Today I will write about fear. If you remember the first question in KVAN (author’s book) is about fear. It says “what are you afraid of?”
We all are afraid of something. Some of us admit and some of us simply live this sensation. I belonged to a second group. For a long time, I did not know what it was exactly. Then I started hearing noise in the neighbor’s walls.
I hear fights. My heart pounds faster. I imagine people fighting and killing each other. This noise is so dear to me because I lived with it for 25+ years.
When I wrote my book, it had a different beginning. My editor read it and remained silent for a long period. She said we need to cut it. She said it was too much for my readers. Initial paragraph started with a family drama. A 5-year-old child witnessed how his grandparents threw things at each other. This child saw something that was not meant for children. He saw shuttered pieces of glass on the floor. From that day on it was only fights every day.
This child was me, Gochi. I know you are not my therapist but I also know that you will listen without interrupting.
This little child saw so many fights that he could no longer bare them. He left his hometown. He traveled the world and remained apart from that dreadful apartment full of gothic memories. Do you remember how once I came to a meeting with a pale face? You instantly noticed that something was wrong with me. I showed you a photo from our house. Shattered glass and broken doors were decorating this photo. My father had a fight with my brothers. They were about to kill each other. You know there are moments in life when you want them to do so. Because you think that it is the only way for it all to stop.
You comforted me with kind words. You told me about other families going through such fights. I felt so good in your presence. And I also laughed at you internally. No family can match mine. It is not a bad or good family. It is a bomb with a timer set for an uncertain date.
Anytime, I receive a call I think something bad happened. Anytime my dad calls me I feel bad. Can you imagine a son who feels bad about his dads calls? Can you imagine someone who is always right about his guesses? Just to be just in the last 30 years my dad started to call for other purposes as well. It is not just something bad. It is him missing me and thinking it is better to call and talk. I am not sure how to react to what is happening. What would you do in this case?
Our family has a curse. This curse is generational. Our tale is a Thousand and One Fights. Maybe in my generation I am the one who will put an end to it. Although sometimes I scare myself with the beast that comes out in certain times. This beast is a reminder from the early times. It screams and breaks things. It scares people dear to me. I hate this beast. But it is part of my identity. The one that has been shaped with all these fights. Talking about a healthy childhood. It has not been healthy at all. It had moments which would be considered sweet but the rest of it was a mental torment. Parents deal with things. As they do, they forget that children are sensitive to such things. It becomes late when they finally realize it. Children grow up. But children carry the scars of their families.
So, this letter was about fear. I am no longer afraid to admit that I hate my family for their endless fights. I am no longer afraid to admit that I love them regardless of the trauma that they gave me. I am no longer afraid to admit many other things and it all comes to one fear. Fear of missing out on what matters the most.
Love matters the most, Gochi!
(Letter number 3 from the series of letters to Gochi.)