Gotham City

- chapter 3 -

The memories are part of who we are and no matter how much suffering you went through, you never wanted to let go of those memories. Most things are forgotten over time. Even the war itself, the life-and-death struggle people went through is now like something from the distant past. We are so caught up in our everyday lives that events of the past are no longer in orbit around our minds. There are just too many things we have to think about everyday, too many new things we have to learn. But still, no matter how much time passes, no matter what takes place in the interim, there are some things we can never assign to oblivion, memories we can never rub away. They remain with us forever, like a touchstone. When we are children we seldom think of the future. This innocence leaves us free to enjoy ourselves as few adults can. The day we fret about the future is the day we leave our childhood behind. I started to worry about my future ever since my mother left. That was the first time when I felt a part of me was destroyed, and the whole world began to crumble in debris. I was physically and mentally ruined.

I still remember the whole day. It was my birthday. I was so excited to know that lastly I will be the same age as my friends. I started my morning like every other day. I got up out of bed, getting ready for school. Like every morning, my father cooked pancakes. A pleasant smell climbed the stairs and made his place towards my room. Morning is wonderful. Morning is an important time of day, because how you spend your morning can often tell you what kind of day you are going to have. And yet, my morning was perfect.

I descended the steps that creaked under my feet to the kitchen. I sat at the table. In the house was apparently just me and my father. Last time I saw my mother was last night. Before I fall asleep I heard the two of them contradicted in the living room, but I decided to ignore them.

" Happy birthday, Harl! " , my father said, kissing my forehead. " Today I am free. Let me know what you want to do your day after you finish school. " , he gave me the maple syrup, with mirth and laughter letting old wrinkles come.

That morning was the most beautiful morning of my life, but I had no idea what was waiting for me. I did not know that day would turn into the worst day of my life. Now I think: If this was the worst day of my life, nothing can be worse than this.

After my father left me in front of the school gates, I turned toward the entrance. On the same day I found out my best friend, Andrea, moved to California permanently. I was in shock and did not know how to react. At that age you need friends. I still remember that I ate my lunch in the bathroom girls in a cabin. It was my birthday and I was alone. Then, when I eat in the bathroom, I met some people who were attached of me quickly. More quickly than Andrea. Their names are Tamara and Patricia. When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives mean the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares. They are more than that. First I did not let them get close to me, because I thought that Andrea will return, but we have not even spoken since that day.

The hours were not finished yet, but my father's car was in front of the school. I was joyful to see him and prepared to said him about how Madison has reached the director, how Andrea went off without telling me and about my new friends: Tamara and Patricia. But as I get closer, I could see the sadness around him and grief in his eyes. I thought perhaps he would have to go to his job, but I wanted to be this. He had red eyes. I did not think he cried, but I was sure. We went along in the car, my place was next to the driver. It was quiet. He handed me a letter. First I thought it was a letter from my grandmother for my birthday and I started reading. It was a farewell letter from my mother. Thousands tears filled my eyes, ready to cry. I started to tear the paper in my hands. At that moment I felt like I never felt before. I felt like the whole world collapsed, and along with it, me too. All the pain accumulated day by day when I saw my mother isn't coming back. Since then I haven't complained. Even If they were tears of happiness when I graduated from high school or when I got the highest marks in the final examination. I simply consumed all the tears that day. Once you cry it out, it is supposed to vanish, right? It is not true. It is just a little less. It was the first chink in my brickwall. The wall was still there. And it was still made of bricks, but one, maybe two, had been torn down that day. But pain is a pesky part of being human, I've learned it feels like a stab wound to the heart, something I wish we could all do without, in our lives here. Pain is a sudden hurt that can't be escaped. But then I have also learned that because of pain, I can feel the beauty, tenderness, and freedom of healing. Pain feels like a fast stab wound to the heart. But then healing feels like the wind against your face when you are spreading your wings and flying through the air! We may not have wings growing out of our backs, but healing is the closest thing that will give us that wind against our faces.

After I got back home, the first thing I did was go up to my room. After I got back home, the first thing I did was go up to my room. I still had the ripped letter in my hands. I remember that I glued it and put it in a red box that I still have in my apartment. I stayed up all that night, rereading the letter. Maybe we missed something and we did not realize. In the same evening, the most important people of Gotham, Martha and Thomas Wayne, were killed under the eyes of their poor child, Bruce. That evening was not only a disaster for two children helpless, but was at the same time a liberation for all criminals and mobsters in the city.

At that moment, corruption began to fill the bright streets, making them the darkest and the most dangerous places in America. Wayne Enterprise was before an industry that is based more on the help of citizens, but today there are only people who working for two large and dangerous heads of mobs families: Don Falcone and Salvatore Maroni. They were imprisoned in Blackgate Prison, but they managed to escape with the help of highly paid lawyers in stolen money. In a society in which nearly everybody is dominated by somebody else's mind or by a disembodied mind, it becomes increasingly difficult to learn the truth about the activities of governments and corporations, about the quality or value of products, or about the health of one's own place and economy.

In such a society, also, our private economies will depend less and less upon the private ownership of real, usable property, and more and more upon property that is institutional and abstract, beyond individual control, such as money, insurance policies, certificates of deposit, stocks, and shares. And as our private economies become more abstract, the mutual, free helps and pleasures of family and community life will be supplanted by a kind of displaced or placeless citizenship and by commerce with impersonal and self-interested suppliers...

Thus, although we are not slaves in name, and cannot be carried to market and sold as somebody else's legal chattels, we are free only within narrow limits. For all our talk about liberation and personal autonomy, there are few choices that we are free to make. What would be the point, for example, if a majority of our people decided to be self-employed?

The great enemy of freedom is the alignment of political power with wealth. This alignment destroys the commonwealth - that is, the natural wealth of localities and the local economies of household, neighborhood, and community - and so destroys democracy, of which the commonwealth is the foundation and practical means.

Now, I do not remember details of that night, but I know I destroyed the set of my mother's favorite dishes and I refused to go to a psychologist. Instead, I spent the rest of my time alone. I did not want to talk about what happened to me, and for nine years I have not told anyone. There are too many emotions that can could get myself insine. And once the storm is over, you will not remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You will not even be sure, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won't be the same person who walked in. That's what this storm is all about. When we least expect it, life sets us a challenge to test our courage and willingness to change; at such a moment, there is no point in pretending that nothing has happened or in saying that we are not yet ready. The challenge will not wait. Life does not look back. A week is more than enough time for us to decide whether or not to accept our destiny. And after nine years, I accept my destiny. I accepted that my mother is not coming back. I accepted that this storm changed me and I accepted the truth about the world. I understand that you can not trust anyone, no matter how much you know that person. Everything around us is an illusion because it is easier to accept knowing what is happening is not real. One day everything will be well, that is our hope. Everything is fine today, that is our illusion.

Life, the universe and everything is a time illusion.

this chapter was a memory of Harleen for her 14 years birthday. sorry for the spelling mistakes (if any) hope you enjoy it :) have a good day xx