Life, death and dreams

I started to write for one reason, I think my memories are starting to fade away, I don’t know what’s causing it, but I needed to keep them alive, I needed to keep them vivid in my mind. So I’m writing.
My memories are nothing really fancy, they are ordinary to the core, but the feelings and the meanings they hold make them special to me, and I think that’s a reason enough to document them. I’m holding on to every bit and this is how it goes.
… As a matter of fact I’m still the very same little girl inside. I just have a little more knowledge… Some sort of experience. I lived a time in my life when I had to suppress how I really felt or what I was really thinking.
But I don’t blame anyone for it.
I was scared and I needed to protect myself.
And even if fear is one of my crippling weaknesses, it is also the source of my inner strength.
I still have fears, and sometimes it gets out of control, so I do my best to keep them bottled in, tucked safely away in the darkest corner of my mind. I might cry a little when I think about them before I drift into sleep.

… Up until a few years ago, I had certain nightmares that would visit me every night. To the point they stopped scaring me. I started welcoming them, and maybe my mind would play tricks on me and I’d find myself focusing on details and trying to know (or finish) the story myself.

I had the best childhood a kid could ever dream of. We weren’t rich people, but we had it all.
I have loving, caring and warm parents. we had our share of bad times, but every family has its skeletons to hide, and those are not my stories to tell.

I don’t know if all humans feel that way, but I don’t feel a discontinuity in my life I don’t have a clear chronological order in my mind about things and events. I’m not very aware of my age or of dates and milestones. It’s one continuous stream of line, that slows down or sprints fast forward at times, and knowledge adds up and experience accumulates, still I’m the same since the day I was born. I didn’t feel a transition between childhood and adolescence or adulthood. I was always me, changing thoughts (or not), learning new tricks along the way and dodging life bumps.

It all started somewhere between july 3rd and july 11th, I was nothing but an orgasm.
I wish I knew what I was thinking then. where I was, what was the world like in the nothingness.
Nine months later, one Spring day in 1985, I was born, it was a Saturday, it was 1 am in the morning , or so my mother remembers in between pain and exhaustion .

I wonder what the air smelt like the moment it entered my lungs. I still have a lot of unanswered questions of this sort. like what was I seeing when I was in my mother’s womb, or what was I thinking about, what was it like to be floating in my liquid sack? and what was it like to be outside. Was the change scary or painful? is it why we scream once we are out?
We are really strong as babies, for enduring such a change so bravely. Will we be that brave when we’ll have to cross back again? We won’t have a choice, I just hope my fears won’t prevent me from enjoying the ride back. It has to be great.

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.