doomed

Chapter 43

We had eaten breakfast and talked for a while.

She had told me about her family, especially how her two moms met and how they adopted her when she was younger.

I liked the comfort she had talking about it, I really hated talking about anything related to my childhood so to see her talk about hers in such an ease was somewhat comforting.

Hers had been quite different from mine, still I couldn't name one that was better than the other.
Hers had been filled with liquor and lost parents, mine with being pulled away from my home and placed in a space nothing like it.
I didn't have time to be a child, nor had she.

I found amenity in how she talked; it made me feel as if I could also talk about it all in such a reflective and easy way one day.

She didn't really ask anything about my upbringing, another thing I liked.

I wasn't ready to speak about it and she noticed that and respected it, I had never in my life met such a considering person like her.
She was always aware of how what she said and did impacted others; something I deeply had to learn.

My actions had been mostly selfish in the past, influenced by emotions I couldn't control and unaware of how I could hurt the people involved.

She didn't behave like that; at least not with me.

I decided I needed to learn from her, not only about this but how she went on with her life after everything she had been through.

I often blamed other people for circumstances i was in, just to ignore the bad stuff I had done which mostly got me in such positions.
I always found a way to take the blame off my own shoulders, talk myself out of annoying situations instead of acting appreciative and considerate.

She was so thankful.

Even though her mother had been a drunk and never was there for her, while her father was working over time to a point where he left her mother and his child to live a better life; she thanked them.

She had told me about this all in such a thankful manner, like she was appreciating the things they had done to her because they had brought her here.

I had always blamed my father for bringing me here, was mad at my mother for not reaching out to me, fought the desire to text her because I wanted her to have to worry.

Maybe I should be grateful, not for my father; I wasn't ready to forgive him for the things he had done to his child. But for my mother; the few years I had lived with her had been the most vibrant I have ever experienced.
Of course I was a child and the world looked different from my perspective back then but I remembered the exact time when the switch to adulthood had happened.

The flight from my hometown to New York.

The moment I had stepped out the plane and an old man had told me something I did not understand; I was in a different country, speaking not one word of their language and hopelessly looking for my mother.

Then I realized she wasn't there.

I was alone with this man I had never seen in my life.

And in exactly that moment all the light and all the color of my childish eyes had been ripped out of my body and my mind had turned into colorblindness.

There was black and white, good and bad.

No fun, no enjoyment, no laughter or smiles.

And my mother had been the one to let me experience the little time I had with these colors. She had showed me her ways of living and tried her best to raise her son alone.
I couldn't and especially should not blame her for the things my father had done. She had no fault in the pain I had endured.