I woke up during the night by water spilt into my face and saw a plastic pitcher flying by me and hitting my Mom on the head. My father was shouting and my Mom sobbing. Afraid to speak up or cry, I was sitting there, 5 years old, confused and afraid. I often remember this scene, unsure why it, among others, has made such a strong impression on my young mind.
I don't remember the next morning.
I do not remember most of the days. I remember separate piecemeal scenes of violence and no recollection of making up.
The strongest scene I remember is my Mom all in blood scratches and torn tights trembling and sobbing on one side and my father telling me: - Do you see well your mother? The same will happen to you if you are like her, you are next. Then forcing me to insult my Mom. I can never describe the deep feeling of guilt of this moment, when all my being wanted to defend my Mom and yet, I betrayed her, following his orders to insult her. I can't remember for how long I was able to repeat insults towards her after him, I remember being terrified to the point of being paralyzed with fear, wild fear, mixed with tremendous guilt. --- Growing up in post-communist Eastern European country was not easy, neither for the children, nor for the adults. I was born only few years after the communism fall in our country to a native mother and a Middle Eastern father. People's mentality was still very much influenced by the ultimate goal to demonstrate an "Exemplary Home" and certain families were given such signs to hang out on their doors. In my home, as a contrast, there was violence, scandals and fear. I remember mostly sad memories from my childhood until my 6th year – for example the time when my father broke my toy doll stroller by throwing it onto my Mom. Or the time when we were in the zoo and I was ecstatic with a frog toy until he grabbed it from my hands and threw it into the lake because I was annoying him with it. Or the time when he came home and made a big scandal for an egg which my Mom had cooked and given me because he has had plans to cook with it. That time he beated both of us to the point of making my eye bleeding. Or when he beated us both because my Mom put by mistake soda instead of salt in the food as they looked similar and were next to each other.
You may ask why my Mom didn't leave him earlier. It was a very difficult situation- she loved him or so she believed and she had big problems with her family, my grandmother and grandfather, who were completely against this relationship. Moreover, my grandfather was in the army and his daughter being with a foreigner created further problems for him. My Mom basically ran away with my father, being deeply in love. They spent all the savings her parents had made for her. They were both poor University students, barely able to take care of themselves, let alone a baby. And the difference in culture, perception and world view was exotic and intriguing, yet insurmountable. Society already ostracised the foreigners and the women who choose a foreigner, especially Arabic over a native man and the divorce would only add to the stigma, being stigmatising enough even within an entirely native family. Divorces were very few and far between and as later became known many women were silently suffering various domestic violence in the name of the Exemplary image in the eyes of society and neighbours.
I was born in my Mom's home town, small provincial town I'll call MafiaTown as it is known for the car mafia, about 60km from the capital when she and my father have had yet another scandal and she fled home. I was born in the 8th month as a very small baby, 2.5 kg and with strong will to live. My grandmother allegedly exclaimed: "What an ugly baby" when she first saw me and wanted to give me for adoption or so she said. My father didn't believe initially that he had a daughter born – it all happened earlier and unexpectedly. He wanted to call me Samira (dark days) and my Mom wanted to call me Light, that different they were. That's how a person with a unique name (kept in secret, not my pen name) and a unique mixed genes baby, came on Earth. My Mom came back to him in the capital and there were few more split ups where she would take me and flee him and then he convinces her he has changed and to come back to him.
I remember humiliation scenes along with the violance, e.g shaming me on the table and making me eat and eat and overeat until all food is gone, priding himself that his child has to eat a lot to be healthy and able to beat the other children. As a result I was unhappy, overweight, frieghtened child. At that time I did not hide my emotions in food but was afraid of everyone and everything. I clearly remember when a neighbour offered me a chocolate bonbon - I was put into a very difficult position, being torn between wanting to be polite and accept and being afraid to accept and wanting to be humble. These conflicting feelings were result of the "virtues" my father wanted to instill in me. Eventually I did not take the bonbon but still remember how deeply affected I was by this innocent invitation.
Another time a group of older children captured me outside and removed my pants, exposing me naked and laughing at my genitals. My father just passed by and dragged me for the hand, took me home and beated me severely with his belt. He told me this is to teach me to defend myself and I should be ashamed for being helpless victim there. Then he send me in the bathroom for punishment which was sitting on my knees with my hands up in the air all night. My Mom tried to save me from this punishment but to no avail, she was helpless and I had to stay there. I do not remember how long I stayed and if it was the whole night or less, I only remember the pain my arms which I continued keeping up due to fear. I was trying to understand how I could have defended myself when they all were bigger and older than me. In my childish brain I was feeling deep shame for being exposed and victimized, especially because of my father's violent reaction. I also felt a sense of being paid attention when they were all around me and laughing at me - that was a mixed feeling, bad and good and arousing one, all at the same time.
I remember being reprimanded all the time - e.g bananas were very rare to come by and only available at Christmas. Once I was so excited to have one when my father embarrassed me for not peeling them from the correct side, citing that "They come from your country and you do not know how to peel them". That was confusing for me on so many levels - from the fact that I was born and being raised in this country (so what is my country? why my current country is not my country? where do I belong?) through the embarrassment of obviously doing wrongly something I am supposed to be doing correctly. You can imagine the resultant shame and guilt of this a 5 year old can internalize.
These childhood years had a few happy memories too, much less than the heavy, shameful, guilty, violent and damaging ones, but cherished by me as precious gems.
One of them was me and my Mom being in a park, where there is nice greenery, there is a small fountain nearby which has falling water singing quietly and my Mom teaching me to read from a Mickly Mouse comic book for children. There was a cat which was saying "Rrrr-meow" and I found this so deeply amusing that I bursted into deep, long, hearty laughter. My Mom joined me laughing deeply and we both laughed for long, feeling happy and forgetting all our troubles, as time has stopped and nothing else existed except for pure happiness and delight!
I also had a small, live black rabbit - so exciting for a little child! I wanted to call him Petya but it was male and had to become Peto (as I could not think of the proper male counterpart of the name which should be Petyo). Peto was a friend and buddy and I remember I was always being scared by my father to hide him very well all the time, especially when going out and coming back in as if the landlady finds out about him, she will throw him out. I remember being worried and putting double extra effort hiding him and feeling triumph and relief on every successful going in and out without getting caught. I do not know if the landlady really did not know and having a rabbit in a small apartment most probably has had some smell which would have been telling but I was too small to think about or remember that.
TO BE CONTINUED
