I want to be open and honest with you regarding a change on all 3 blogs I write. I'm homeless and getting work is not easy when you have no place to call home. Right now I'm still recovering from the problem I have with my feet (mostly the left foot).
I've added a "Thank you for your Support" page to each blog and removed the front page donation widget. I'm not out to get rich or trick anyone into clicking on affiliate links. If you would like to support one of my blogs, you will have to click on the support page then decide if you wish to donate through Paypal, GoFundMe or through Amazon affiliate links.
You won't see banners or affiliate links section anywhere outside the support page. On occasion I may include an affiliate link to a post/entry but I will do my best to keep it to a minimum. I've used Adblock Plus for years because I hate unwanted online ads (even before I became homeless).
I would appreciate if you consider checking the support page if you wish to support this blog.
I'm mostly trying to focus on Amazon sponsored links and service/companies such as Lootcrate and Backblaze which also support one of my favorite shows online, Critical Role. If you have any questions feel free to contact me through my Goggle profile.
That's it.
May you walk in the light of God.
Sincerely.
Luis
Friday, November 18, 2016
Wednesday, November 16, 2016
My Crazy 20's and another Deep Secret
Welcome back reader; today I will share the beginning of my crazy 20's with a secret that I've only told a few people in my life.
During the 2 years I worked with Lou, I picked up bad habits from him. Drinking, smoking weed and having sex with prostitutes on a regular basis became normal to me. In between deliveries in the middle of the day, Lou would either drive to a brothel in Manhattan or to a spot in Brooklyn with young street hookers at least once a week.
If that wasn't enough, the seniors at the nearby high school would pay me to get them weed and beer. What started as a profitable "favor" for a few guys, turning into invites to weekend parties. I was always invited because I was one of the few that could legally bring a Keg of beer (or 4).
Usually I was the older guy that brought the goods (and made a few bucks doing it). Young females would practically throw themselves at me during those parties. It started on weekends, then they started looking for me every day in the afternoon (after work).
I became very promiscuous, having sex at home while my grandmother was not home, or at a girl's home while her parents were away and even at a nearby park at night. I didn't care for them, and neither did they. I was just a hookup and I was alright with that.
However everything comes at a price. I had always been careful to wear protection (I spent hundreds in packs of Trojan condoms over the years). One Friday after work, Lou drove to a bar where I had one too many beers. He thought it was funny every time I was drunk. Usually he would have driven back to our neighborhood, and drop me off in front of the building I lived.
Not that night. He drove to the spot where he picked up hookers. Lou turned to me and said "it's on me buddy, pick one" and I pointed at a young black girl that looked very attractive. She got in the back of the van. I moved back and joined her. At the time, I was not thinking clearly. I didn't wear protection. If that wasn't bad enough, once I was finished and went back to the passenger seat, Lou climbed to the back and said "My turn".
I woke up Saturday morning with a slight hangover, not thinking about the hooker at all. That night three parties with more sex, beer and weed made it another normal weekend for me. Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday flew by. Every day after work I'd hook up with one or more girls from the high school.
I was 21 years old and didn't care, I was selfish to the extreme. Like the saying goes "Young, Dumb and Full of C*m". Until Thursday morning that is. I woke up half asleep and went straight to the bathroom to find that I had sores where there should be none. I got scared and called Lou right away. He then reminded me about the black girl we had been with the previous week.
I screamed "Fuck!" so loud that my grandma who was still home, asked me what was going on. I lied and said I had dropped my watch in the sink. Lou told me we were not going to work that day, that we needed to go to a clinic to have ourselves checked out.
Back then AIDS was a death sentence, and we both were scared that we had gotten it. He had used protection with the hooker but was still scared out of his mind. His wife knew he cheated, but to get an STD (sexually transmitted disease) would certainly end the marriage and she was the kind of woman that would've cleaned him out.
He drove to a clinic in Manhattan where we got tested (he paid for all of it). We had to wait a week for results. That week all we did was work. No drinking, no weed, no partying. I was too scared to do anything except work.
My promiscuous lifestyle lead to one of the scariest moments in my life. How would I explain to my grandma if I had AIDS? how could I tell her the way I had gotten it? I knew that if I had AIDS, that I would tell her; she meant so much to me that there was no way for me to hide something that important from her.
The following Thursday we went back to the clinic. Lou had a clean bill of health, the female doctor spent only a few minutes with him. My time with her was different. She asked me to sit down, telling me we "need to talk". Right there I broke down and started to cry. I thought I was going to die a painful death from AIDS like I had read in newspapers and watched on TV.
She tried to calm me down, knowing exactly what I feared she said "you don't have AIDS". I looked at her and asked if she was sure. She nodded. In that moment, I was relieved and happy to be alive. That didn't last long. She waited a few minutes then hit me with "you have Herpes". I had no idea what that was, until she explained. An STD that had no cure, a disease that I would have to carry the rest of my life.
I was shocked, repeatedly asking if she was sure there was no cure for it. Patiently she kept shaking her head. She then proceeded to explain that even though there was no cure, that it could be treated so I could deal with the symptoms. She wrote a prescription for pills that would help me with the pain from the sores and another drug to make things less severe. She said my body would eventually adapt to it, but that it could take months and even years to have minimal symptoms.
Walking out of the room with a long face, Lou thought I had AIDS, and for the first time I saw compassion on his face. He softly said "I'm so sorry man". When I told him I had Herpes, his compassion vanished and he laughed so hard that people started to stare.
He shouted "Dude, Herpes? Really?" making it one of the most embarrassing moments in my life. The day had gone from fearing for my life to knowing I had a disease which had no cure.
After that day, I never had sex with any girl without protection. Not only for my own good but because I never wanted to give anyone else the disease I had. The first year was painful, being "active" (with sores either in my mouth or elsewhere) one week every month. I didn't take any other medication after I ran out of the stuff that the doctor prescribed. I wanted my body to adapt naturally without drugs.
Over the years the symptoms have lessened and I've been extremely careful to avoid sharing the cursed disease with anyone. I wouldn't wish it on my worse enemy.
Back then I didn't tell any of the girls I slept with that I had it. I thought that being careful and avoiding contact during my "active" period (there is a pun there somewhere) was enough. Yeah, I was reckless, selfish and a total asshole. Considering the odds (I slept with hundreds of girls in my 20's) I'm lucky none got it.
That wasn't the only crazy thing I went through during those years. There was the twins, the daughter and mother situation, and more.
It's not easy to share things on a blog, secrets that only those who were closest to me knew. However this is a form of therapy, to let me deal with the homelessness I'm going through right now. I look back at my past, to remind me of the lessons I learned, to avoid repeating mistakes.
Until next time.
During the 2 years I worked with Lou, I picked up bad habits from him. Drinking, smoking weed and having sex with prostitutes on a regular basis became normal to me. In between deliveries in the middle of the day, Lou would either drive to a brothel in Manhattan or to a spot in Brooklyn with young street hookers at least once a week.
If that wasn't enough, the seniors at the nearby high school would pay me to get them weed and beer. What started as a profitable "favor" for a few guys, turning into invites to weekend parties. I was always invited because I was one of the few that could legally bring a Keg of beer (or 4).
Usually I was the older guy that brought the goods (and made a few bucks doing it). Young females would practically throw themselves at me during those parties. It started on weekends, then they started looking for me every day in the afternoon (after work).
I became very promiscuous, having sex at home while my grandmother was not home, or at a girl's home while her parents were away and even at a nearby park at night. I didn't care for them, and neither did they. I was just a hookup and I was alright with that.
However everything comes at a price. I had always been careful to wear protection (I spent hundreds in packs of Trojan condoms over the years). One Friday after work, Lou drove to a bar where I had one too many beers. He thought it was funny every time I was drunk. Usually he would have driven back to our neighborhood, and drop me off in front of the building I lived.
Not that night. He drove to the spot where he picked up hookers. Lou turned to me and said "it's on me buddy, pick one" and I pointed at a young black girl that looked very attractive. She got in the back of the van. I moved back and joined her. At the time, I was not thinking clearly. I didn't wear protection. If that wasn't bad enough, once I was finished and went back to the passenger seat, Lou climbed to the back and said "My turn".
I woke up Saturday morning with a slight hangover, not thinking about the hooker at all. That night three parties with more sex, beer and weed made it another normal weekend for me. Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday flew by. Every day after work I'd hook up with one or more girls from the high school.
I was 21 years old and didn't care, I was selfish to the extreme. Like the saying goes "Young, Dumb and Full of C*m". Until Thursday morning that is. I woke up half asleep and went straight to the bathroom to find that I had sores where there should be none. I got scared and called Lou right away. He then reminded me about the black girl we had been with the previous week.
I screamed "Fuck!" so loud that my grandma who was still home, asked me what was going on. I lied and said I had dropped my watch in the sink. Lou told me we were not going to work that day, that we needed to go to a clinic to have ourselves checked out.
Back then AIDS was a death sentence, and we both were scared that we had gotten it. He had used protection with the hooker but was still scared out of his mind. His wife knew he cheated, but to get an STD (sexually transmitted disease) would certainly end the marriage and she was the kind of woman that would've cleaned him out.
He drove to a clinic in Manhattan where we got tested (he paid for all of it). We had to wait a week for results. That week all we did was work. No drinking, no weed, no partying. I was too scared to do anything except work.
