where all of us saw, terror, violence in so many ways, despair, desolation, abandonment, poverty, hunger, abuse, shame, rejection, and on and on.

My mother was as violent towards us as my father was violent towards her. She as well became alcoholic at certain point in her life, she was also never home, because she needed to go out there and find ways to bring food to the table, no matter what she’d had to do, she did. Many nights we’d go to sleep on an empty stomach, not because we were sleepy or so tired, because when you sleep you cannot feel the pain in your stomach screaming for food. There were times when she’d come after midnight with some fried chicken, or Cantonese rice, almost cold or totally cold, something that she had manage to get for us. At those hours in the night, sleepy and confused, we’d wake up to eat. No matter what it was, the food always tasted heavenly.

The absence of both of my parents, exposed us to situations, I won’t mention in this post.

They got separated when my youngest sister was born, I was 12 years and there were already 9 children in our household. My mother finally caught my father with another woman, in one of his endless affairs, but for some reason this one, was a breaking point for her. She asked him to leave. He left and started a new life with his new partner.

I wasn’t that bad at school, but I wasn’t as good. My professors usually complained with my mum about me being “very distracted”, “not there”, “daydreaming”, there was a professor that used to call me “butterfly mind”. I must admit it was all true.

I didn’t finish my high school, my mother got me out on the 2nd grade with the idea of me staying home, helping her with the kids while she worked, I was 14. I did that for a while.

At the age of 11 I was cleaning a rich women’s house, HUGE!!! I was skinny like a twig; a cheese taco had more meat that I had back in the time. I remember, her house had long wide corridors around the house, the property where this house was at, had a lot of trees, flowers, DUST!, so every day that I went there to clean this massive house, she’d go to the corridors and tell me I was not doing my job right because there was dust in the corridors floors, NO KIDDING!. I remember explaining to her, the wind, the dust, the stars, the anatomy of movement! Like COMMON! But she always had that one line I couldn’t argue against: – Do it again or I won’t pay you, and I will tell your mother that you are a disrespectful brat. – I’d look down to the floor accepting her commands, no questions ask or else… I grabbed the cleaning stuff and do it again, and again, until she was pleased with the outcome. When I finished, sometimes, she’d asked me to come to the kitchen, asking me to sit down, as she was preparing dinner for her husbands and sons. As I am sitting down the smells of the food that’s cooking would invade all my senses, I could taste the food in my mouth. I won’t lie to you, I was hungry, I was always hungry as a child, ALWAYS!. I remember I was so excited she’d give me a nice plate of warm food.

I remember, she gave me a glass of water right from the tab and a pack of crackers. I cannot explain to you the emotional commotion I went into my mind. I am seeing all that food she has on those pots, and she gave me a glass of water and a pack of crackers? Sat in front on me and waited until I finish. Gave me the money for the work of the day (which she makes me do 3-4 times more than I was supposed to, every single time) then to ask me to hurry up because it was getting late, and her husband and sons were about to comeback from work, and she’d hate if they see me in the house, because, no one wants to see a skinny poor dirty maid inside a clean house.

I think for this post is enough, I know it is enough for me. For now.

Sometimes when I look back, I feel I am telling someone else’s story. Feels so unreal, so distant, THANKS GOD!

Thank you for reading this far, thank for keeping me company in this, what I could call, Tells from Crypt Latin Version 2.0 XD.

Until next post my Gorgeous Readers!

Big HUGE hugs!

Cheers!

Marian M

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