My promiscuous lifestyle lead to one of the scariest moments in my life. How would I explain to my grandma if I had AIDS? how could I tell her the way I had gotten it? I knew that if I had AIDS, that I would tell her; she meant so much to me that there was no way for me to hide something that important from her.
The following Thursday we went back to the clinic. Lou had a clean bill of health, the female doctor spent only a few minutes with him. My time with her was different. She asked me to sit down, telling me we "need to talk". Right there I broke down and started to cry. I thought I was going to die a painful death from AIDS like I had read in newspapers and watched on TV.
She tried to calm me down, knowing exactly what I feared she said "you don't have AIDS". I looked at her and asked if she was sure. She nodded. In that moment, I was relieved and happy to be alive. That didn't last long. She waited a few minutes then hit me with "you have Herpes". I had no idea what that was, until she explained. An STD that had no cure, a disease that I would have to carry the rest of my life.
I was shocked, repeatedly asking if she was sure there was no cure for it. Patiently she kept shaking her head. She then proceeded to explain that even though there was no cure, that it could be treated so I could deal with the symptoms. She wrote a prescription for pills that would help me with the pain from the sores and another drug to make things less severe. She said my body would eventually adapt to it, but that it could take months and even years to have minimal symptoms.
Walking out of the room with a long face, Lou thought I had AIDS, and for the first time I saw compassion on his face. He softly said "I'm so sorry man". When I told him I had Herpes, his compassion vanished and he laughed so hard that people started to stare.
He shouted "Dude, Herpes? Really?" making it one of the most embarrassing moments in my life. The day had gone from fearing for my life to knowing I had a disease which had no cure.
After that day, I never had sex with any girl without protection. Not only for my own good but because I never wanted to give anyone else the disease I had. The first year was painful, being "active" (with sores either in my mouth or elsewhere) one week every month. I didn't take any other medication after I ran out of the stuff that the doctor prescribed. I wanted my body to adapt naturally without drugs.
Over the years the symptoms have lessened and I've been extremely careful to avoid sharing the cursed disease with anyone. I wouldn't wish it on my worse enemy.
Back then I didn't tell any of the girls I slept with that I had it. I thought that being careful and avoiding contact during my "active" period (there is a pun there somewhere) was enough. Yeah, I was reckless, selfish and a total asshole. Considering the odds (I slept with hundreds of girls in my 20's) I'm lucky none got it.
That wasn't the only crazy thing I went through during those years. There was the twins, the daughter and mother situation, and more.
It's not easy to share things on a blog, secrets that only those who were closest to me knew. However this is a form of therapy, to let me deal with the homelessness I'm going through right now. I look back at my past, to remind me of the lessons I learned, to avoid repeating mistakes.
Until next time.
May you walk in the light of God.
Sincerely.
Luis
Sincerely.
Luis
Friday, November 11, 2016
Delivery Driver with Road Rage
Hello there, I hope you had a good day.
It's been over a week since my last entry; I've been dealing with some health problems which I shared in my "Homeless Journal" blog. I'm typing while sitting on a sofa, grateful to have a place to recover for a couple of days.
I'll continue my story, when I started working for Lou, a man that on a good day was generous and on a bad day was violent. It was between 1989 and 1990 when I became Lou's helper. Working for Jack had been a good experience and I had hoped that being Lou's helper would be just as good.
Within a few days of work I learned that whenever we had a letter or package with a time limit of delivery, Lou would do anything to get it to the destination on time. Going against a one way street, driving on the sidewalk, ignoring red lights, you name it, he did it. At first I was scared to even be in the van, but within a month I saw that he would always get away with it so I got used to it.
He would be verbally abusive almost on a daily basis. Lou was a tall man, almost 6 feet tall and well built, back then I was a thin 20 year old. He would threaten people who would dare disagree with him and not even respect his wife's sons.
One day someone cut him off and he sped past the car and blocked it. He got out of our van with a baseball bat and began to hit the other car. The man inside the car was scared out of his mind. Lou hit the hood and the driver's side door. I was afraid he would hit the window and break it which could hurt the driver with the broken glass.
People started to gather at the sidewalk, screaming for him to stop. Two men rushed Lou and managed to disarm him. He began to fist fight both men easily, he was bigger than them. I heard sirens and feared that if he got arrested, I may also be charged for his actions.
I picked up the bat and threw it inside our van and had to shout "the cops are coming Lou! we need to go now!" hoping he would come to is senses. It worked, he ran so fast that he was a blur that ran past me. He started to drive away before I even had a chance to get in.
I ran at full speed after the van. Lou slowed down just enough for me to hold on to the passenger side door with one foot in the van, and then he floored it. Fearing that I may end up falling off and breaking my neck I begged him to slow down for a second so I could get in.
It must've been at least ten blocks before he stopped a moment to let me inside the van. Lou was laughing and enjoying himself while driving like a maniac. Within minutes we were far away and hiding in the upper level of a parking lot. He told our dispatcher that he wasn't feeling well and was calling it a day.
He boasted about what happened as if he had been in the right. As if the man that had cut him off had it coming. I had no choice but agree with him, fearing that not taking his side may get me hurt. Considering the man practically lived a stone's throw from me, it would have been a bad idea to upset him.
After an hour he started driving to Brooklyn, we were going home. Lou made sure to let me know "nothing happened today" if I wanted to keep working and stay in one piece. It was a threat which I did not ignore. I never mentioned that day to anyone else, until now.
Back then I was afraid of him, too scared to quit. I worked for him for 2 years. Over that period of time, I witnessed him get away with threatening people (including the owners of the business we worked for), breaking more traffic laws than I can remember and damaging private property.
Slowly my confidence grew as I became more of a friend to him than an employee. I would be able to talk back to him without any repercussions. Unfortunately I also became an accomplice to his actions. At the end of the second year of working for him, I would resent him more and more over his racist comments about Hispanics.
Name calling was normal to him and I had become mostly accustomed to it. However one morning he said something about my grandmother, I won't repeat what he said because it was disgusting. I asked him to take it back, to apologize and we'd be on our way to work or I would quit. Of course he didn't apologize, instead Lou continued to disrespect my grandmother. I got out of the van and shouted "I quit!" walking away. He called me a "pussy" and drove away at full speed.
I was scared for the next few days thinking he may threaten me to go back to work for him. He never contacted me. On occasion I'd see him around, but not once did we speak to each other.
Thinking back, I wish I had quit earlier, because I had picked up some bad habits from him. He introduced me to smoking weed, brothels in Manhattan and hookers in Brooklyn.
I lived near a high school and during those years I worked for Lou, some seniors from the school would befriend me so I could get them beer and weed. That would lead me into my wild 20's, a time when I became egotistical, more selfish and very promiscous.
That is all I can write tonight.
May you walk in the light of God.
Sincerely.
Luis
Sincerely.
Luis
Friday, November 4, 2016
Becoming a Helper
Hello dear reader, I hope you are well today.
I'm sitting at a Starbucks, remembering how sad I was when I had to leave "Chevy's" behind so many years ago.
Back then I would call myself "Andrew" because I didn't like my first name (Luis) and my second name (Andres) sounded like the word "undress".
Grandma and I had moved to our own place near Ave. M and East 17th Street by then. We lived in the 2nd floor of a small building (3 floors). It was a 2 bedroom apartment with one bathroom, a large living room and kitchen.
My bedroom was very very small, but I didn't mind. It was far better than the sofa I had slept on. We made friends with our neighbor upstairs. Funny enough the first floor was a real state office. Like in Peru, the front door lead to stairs going straight to the second floor. I never thought about that coincidence until just now.
We had a new home, and thanks to developing a fast friendship with our neighbor upstairs (Jessica) I got hired by her husband.
He was a professional carpet installer and needed a "helper". The job was simple. I would help him load the rolls of carpet from the place which contracted him, unload it at the customer's place and then coordinate to cut the carpet for each room.
His knees were in bad shape, because to install carpet he needed to use a device to stretch it out so it's flat evenly on the floor. The device required him to kick using his knees while on the floor. I also laid down the wooden strips and padding in preparation for the carpet being placed. I worked 5 days a week and got paid $5 per hour which was decent then.
Jack was a hard working man, but he was also the jealous type, many nights they would argue quite loudly. Jessica had given him 2 beautiful kids, a boy and a girl. The boy was Jesse, the younger of the two which was around 10 years old while his sister Diana was 12 years old.
I'd be trusted to babysit them on occasion. They were a unique family, with a large dog and exotic animals which including a very large lizard and a coral snake. I was always freaked out to see the snake in the large fish tank, and seeing Jesse feed it white mice.
Things slowly began to deteriorate which affected my job. Jack moved out and to this day I don't know if he decided to leave or if Jessica asked him to leave. When it happened we had already worked together over 6 months. After splitting with his wife he would pick me up every morning for a few weeks. Then one morning he informed me that he no longer could pick me up and that he had hired someone closer to him.
I understood and didn't take it personal. Jessica didn't react as well as I did, by then we were good friends and she was angry at Jack for firing me. She insisted that he let me go out of jealousy even though nothing was going on between us besides a good friendship. Jessica was a beautiful women in her late 30's that treated me like a little brother and I was glad to accept her kindness.
She did help me find a new job though. Through a girlfriend of hers that lived in our neighborhood, I was hired by a delivery driver. He was her friend's husband that worked mainly in Manhattan for an international company. His name was Lou, I totally forgot his wife's name.
My job was far easier. I would pick up or drop off packages or envelopes while Lou would drive like a maniac to get us to and from places. He was the most insensitive, crude and temperamental individual I even met.
And that was before the fist fight, and me hanging onto the van door while he was driving away at high speed.
I'll explain further next time.
May you walk in the light of God.
Sincerely.
Luis
I'm sitting at a Starbucks, remembering how sad I was when I had to leave "Chevy's" behind so many years ago.
Back then I would call myself "Andrew" because I didn't like my first name (Luis) and my second name (Andres) sounded like the word "undress".
Grandma and I had moved to our own place near Ave. M and East 17th Street by then. We lived in the 2nd floor of a small building (3 floors). It was a 2 bedroom apartment with one bathroom, a large living room and kitchen.
My bedroom was very very small, but I didn't mind. It was far better than the sofa I had slept on. We made friends with our neighbor upstairs. Funny enough the first floor was a real state office. Like in Peru, the front door lead to stairs going straight to the second floor. I never thought about that coincidence until just now.
We had a new home, and thanks to developing a fast friendship with our neighbor upstairs (Jessica) I got hired by her husband.
He was a professional carpet installer and needed a "helper". The job was simple. I would help him load the rolls of carpet from the place which contracted him, unload it at the customer's place and then coordinate to cut the carpet for each room.
His knees were in bad shape, because to install carpet he needed to use a device to stretch it out so it's flat evenly on the floor. The device required him to kick using his knees while on the floor. I also laid down the wooden strips and padding in preparation for the carpet being placed. I worked 5 days a week and got paid $5 per hour which was decent then.
Jack was a hard working man, but he was also the jealous type, many nights they would argue quite loudly. Jessica had given him 2 beautiful kids, a boy and a girl. The boy was Jesse, the younger of the two which was around 10 years old while his sister Diana was 12 years old.
I'd be trusted to babysit them on occasion. They were a unique family, with a large dog and exotic animals which including a very large lizard and a coral snake. I was always freaked out to see the snake in the large fish tank, and seeing Jesse feed it white mice.
Things slowly began to deteriorate which affected my job. Jack moved out and to this day I don't know if he decided to leave or if Jessica asked him to leave. When it happened we had already worked together over 6 months. After splitting with his wife he would pick me up every morning for a few weeks. Then one morning he informed me that he no longer could pick me up and that he had hired someone closer to him.
I understood and didn't take it personal. Jessica didn't react as well as I did, by then we were good friends and she was angry at Jack for firing me. She insisted that he let me go out of jealousy even though nothing was going on between us besides a good friendship. Jessica was a beautiful women in her late 30's that treated me like a little brother and I was glad to accept her kindness.
She did help me find a new job though. Through a girlfriend of hers that lived in our neighborhood, I was hired by a delivery driver. He was her friend's husband that worked mainly in Manhattan for an international company. His name was Lou, I totally forgot his wife's name.
My job was far easier. I would pick up or drop off packages or envelopes while Lou would drive like a maniac to get us to and from places. He was the most insensitive, crude and temperamental individual I even met.
And that was before the fist fight, and me hanging onto the van door while he was driving away at high speed.
I'll explain further next time.
May you walk in the light of God.
Sincerely.
Luis
Monday, October 31, 2016
From Peru to a Night Club in NYC
Hello dear reader, I hope you are having a wonderful Halloween with friends and family.
Funny enough I had no idea that Americans also celebrated this holiday until I got to NY in 1987. I remember when I saw people dressed up and was happy to see that there was something in common between both countries.
To continue my story; I slept on the sofa for a few months. My Grandaunt's son Xavier worked at "Chevy's" in Manhattan. It was a 50's theme night club owned by a Latino. He was a Bar Back; in charge of getting the bar stations ready before opening and assisting bartenders once they were open for business.
He filled my application with bogus information and I became a dishwasher. I got paid every week with a check; Xavier got me a fake ID so I could cash the checks at a check cashing place that didn't look at ID "too closely".
Those were some of the happiest days of my life in America (before I got married). The bartenders shared their tips with bar backs and dishwashers so I was thrilled to get a bit of cash at the end of the night. Sometimes it was a bad night and I'd get $5 and some nights it was insanely good and I'd go home with over $50.
I was treated well, almost the entire staff helping me learn English, which I was picking up at a good speed. I must mention that at the time I decided that to learn the language at a fast pace. I would only watch TV channels and listen to Radio stations in English, avoiding Spanish programming. This somewhat alienated the family, I think they assumed that I was being.. a snob of some kind. I didn't care of course, their feelings made no difference to me whatsoever, except when it came to my Grandma's. She never criticized me about it.
Taking the subway from Brooklyn to Manhattan was always an event for me those days, because I would see the Statue of Liberty. For many years I identified with the statue, it made me feel welcomed in my new country. I didn't want to feel Peruvian, my entire life there was the source of all my pain and suffering. I wanted to be an American.
Working at the night club as a dishwasher I was able sometimes to sneak a few drinks at the end of the night. The manager never caught me, and the few staff that saw me drink, just grinned and smiled. I got away with many things during my time there. There was a door leading to the alley behind the club where the dumpster was. On occasion I'd smoke with a bartender back there whenever I could get away with it. Hint: they were not cigarettes.
About half the bartenders were female, and they taught me to be a bit more confident and social. They were beautiful, kind and always smiling. It was one of the few jobs where I had female coworkers that treated me decently.
Unfortunately my time there didn't last long, in less than a year it was sold to a corporation which wanted to verify all employee identity. Xavier had no problem keeping his job, I had to quit the first week it was under new management.
Well, that is all for tonight. Until next time dear reader.
May you walk in the light of God.
Sincerely.
Luis
Funny enough I had no idea that Americans also celebrated this holiday until I got to NY in 1987. I remember when I saw people dressed up and was happy to see that there was something in common between both countries.
To continue my story; I slept on the sofa for a few months. My Grandaunt's son Xavier worked at "Chevy's" in Manhattan. It was a 50's theme night club owned by a Latino. He was a Bar Back; in charge of getting the bar stations ready before opening and assisting bartenders once they were open for business.
He filled my application with bogus information and I became a dishwasher. I got paid every week with a check; Xavier got me a fake ID so I could cash the checks at a check cashing place that didn't look at ID "too closely".
Those were some of the happiest days of my life in America (before I got married). The bartenders shared their tips with bar backs and dishwashers so I was thrilled to get a bit of cash at the end of the night. Sometimes it was a bad night and I'd get $5 and some nights it was insanely good and I'd go home with over $50.
I was treated well, almost the entire staff helping me learn English, which I was picking up at a good speed. I must mention that at the time I decided that to learn the language at a fast pace. I would only watch TV channels and listen to Radio stations in English, avoiding Spanish programming. This somewhat alienated the family, I think they assumed that I was being.. a snob of some kind. I didn't care of course, their feelings made no difference to me whatsoever, except when it came to my Grandma's. She never criticized me about it.
Taking the subway from Brooklyn to Manhattan was always an event for me those days, because I would see the Statue of Liberty. For many years I identified with the statue, it made me feel welcomed in my new country. I didn't want to feel Peruvian, my entire life there was the source of all my pain and suffering. I wanted to be an American.
Working at the night club as a dishwasher I was able sometimes to sneak a few drinks at the end of the night. The manager never caught me, and the few staff that saw me drink, just grinned and smiled. I got away with many things during my time there. There was a door leading to the alley behind the club where the dumpster was. On occasion I'd smoke with a bartender back there whenever I could get away with it. Hint: they were not cigarettes.
About half the bartenders were female, and they taught me to be a bit more confident and social. They were beautiful, kind and always smiling. It was one of the few jobs where I had female coworkers that treated me decently.
Unfortunately my time there didn't last long, in less than a year it was sold to a corporation which wanted to verify all employee identity. Xavier had no problem keeping his job, I had to quit the first week it was under new management.
Well, that is all for tonight. Until next time dear reader.
May you walk in the light of God.
Sincerely.
Luis
Friday, October 28, 2016
Home Depot takes me to New York
Hello dear reader, be at peace.
Today I've been looking back at my week. On one side, my Huffy Beach Cruiser bike was stolen, but on the other side an old friend from my past contacted me through Facebook and wants to meet me.
The bike was no big deal, it was something material that in time can be replaced; I hope it is put to good use. Meeting someone I haven't seen in 15 years, makes me nervous; a little afraid even. But there must be a reason God allowed her to find me.
So, back to the drug deal. Yeah, so there I was, scared out of my mind; frozen in the car hoping nothing goes wrong. Fortunately the deal was done quickly without the need for bullets to go through me. We then were on the move.
It took maybe an hour before I was told to get out of the car. One of the smugglers was talking to someone, and then both walked over to me. In Spanish the stranger said "Your grandmother sent me to get you.". It made sense, she did not belong here, dealing with dangerous criminals in the middle of the night. Sending a man was logical, and without a doubt I followed the man to his car.
I was safe, out of the reach of the smugglers and on my way to Chila, or so I thought. While driving, the man informed me that she was in New York and we were in California. She was on the other side of the country!
To say I was surprised would be an understatement. I knew she lived in NY but had no idea where that was until he explained it. The man was informative but serious. His spanish sounded weird, but I could understand it clearly as he did mine. He explained that it was through her local church that she had sent the money to him, to hand over to the smugglers.
Still confused I asked him when she would arrive, and his response was unexpected. She was not coming for me, she had no money left to travel and could not afford to miss work. A bit of panic crawled through me.
Questions flied through my mind. How could I get to a place so far without money? could I walk there? can I sneak onto a bus as I could in Peru? What if she doesn't want me?
Maybe he could see my reaction, because he said they would help me. When I asked what he meant by "they" he said "my family". Still a bit confused I just nodded and said "thank you". After a while we arrived at his home, he gave me a blanket and told me to sleep on the sofa.
I fell asleep fast, I was tired. In the morning the house looked like a palace. So nice, as if out of a movie. I could hear voices so I got up and followed the sound. Entering the kitchen I found the stranger, who bid me good morning and introduced his family.
Sitting around a table with him was his wife, young son (he must've been 12yrs old) and daughter who was rather attractive (she appeared to be around 15-16 years old). To be honest, they were polite, but I could sense they were not thrilled to have me there. I can't blame them. Chila had only 2 weeks to come up with a large amount of money, and then work out a way to get it to CA and get me to a safe place.
I still have no idea how she pulled it off in such a short period of time. No, that is not true. I do have an idea. She was a kind woman, always willing to help others. It was her good heart that would win the respect of others, and that probably was how she did it. Those who appreciated and respected her must have helped her.
I no longer remember the names of the people that hosted me; they gave me some clothes and fed me while I was with them. On the morning of the third day I was told that I needed to work so I could save money. It was explained to me that if I wanted to get to my grandmother as fast as possible, that I needed $300 for a plane ticket.
Back in the late 80's there was no Homeland Security, pretty much anyone could get on a plane within the states and go to any state with a ticket. I was told that the best way to get work was to stand at a certain corner early in the morning (so early that the sun didn't even seem to be out) near a Home Depot. Cheap labor. It worked.
The first thing I learned how to shout was "pick me!"; because every time there would be at least 30 undocumented people hoping to get work. On bad days, I made $3 an hour, on good days $5 an hour. Some work was easy, some was extremely strenuous and even painful.
I was so determined to get to Chila, that I had the $300 within two weeks. I wish I could remember the family that hosted me back then. 29 years have gone by; I hope god rewarded them for what they did for my grandma.
In what seemed to be the blink of an eye, I went from leaving a port accompanied by smugglers to boarding a plane to NY. Even though I was 18 years old I couldn't stop the fear of the plane crashing when it took off. I had a window seat which made it a bit harder to deal it.
My fingers became claws, holding on to the arms of my seat for dear life. My face was tense, I could barely breathe. It didn't take long for the plane to straighten up, allowing me to relax and thank God for it.
I greatly enjoyed the view from my window during the flight. When I was younger I had flown to and from Germany, but I could not recall either flight. I went through the same panic when the plane landed in NY at night.
When I arrived at La Guardia airport; Chila was there waiting for me, with her sister's son Javier. I was happy to see her, after all the years we had been apart. Grandma cried, telling me how happy she felt to see me again.
Xavier (one of her sister's son) drove us to Brooklyn; where grandma lived with her sister and her two sons. I slept on the sofa, which would be my place to sleep for a few months while I adapted to american life.
Those were easy days, a time I wish I had spent doing more productive things. At the time I had very little ambition. After all, I had dodged the bullet, literally. I was so happy to be alive and out of danger that I cared little about my future.
I was far from stupid, but neither was I wise or careful. I was selfish, careless and even felt entitled. My resentment for my mother, my hatred for Manolo and my mixed emotions for my half-brother probably were the cause of it.
It's late, time to call it a day. Until next time dear reader.
May you walk in the light of God.
Sincerely.
Luis
Today I've been looking back at my week. On one side, my Huffy Beach Cruiser bike was stolen, but on the other side an old friend from my past contacted me through Facebook and wants to meet me.
The bike was no big deal, it was something material that in time can be replaced; I hope it is put to good use. Meeting someone I haven't seen in 15 years, makes me nervous; a little afraid even. But there must be a reason God allowed her to find me.
So, back to the drug deal. Yeah, so there I was, scared out of my mind; frozen in the car hoping nothing goes wrong. Fortunately the deal was done quickly without the need for bullets to go through me. We then were on the move.
It took maybe an hour before I was told to get out of the car. One of the smugglers was talking to someone, and then both walked over to me. In Spanish the stranger said "Your grandmother sent me to get you.". It made sense, she did not belong here, dealing with dangerous criminals in the middle of the night. Sending a man was logical, and without a doubt I followed the man to his car.
I was safe, out of the reach of the smugglers and on my way to Chila, or so I thought. While driving, the man informed me that she was in New York and we were in California. She was on the other side of the country!
To say I was surprised would be an understatement. I knew she lived in NY but had no idea where that was until he explained it. The man was informative but serious. His spanish sounded weird, but I could understand it clearly as he did mine. He explained that it was through her local church that she had sent the money to him, to hand over to the smugglers.
Still confused I asked him when she would arrive, and his response was unexpected. She was not coming for me, she had no money left to travel and could not afford to miss work. A bit of panic crawled through me.
Questions flied through my mind. How could I get to a place so far without money? could I walk there? can I sneak onto a bus as I could in Peru? What if she doesn't want me?
Maybe he could see my reaction, because he said they would help me. When I asked what he meant by "they" he said "my family". Still a bit confused I just nodded and said "thank you". After a while we arrived at his home, he gave me a blanket and told me to sleep on the sofa.
I fell asleep fast, I was tired. In the morning the house looked like a palace. So nice, as if out of a movie. I could hear voices so I got up and followed the sound. Entering the kitchen I found the stranger, who bid me good morning and introduced his family.
Sitting around a table with him was his wife, young son (he must've been 12yrs old) and daughter who was rather attractive (she appeared to be around 15-16 years old). To be honest, they were polite, but I could sense they were not thrilled to have me there. I can't blame them. Chila had only 2 weeks to come up with a large amount of money, and then work out a way to get it to CA and get me to a safe place.
I still have no idea how she pulled it off in such a short period of time. No, that is not true. I do have an idea. She was a kind woman, always willing to help others. It was her good heart that would win the respect of others, and that probably was how she did it. Those who appreciated and respected her must have helped her.
I no longer remember the names of the people that hosted me; they gave me some clothes and fed me while I was with them. On the morning of the third day I was told that I needed to work so I could save money. It was explained to me that if I wanted to get to my grandmother as fast as possible, that I needed $300 for a plane ticket.
Back in the late 80's there was no Homeland Security, pretty much anyone could get on a plane within the states and go to any state with a ticket. I was told that the best way to get work was to stand at a certain corner early in the morning (so early that the sun didn't even seem to be out) near a Home Depot. Cheap labor. It worked.
The first thing I learned how to shout was "pick me!"; because every time there would be at least 30 undocumented people hoping to get work. On bad days, I made $3 an hour, on good days $5 an hour. Some work was easy, some was extremely strenuous and even painful.
I was so determined to get to Chila, that I had the $300 within two weeks. I wish I could remember the family that hosted me back then. 29 years have gone by; I hope god rewarded them for what they did for my grandma.
In what seemed to be the blink of an eye, I went from leaving a port accompanied by smugglers to boarding a plane to NY. Even though I was 18 years old I couldn't stop the fear of the plane crashing when it took off. I had a window seat which made it a bit harder to deal it.
My fingers became claws, holding on to the arms of my seat for dear life. My face was tense, I could barely breathe. It didn't take long for the plane to straighten up, allowing me to relax and thank God for it.
I greatly enjoyed the view from my window during the flight. When I was younger I had flown to and from Germany, but I could not recall either flight. I went through the same panic when the plane landed in NY at night.
When I arrived at La Guardia airport; Chila was there waiting for me, with her sister's son Javier. I was happy to see her, after all the years we had been apart. Grandma cried, telling me how happy she felt to see me again.
Xavier (one of her sister's son) drove us to Brooklyn; where grandma lived with her sister and her two sons. I slept on the sofa, which would be my place to sleep for a few months while I adapted to american life.
Those were easy days, a time I wish I had spent doing more productive things. At the time I had very little ambition. After all, I had dodged the bullet, literally. I was so happy to be alive and out of danger that I cared little about my future.
I was far from stupid, but neither was I wise or careful. I was selfish, careless and even felt entitled. My resentment for my mother, my hatred for Manolo and my mixed emotions for my half-brother probably were the cause of it.
It's late, time to call it a day. Until next time dear reader.
May you walk in the light of God.
Sincerely.
Luis
Wednesday, October 26, 2016
A life of shame and regret
Hello dear reader, I hope you had a blessed day.
It's taken me a few days to get the courage to continue recalling a most painful part of my life. I usually share the link to a new post here, but I felt so much shame that I couldn't. I will try to do it this time. I hope that people can learn from my experience, how being abused can affect a person, for years.
While mother was pregnant my behavior towards it was mixed. A part of me was happy, yet another was full of hatred. The child would be Manuel's kid, his flesh and blood. The son of the man who abused me.
Sometimes I would honestly be glad when my mother would ask me to touch her belly, to feel the baby move. But many times I would have to pretend, to act as if I was happy when all I could feel is hatred.
After he was born, mother entrusted me to help her take care of him. Back then I dropped the kid a lot, and to be honest I have no idea if it was on purpose or accidentally. What I do remember was that I felt a lot of resentment towards him.
During the pregnancy and his birth my grades dropped drastically and I started to drink in secret when I was out of the house. I didn't become a drunk, but it gave me a buzz that made me forget how miserable I felt.
I ended up being expelled out of my school, and the two schools after that. My imagination and day dreaming was partly to blame. Sometimes I would imagine being someone else, at peace, with family that truly loved me, that would protect me. Once in a while I would imagine Manuel dead at my feet. Yeah, those were dark days.
Mother eventually told me to get a job or else. So at 15 years old, without finishing what would be equivalent to high school; I got a job.
I had a friend who worked at the local Pilsen brewery that got me a job there. My task was quality control. The beers would come out on an automated line and I was to make sure no damaged or defective bottle went past my station.
The bonus was that I could drink as much beer as I wanted at work, as long as it didn't affect my performance. Everyone, even the supervisors would drink all day long. It was a great job for me at the time, every day I would leave work with a nice buzz.
Back then all my friends drank liquor and/or got high. Mother didn't know because I never invited anyone to come over. She had no idea how out of control I was when I was out of her sight.
At the time my definition of friend would be someone to drink with or get high with, or do something stupid (illegal) with. I never told any of my friends about the anger, shame and pain I carried every day.
On occasion I would see Manuel at home, playing with my half-brother. Every time I wished him to drop dead, I didn't care how it would affect his son. But I had to pretend that he was a good man, for my mother and my half-brother.
I should have told everyone what he had done, I'm certain that everyone in our building would have beaten him to a pulp, probably killed him and gotten away with it. Child molesters who get killed by a mob usually don't do time in South America, justice works like that sometimes there.
Within a few years I became reckless, but I was never caught during any of my stupid stunts. I was smart and got away with it every time. My friends encouraged me, some became accomplices.
At 18 years old I felt I could get away with anything. I was proven wrong soon after. I had crossed the wrong man, who wanted me dead and had the position and power to get away with it.
My mother found out about it, and feared for my life. She convinced some relatives to hide me, I could not be seeing in public. I spent a few weeks in the house of one of her cousins, then was moved one night to her aunt's home.
There was no way out of the situation, mother tried talking to the man I had betrayed and he told her he would shot me himself if he saw me. Realizing that I had to go somewhere, one night she sat me down at her aunt's and told me I was leaving the country.
I was surprised, since I knew we had no money to make that happen. Then she said I was going to the united states to join Chila, my grandma. I was happy but also scared. Mother told me I was going to be smuggled into a ship a night, and then I would spend two weeks at sea and then meet Chila.
What she didn't mention at the time, was that she had pretty much lied to the smugglers. Promising $2,500 dollars which we didn't have. She also didn't tell my grandma I was coming until after I had left, forcing her hand. I only found out about it later on.
Chila, didn't have that kind of money. She lived paycheck to paycheck. Chila had to borrow money from everyone she knew, asked her church for help to find someone to take me in when I arrived in California; because she lived in New York and didn't know anyone there.
As mother described, I had been smuggled onto a ship. Moved into a cabin where I was locked in, and given two meals a day. I was treated well, but more than once I had been told that if they didn't get their money, my body would never be found. I had assumed grandma had the money so I wasn't worried.
In the last day two sailors showed up and took a wall apart, and put me and two other men inside the wall. They explained that there was random checks at the port and that this was the only way to avoid being found.
All three of us were sweating for hours until finally at night they opened the wall back up. We were given clothes to make us look as we were part of the crew. Waiting until late at night we all got off the cargo ship and were told to act as if we were joking around and laugh every few minutes.
Everything went smooth, we got in two cars. I thought I was going to be dropped off, meet my grandma and be safe. Instead the cars go to a dark place in the back of some large building, meeting another pair of cars. First I was confused, then I saw one of the sailor pull packages out of the trunk.
They also had smuggled drugs. I was at a drug exchange, which if anything went wrong, I could easily get killed. So from being in danger in Peru, I went to being in danger in an entirely different country. Now I can see the humor in it, of course at the time, I didn't.
I'm a bit tired, I'll continue next time dear reader.
May you walk in the light of God.
Sincerely.
Luis
It's taken me a few days to get the courage to continue recalling a most painful part of my life. I usually share the link to a new post here, but I felt so much shame that I couldn't. I will try to do it this time. I hope that people can learn from my experience, how being abused can affect a person, for years.
While mother was pregnant my behavior towards it was mixed. A part of me was happy, yet another was full of hatred. The child would be Manuel's kid, his flesh and blood. The son of the man who abused me.
Sometimes I would honestly be glad when my mother would ask me to touch her belly, to feel the baby move. But many times I would have to pretend, to act as if I was happy when all I could feel is hatred.
After he was born, mother entrusted me to help her take care of him. Back then I dropped the kid a lot, and to be honest I have no idea if it was on purpose or accidentally. What I do remember was that I felt a lot of resentment towards him.
During the pregnancy and his birth my grades dropped drastically and I started to drink in secret when I was out of the house. I didn't become a drunk, but it gave me a buzz that made me forget how miserable I felt.
I ended up being expelled out of my school, and the two schools after that. My imagination and day dreaming was partly to blame. Sometimes I would imagine being someone else, at peace, with family that truly loved me, that would protect me. Once in a while I would imagine Manuel dead at my feet. Yeah, those were dark days.
Mother eventually told me to get a job or else. So at 15 years old, without finishing what would be equivalent to high school; I got a job.
I had a friend who worked at the local Pilsen brewery that got me a job there. My task was quality control. The beers would come out on an automated line and I was to make sure no damaged or defective bottle went past my station.
The bonus was that I could drink as much beer as I wanted at work, as long as it didn't affect my performance. Everyone, even the supervisors would drink all day long. It was a great job for me at the time, every day I would leave work with a nice buzz.
Back then all my friends drank liquor and/or got high. Mother didn't know because I never invited anyone to come over. She had no idea how out of control I was when I was out of her sight.
At the time my definition of friend would be someone to drink with or get high with, or do something stupid (illegal) with. I never told any of my friends about the anger, shame and pain I carried every day.
On occasion I would see Manuel at home, playing with my half-brother. Every time I wished him to drop dead, I didn't care how it would affect his son. But I had to pretend that he was a good man, for my mother and my half-brother.
I should have told everyone what he had done, I'm certain that everyone in our building would have beaten him to a pulp, probably killed him and gotten away with it. Child molesters who get killed by a mob usually don't do time in South America, justice works like that sometimes there.
Within a few years I became reckless, but I was never caught during any of my stupid stunts. I was smart and got away with it every time. My friends encouraged me, some became accomplices.
At 18 years old I felt I could get away with anything. I was proven wrong soon after. I had crossed the wrong man, who wanted me dead and had the position and power to get away with it.
My mother found out about it, and feared for my life. She convinced some relatives to hide me, I could not be seeing in public. I spent a few weeks in the house of one of her cousins, then was moved one night to her aunt's home.
There was no way out of the situation, mother tried talking to the man I had betrayed and he told her he would shot me himself if he saw me. Realizing that I had to go somewhere, one night she sat me down at her aunt's and told me I was leaving the country.
I was surprised, since I knew we had no money to make that happen. Then she said I was going to the united states to join Chila, my grandma. I was happy but also scared. Mother told me I was going to be smuggled into a ship a night, and then I would spend two weeks at sea and then meet Chila.
What she didn't mention at the time, was that she had pretty much lied to the smugglers. Promising $2,500 dollars which we didn't have. She also didn't tell my grandma I was coming until after I had left, forcing her hand. I only found out about it later on.
Chila, didn't have that kind of money. She lived paycheck to paycheck. Chila had to borrow money from everyone she knew, asked her church for help to find someone to take me in when I arrived in California; because she lived in New York and didn't know anyone there.
As mother described, I had been smuggled onto a ship. Moved into a cabin where I was locked in, and given two meals a day. I was treated well, but more than once I had been told that if they didn't get their money, my body would never be found. I had assumed grandma had the money so I wasn't worried.
In the last day two sailors showed up and took a wall apart, and put me and two other men inside the wall. They explained that there was random checks at the port and that this was the only way to avoid being found.
All three of us were sweating for hours until finally at night they opened the wall back up. We were given clothes to make us look as we were part of the crew. Waiting until late at night we all got off the cargo ship and were told to act as if we were joking around and laugh every few minutes.
Everything went smooth, we got in two cars. I thought I was going to be dropped off, meet my grandma and be safe. Instead the cars go to a dark place in the back of some large building, meeting another pair of cars. First I was confused, then I saw one of the sailor pull packages out of the trunk.
They also had smuggled drugs. I was at a drug exchange, which if anything went wrong, I could easily get killed. So from being in danger in Peru, I went to being in danger in an entirely different country. Now I can see the humor in it, of course at the time, I didn't.
I'm a bit tired, I'll continue next time dear reader.
May you walk in the light of God.
Sincerely.
Luis
Friday, October 21, 2016
My secret revealed
Good day dear reader, I hope you are having a great day.
Today I will reveal how my childhood turned into a nightmare. It is something I've only told a handful of people. My wife knew, and for some reason, still loved me.
Here goes.
After my grandma left Peru, mother took over running the building. I never met the owner; apparently grandma had made some deal with the person decades ago in writing, which limited how much he could raise the price of leasing the building which my family in turn rented out.
I knew from conversations I overheard that the owner tried to force us out legally, but the contract must have been so well done that he just couldn't.
One of the renters was a nice man, Mr. Larrea. He was always kind to me, giving me advice, and candy. He had a niece, who became my first crush. To this day I remember her name. Lina. She was beautiful, a few years older than me and I was in love with her even before I knew what the word meant.
Without my grandma around, mother felt free to do things which probably wouldn't have met Chila's approval. She opened up a small business right in front of our home. She sold jewelry that she made herself and women clothes that she bought wholesale.
She started with a table, then moved onto a nice glass display on wheels which I helped her carry back upstairs. Our front door lead straight to stairs going to the second floor of the building, because the ground floor was taken by a shoe store that paid us rent.
Mother would go out often at night, but always spent time with me during the day, helping me with homework and making me part of her business downstairs as her "little helper".
She didn't bring men home, until one day she introduced me to a "friend" of hers. His name was Manuel.
It was obvious that he was less sophisticated than my mother, but I didn't care because he seemed like a nice man. Within a few months, I saw him as a father figure. He would take me to the movies, give me money for the local arcade and gave me the attention I wanted from a father. All three of us would go out to eat every week like a family.
I never heard him talk about what he did for a living, but mother always said he was a hard worker. Little did she know that she had invited a predator into our home.
One day mother told me she needed to be away for a few days and that Manuel would take care of me. She trusted him, I trusted him. There was no way for her to know that my life would change because of that act of trust.
The first night she was gone we watched TV in the living room until late at night, which wasn't out of the ordinary. I was tired and wanted to go to bed. He told me to stay on the sofa and turned off the lights. He then said that sometimes good friends sleep together. He asked me if we were friends and innocently I said "yes".
In the darkness he stripped me of my clothes, I thought he was helping me get into my pajamas. He then moved me to lay down next to him. He was naked and I could feel him laying behind me. I was confused, because nobody had ever told me that something like that was wrong.
He moved my hand and placed it on his privates. I didn't know what to do. I thought he was going to become my father, I feared that if I didn't do what he said my mother may become angry at me for disobeying,
That was the first night he sexually abused me. I don't want to go into great detail, it has taken me decades to forcefully push the memories down into a locked room in my mind.
The two days my mother was gone, was just the beginning. He would molest me at every chance we were alone or out of sight of others. This went on for months.
Eventually my mother noticed that my behavior was changing. I was easily startled, afraid of the dark to the point I always wanted a light on in my room; even when going to sleep.
One night she sat me down in her bedroom and I don't even remember what she said. But sometime during our chat I must have given her enough information for her to figure things out. I do remember her face, she was shocked, and angry.
For a moment I thought she was angry at me and perhaps she could see my fear because she hugged me tight and spoke softly. The words she used still escape me, but whatever she said made me feel at ease.
She told me not to move, and then left the room furious. Next thing I hear my mother screaming, cursing and I had to get up and look at what was going on. I saw my mother attacking Manuel, punching him and calling him names, telling him to leave, that she was going to kill him.
He only put his hands up defensively, fortunately he didn't fight back. Renters started to come out of their rooms due to the ruckus. Manuel was smart enough to know that if the men in the building heard what he had done, they would probably kill him, It was Peru after all. He left quickly.
I could hear the neighbors ask her if she was alright, and what had happened. She just told them that she had broken up with her boyfriend and that he didn't want to leave.
Apparently the truth was too embarrassing for her. No police was ever called. Not that day, or any other day. All she could say was that she was sorry. Not too long after she hired a female psychiatrist which to be honest, didn't make me feel any better.
The woman would mostly ask me for details of the abuse, how he did this and that. I hated her for doing that, and started to hate my mother for making me go through it in my head again with someone I considered a stranger. I did learn that what had happened to me was very very bad. Realizing that I had been abused gave birth to a hatred that was quite alive until just a few years ago.
She kept me out of school for a few weeks, spent time with me, buying me new clothes and toys as if that could fix anything. However as weeks passed by, I saw the sadness she carried. Slowly I started to get closer to her again. A sense of normality started to form. It didn't last long.
Two months after the night she had kicked out the man who had raped me, we had a conversation that numbed me. She was pregnant with Manuel's child, I was going to be a big brother. Her religion prohibited her from not having it. Then she told me I needed to forget what had happened to me, because her child needed to have a father.
I did as I was told. I had to pretend in front of everyone that he was a good man. At the time my mother was smart enough to distract me with the pregnancy, because I had always wanted to have more siblings.
Fortunately Manuel was never allowed to be alone with me or to move back in.
My feelings were a storm of fear, anger, sadness, disgust and shame.
I can't continue typing right now, I'll try to continue in a few days.
May you walk in the light of God.
Sincerely.
Luis
Today I will reveal how my childhood turned into a nightmare. It is something I've only told a handful of people. My wife knew, and for some reason, still loved me.
Here goes.
After my grandma left Peru, mother took over running the building. I never met the owner; apparently grandma had made some deal with the person decades ago in writing, which limited how much he could raise the price of leasing the building which my family in turn rented out.
I knew from conversations I overheard that the owner tried to force us out legally, but the contract must have been so well done that he just couldn't.
One of the renters was a nice man, Mr. Larrea. He was always kind to me, giving me advice, and candy. He had a niece, who became my first crush. To this day I remember her name. Lina. She was beautiful, a few years older than me and I was in love with her even before I knew what the word meant.
Without my grandma around, mother felt free to do things which probably wouldn't have met Chila's approval. She opened up a small business right in front of our home. She sold jewelry that she made herself and women clothes that she bought wholesale.
She started with a table, then moved onto a nice glass display on wheels which I helped her carry back upstairs. Our front door lead straight to stairs going to the second floor of the building, because the ground floor was taken by a shoe store that paid us rent.
Mother would go out often at night, but always spent time with me during the day, helping me with homework and making me part of her business downstairs as her "little helper".
She didn't bring men home, until one day she introduced me to a "friend" of hers. His name was Manuel.
It was obvious that he was less sophisticated than my mother, but I didn't care because he seemed like a nice man. Within a few months, I saw him as a father figure. He would take me to the movies, give me money for the local arcade and gave me the attention I wanted from a father. All three of us would go out to eat every week like a family.
I never heard him talk about what he did for a living, but mother always said he was a hard worker. Little did she know that she had invited a predator into our home.
One day mother told me she needed to be away for a few days and that Manuel would take care of me. She trusted him, I trusted him. There was no way for her to know that my life would change because of that act of trust.
The first night she was gone we watched TV in the living room until late at night, which wasn't out of the ordinary. I was tired and wanted to go to bed. He told me to stay on the sofa and turned off the lights. He then said that sometimes good friends sleep together. He asked me if we were friends and innocently I said "yes".
In the darkness he stripped me of my clothes, I thought he was helping me get into my pajamas. He then moved me to lay down next to him. He was naked and I could feel him laying behind me. I was confused, because nobody had ever told me that something like that was wrong.
He moved my hand and placed it on his privates. I didn't know what to do. I thought he was going to become my father, I feared that if I didn't do what he said my mother may become angry at me for disobeying,
That was the first night he sexually abused me. I don't want to go into great detail, it has taken me decades to forcefully push the memories down into a locked room in my mind.
The two days my mother was gone, was just the beginning. He would molest me at every chance we were alone or out of sight of others. This went on for months.
Eventually my mother noticed that my behavior was changing. I was easily startled, afraid of the dark to the point I always wanted a light on in my room; even when going to sleep.
One night she sat me down in her bedroom and I don't even remember what she said. But sometime during our chat I must have given her enough information for her to figure things out. I do remember her face, she was shocked, and angry.
For a moment I thought she was angry at me and perhaps she could see my fear because she hugged me tight and spoke softly. The words she used still escape me, but whatever she said made me feel at ease.
She told me not to move, and then left the room furious. Next thing I hear my mother screaming, cursing and I had to get up and look at what was going on. I saw my mother attacking Manuel, punching him and calling him names, telling him to leave, that she was going to kill him.
He only put his hands up defensively, fortunately he didn't fight back. Renters started to come out of their rooms due to the ruckus. Manuel was smart enough to know that if the men in the building heard what he had done, they would probably kill him, It was Peru after all. He left quickly.
I could hear the neighbors ask her if she was alright, and what had happened. She just told them that she had broken up with her boyfriend and that he didn't want to leave.
Apparently the truth was too embarrassing for her. No police was ever called. Not that day, or any other day. All she could say was that she was sorry. Not too long after she hired a female psychiatrist which to be honest, didn't make me feel any better.
The woman would mostly ask me for details of the abuse, how he did this and that. I hated her for doing that, and started to hate my mother for making me go through it in my head again with someone I considered a stranger. I did learn that what had happened to me was very very bad. Realizing that I had been abused gave birth to a hatred that was quite alive until just a few years ago.
She kept me out of school for a few weeks, spent time with me, buying me new clothes and toys as if that could fix anything. However as weeks passed by, I saw the sadness she carried. Slowly I started to get closer to her again. A sense of normality started to form. It didn't last long.
Two months after the night she had kicked out the man who had raped me, we had a conversation that numbed me. She was pregnant with Manuel's child, I was going to be a big brother. Her religion prohibited her from not having it. Then she told me I needed to forget what had happened to me, because her child needed to have a father.
I did as I was told. I had to pretend in front of everyone that he was a good man. At the time my mother was smart enough to distract me with the pregnancy, because I had always wanted to have more siblings.
Fortunately Manuel was never allowed to be alone with me or to move back in.
My feelings were a storm of fear, anger, sadness, disgust and shame.
I can't continue typing right now, I'll try to continue in a few days.
May you walk in the light of God.
Sincerely.
Luis
Tuesday, October 18, 2016
Love like no other, Grandma FTW
Hello dear reader, I hope you had a blessed day. Today I was going to share more of my childhood with you. However, to be honest, I would like to postpone talking about something that made such negative impact on my life.
Instead today I will talk about someone that loved me more than anyone in my life, my grandmother.
Her name was Ercilia, but she was called "Chila" which was a nickname that actually came from me. Apparently when I was a toddler in Peru while I was still learning to speak, I was unable to say her name properly, thus I called her Chila. After that the nickname stuck for her entire life.
Looking back, I knew so little about her. She was born in 1929, a beauty in her youth (she showed me pictures of her when she was younger a few years before she left Peru). She would not talk about her parents to me, and very little about the man who was my grandfather, except that he had been a sailor.
She used to be the proud owner of a beauty salon in her 30's, a successful woman before she got pregnant with my mother and her brother. I have no idea what happened between that time and us living in a building we rented.
I do know that Chila hadn't approved of my mother marrying my father, or the marriage to the German. Once I remember overhearing a conversation between grandma and my mother reminding her how she warned her that she had rushed to marry a foreigner; without taking the time to know him better, just to go to Europe.
Both times Chila had been right. I suspect that she had gone though some pains of her own, with her parents and the man who was my mother's father. Grandma was a source of wisdom, but she could also be stubborn.
The woman rarely would stand down from her point of view, and everyone with an ounce of sense listened to her advice.
Here comes the part which may be weird. She was also a "Curandera", a "Healer". She was a practitioner of witchcraft, somewhat. It was a mix of christian, catholic and pagan practice. She would smoke cigars, chant, use holy water, pray to God, Jesus, some saints and read tea leaves in a cup among other things.
She would always keep her "work" away from us, always did it privately. Her clientele were usually women, and on occasion men. I'm certain she never accepted clients that wanted her to do harm to anyone, it was not in her nature.
I remember one night during a full moon, I went to the roof and she was there with a group of women, smoking cigars. She was telling me to go back downstairs when one of the women who was probably a friend of hers said to let me stay, because there was no harm in watching.
They would exhale the smoke up, towards the sky. There was some chanting which sounded as if they were singing a beautiful song. I don't remember the words, but it was something I've never forgotten.
I was her favorite grandson, she would tell me secretly in whispers, and always asked me not to tell anyone because she did not want to hurt others feelings.
When she left Peru for the United States, I thought she was going on a plane, and just land over there and then just meet her sister. After all that is how mother and I went to another country. Get on a plane, get there, go to a new home.
I had no idea that she had come here illegally, risking her life to provide for us. That in her 50's she had crossed the border from Mexico at night, then ran through darkness following a "Coyote" (a Mexican smugger).
I only found out about it once I got here when I was 18 years old.
To be honest, I was a total asshole when I got here, with reason. I had so many damn issues, because of... well the same reason I'm writing this instead of what I was going to talk about. I had trust issues, I was full of anger, hatred, felt betrayed, guilty and so much more.
I doubt my mother ever told Chila the truth as to why I had changed, But I got a feeling that perhaps grandma must have suspected that something serious had taken place; to turn her favorite grandson, into someone totally different.
However she was the same; always kind, giving, caring. Once in a while, I think of her and I tear up. As I'm typing, it is exactly what is happening. I wish she was still alive, so I could tell her how much I truly loved her, to thank her for all the advice she gave which I foolishly ignored for so long.
I thought talking about her would be easier, but I guess I was wrong. My heart still aches for one more hug from her, another smile, just to hear her say that she loves me just one more time. I know she is forever gone, but I'm sure wherever she is, that her kind soul is free of the pain she was feeling during her last days.
I need to stop now.
May you walk in the light of God.
Sincerely.
Luis
I need to stop now.
May you walk in the light of God.
Sincerely.
Luis
Wednesday, October 12, 2016
How Hitler made me forget Germany
Good day dear reader, I hope you had a great week. Mine has been interesting.
A friend of mine who is also homeless is back in the hospital. I've been looking after him for weeks because he is 75 years old and his memory sometimes fails him. He forgets to take care of himself, so I became his friend while helping him out.
In my previous letter, I mentioned leaving Germany, which was the best part of my childhood. There is no other way to describe it. Even today I can close my eyes and remember looking out the window to the street below, the beautiful German neighborhood I lived in.
I don't quite remember arriving in Peru. What I do recall, was that we met my grandma, and she was very kind and sweet to me. At first I could not understand her, but I felt her love. Mother decided to place me in a private school to help me adapt.
That was a big mistake. Because I spoke German the kids at the school started to say "Hail Hitler" to me (among other thing). At the time I didn't know what it meant, but the tone in which was spoken made it clear to me, that I was being insulted. I got bullied every day, until I told my mother about Hitler.
She became very upset over it and took me out of that private school within days. I thought that speaking German was bad, so I started to watch TV more; kids shows of course. While my mother was figuring out where I should go to school; I was learning Spanish in record time.
By the time she decided on the local school "Don Bosco" my Spanish was good enough so I wouldn't be picked on. I didn't take long to become a normal Peruvian kid. My favorite sport was basketball, rather than soccer (we call it Futbol).
I had good grades, wasn't a troublemaker and only got into one fight with a kid which was... let's say heavier than me. I must've been around 10 years old when it happened. He was a little older than me, the fight took place at a park not too far from the school. A lot of kids were there, forming a circle around us.
I remember that he hit me first. I took a punch to the right side of my face and asked him "Is that the hardest you can hit me?". He then charged me at a speed I didn't think was possible (because of his weight).
Next thing I'm on the ground and he is on top of me, sitting on me. I'm face down, unable to get up. He is just jumping up and down as if I was a sofa. Everyone was laughing, while I was in pain every time he put his weight down on me.
I had no choice but to give up. He got up and made it clear to everyone he was the winner by raising his arms. I don't even remember the reason for the fight, but it was the second time I felt embarrassed, the first being called Hitler.
Funny enough, within a few weeks we sort of became friends. Not close friends, but close enough that nobody would even think of messing with me. He was a bully and nobody in our class ever challenged him. The kids which were in the higher grades didn't mess with him either,
That part of my childhood was average I guess. My family was middle class, well, lower middle class. We did not own a house, we rented. I tried to forget Germany, because it made me feel as if I had gone from paradise to a bad place.
One day for some reason that I can't quite figure out myself to this day, I faked passing out right after school was out. I was so convincing that one of my teachers took me to the principal's office so he could take a look at me, The school was run by Father Pighi and Father Puy (I think that is how it is pronounced, I could not find any info online about Puy).
I "woke up" on the leather couch in the office and pretended to not know how I had gotten there, my mother showed up worried but I assured her that I was feeling fine, I suspect that maybe I did it to get her attention because she was sort of dating one of my teachers, but I really don't know if that was the reason. After all, he was one of my favorite teachers.
Within a few years I had totally forgotten my days in Hamburg, instead my mind was in getting candy, playing games at the local arcade, playing basketball at my school (after classes were over).
However something which in the long run would change my life came out of nowhere. Grandma, the person I loved the most (more than my mother) was leaving us. She had a sister in New York and she was going to join her. I had no idea why she had to go, I begged her to stay but all she would say was that she loved me and that she would send me gifts.
I had no idea why she was leaving. Of course now I know why she did it. Our family was struggling financially, I didn't see it because I was a child. Had she stayed... I'm pretty sure she would have protected me from the nightmare that would taint my childhood forever.
It won't be easy writing the next letter dear reader, but I will try my best.
May you walk in the light of God.
Sincerely.
Luis
A friend of mine who is also homeless is back in the hospital. I've been looking after him for weeks because he is 75 years old and his memory sometimes fails him. He forgets to take care of himself, so I became his friend while helping him out.
In my previous letter, I mentioned leaving Germany, which was the best part of my childhood. There is no other way to describe it. Even today I can close my eyes and remember looking out the window to the street below, the beautiful German neighborhood I lived in.
I don't quite remember arriving in Peru. What I do recall, was that we met my grandma, and she was very kind and sweet to me. At first I could not understand her, but I felt her love. Mother decided to place me in a private school to help me adapt.
That was a big mistake. Because I spoke German the kids at the school started to say "Hail Hitler" to me (among other thing). At the time I didn't know what it meant, but the tone in which was spoken made it clear to me, that I was being insulted. I got bullied every day, until I told my mother about Hitler.
She became very upset over it and took me out of that private school within days. I thought that speaking German was bad, so I started to watch TV more; kids shows of course. While my mother was figuring out where I should go to school; I was learning Spanish in record time.
By the time she decided on the local school "Don Bosco" my Spanish was good enough so I wouldn't be picked on. I didn't take long to become a normal Peruvian kid. My favorite sport was basketball, rather than soccer (we call it Futbol).
I had good grades, wasn't a troublemaker and only got into one fight with a kid which was... let's say heavier than me. I must've been around 10 years old when it happened. He was a little older than me, the fight took place at a park not too far from the school. A lot of kids were there, forming a circle around us.
I remember that he hit me first. I took a punch to the right side of my face and asked him "Is that the hardest you can hit me?". He then charged me at a speed I didn't think was possible (because of his weight).
Next thing I'm on the ground and he is on top of me, sitting on me. I'm face down, unable to get up. He is just jumping up and down as if I was a sofa. Everyone was laughing, while I was in pain every time he put his weight down on me.
I had no choice but to give up. He got up and made it clear to everyone he was the winner by raising his arms. I don't even remember the reason for the fight, but it was the second time I felt embarrassed, the first being called Hitler.
Funny enough, within a few weeks we sort of became friends. Not close friends, but close enough that nobody would even think of messing with me. He was a bully and nobody in our class ever challenged him. The kids which were in the higher grades didn't mess with him either,
That part of my childhood was average I guess. My family was middle class, well, lower middle class. We did not own a house, we rented. I tried to forget Germany, because it made me feel as if I had gone from paradise to a bad place.
One day for some reason that I can't quite figure out myself to this day, I faked passing out right after school was out. I was so convincing that one of my teachers took me to the principal's office so he could take a look at me, The school was run by Father Pighi and Father Puy (I think that is how it is pronounced, I could not find any info online about Puy).
I "woke up" on the leather couch in the office and pretended to not know how I had gotten there, my mother showed up worried but I assured her that I was feeling fine, I suspect that maybe I did it to get her attention because she was sort of dating one of my teachers, but I really don't know if that was the reason. After all, he was one of my favorite teachers.
Within a few years I had totally forgotten my days in Hamburg, instead my mind was in getting candy, playing games at the local arcade, playing basketball at my school (after classes were over).
However something which in the long run would change my life came out of nowhere. Grandma, the person I loved the most (more than my mother) was leaving us. She had a sister in New York and she was going to join her. I had no idea why she had to go, I begged her to stay but all she would say was that she loved me and that she would send me gifts.
I had no idea why she was leaving. Of course now I know why she did it. Our family was struggling financially, I didn't see it because I was a child. Had she stayed... I'm pretty sure she would have protected me from the nightmare that would taint my childhood forever.
It won't be easy writing the next letter dear reader, but I will try my best.
May you walk in the light of God.
Sincerely.
Luis
Friday, October 7, 2016
Matthew waved at me
Hello dear reader, I hope you are healthy in every sense of the word, by the grace of god.
Today I thank god for his kindness, Hurricane Matthew could have plowed through Delray Beach and turned it upside down. Instead everyone got a scare for a few hours while staying inside a hurricane shelter at a local high school.
Even though today I have no place too call home, I'm still grateful to be alive.
In my previous letter I started at the beginning, let us continue the walk down the story of my life.
Germany. Back then I felt German, not Peruvian. I spoke the German language fluently and knew very few Spanish words. My mother would call me "Luchito" which is an endearment of my name. Usually if you have the name Luis in my country your nickname is "Lucho". So "Luchito" would be the equivalent of calling me "little Luis".
I loved living there, playing hide and seek, laughing with Mike almost every day. It was a paradise to me, if it was imperfect, my childish view of the world probably was blind to any imperfection during that period of my young life.
Mother would call grandma about once or twice a month, I could tell because she would speak Spanish to her over the phone. I couldn't understand their conversations but I could see sometimes the sadness over my mother's face after the call.
I must've been around 8 years old when mother told me we were leaving Germany to go back to Peru. I was angry, not comprehending that because my mother had divorced her abusive husband she could not stay legally in Europe for too long. She didn't explain that legal aspect to me but I figured it out years later.
What she did tell me was that grandma wanted us both back. I didn't remember her, even asked my mother why couldn't she come to us instead. The answer to my question was that grandma just couldn't make the trip but that we could.
It was the first time in my life I remember real sadness and pain, from leaving my best friend Mike, my school, the neighborhood, the park nearby, riding my bike down the street.
The day we left is a blur to me. Leaving the apartment with our luggage, taking the elevator downstairs, hugging my friend Mike goodbye, getting into the taxi that took us to the airport, boarding the plane to Peru. I recall it as a flash, if it all had taken place in a matter of seconds.
Just when I thought things couldn't get worse, they did soon after we arrived. I will explain further in my next letter dear reader.
May you walk in the light of God.
Sincerely.
Luis
Today I thank god for his kindness, Hurricane Matthew could have plowed through Delray Beach and turned it upside down. Instead everyone got a scare for a few hours while staying inside a hurricane shelter at a local high school.
Even though today I have no place too call home, I'm still grateful to be alive.
In my previous letter I started at the beginning, let us continue the walk down the story of my life.
Germany. Back then I felt German, not Peruvian. I spoke the German language fluently and knew very few Spanish words. My mother would call me "Luchito" which is an endearment of my name. Usually if you have the name Luis in my country your nickname is "Lucho". So "Luchito" would be the equivalent of calling me "little Luis".
I loved living there, playing hide and seek, laughing with Mike almost every day. It was a paradise to me, if it was imperfect, my childish view of the world probably was blind to any imperfection during that period of my young life.
Mother would call grandma about once or twice a month, I could tell because she would speak Spanish to her over the phone. I couldn't understand their conversations but I could see sometimes the sadness over my mother's face after the call.
I must've been around 8 years old when mother told me we were leaving Germany to go back to Peru. I was angry, not comprehending that because my mother had divorced her abusive husband she could not stay legally in Europe for too long. She didn't explain that legal aspect to me but I figured it out years later.
What she did tell me was that grandma wanted us both back. I didn't remember her, even asked my mother why couldn't she come to us instead. The answer to my question was that grandma just couldn't make the trip but that we could.
It was the first time in my life I remember real sadness and pain, from leaving my best friend Mike, my school, the neighborhood, the park nearby, riding my bike down the street.
The day we left is a blur to me. Leaving the apartment with our luggage, taking the elevator downstairs, hugging my friend Mike goodbye, getting into the taxi that took us to the airport, boarding the plane to Peru. I recall it as a flash, if it all had taken place in a matter of seconds.
Just when I thought things couldn't get worse, they did soon after we arrived. I will explain further in my next letter dear reader.
May you walk in the light of God.
Sincerely.
Luis
Thursday, September 29, 2016
In the beginning...
Hello dear reader, how are you today? I hope you had a wonderful day by the grace of god.
Where should I start? I guess, at the beginning.
Do I remember my childhood? barely. Was it so bad that I blocked it all? No. Well, the good parts I remember I guess.
I was born in August of 1969 in the country of Peru (south america). I don't remember my father leaving me and my mother, all I knew was that I had a mother and no father. I think I was 5 years old, old enough to understand what it meant when she explained it to me, that he had left us but that it was not my fault. It wasn't until years later after we returned from Germany that I found out he had left us for his mistress.
Germany... good memories there. I don't remember even the face of the man my mother fell in love with, but I remember how we left Peru with my grandmother crying at the airport the day we left for Europe. I believe I was about 7 years old.
It didn't take long for things to change, the kind German turned into a monster. I can still remember how badly he had treated her. I could hear the screams and how he abused her verbally and physically. I hated him, wanting him to disappear, It went on for a few months, until one night mother packed our things and we left to live with a girlfriend of hers, I think they were coworkers.
Mother worked at a hospital, I'm pretty sure she was a nurse and the way her friend treated me with kindness and always with a smile. I thought that she had to also be a nurse.
It did not take long for her to divorce, even tho she never mentioned the word, only that we would never be with that bad man again.
A few weeks went by before we moved into a small apartment in a tall building (at least it looked tall from the outside). I'm certain we lived in Hamburg.
There is where I met my friend Mike. I don't even know how to pronounce his name properly, decades have passed since then. Probably his full name was Michael, and his last name sounded like Lepa or something like it.
He was a blond kid, a bit older than me. Son of a woman that lived downstairs from us, we played ball, rode our bikes in the neighborhood and played with our toys every day. It was the most innocent and wonderful part of my childhood, something I held on to for many years, and still recall on occasion with fondness.
Every weekend or so mother would take me with her down to the local laundromat where I would run around (because I didn't listen to mother, like most kids do at that age) while she was taking care of our clothes. One weekend, I ran straight into the door handle of one of the washers. Next thing all I saw was red and hearing my mother screaming frantically.
I remember being in an ambulance, then waking up in a hospital bed with bandages over my left eye. My mother was sitting on a chair next to the bed. She told me I was lucky that I still had an eye, that the German doctors had saved me from being half blind.
To be honest, at the time I didn't understand it all. It took many years until I could understand how badly I had injured myself. Today I can feel the bone under my left eye, pushed in as if someone had hammered part of it.
A few weeks went by and everything went back to normal, back to school, back to playing with my best friend Mike, back to being a careless kid again. My mother did become a bit more protective then.
I wonder sometimes what I would've become had we stayed there. Until next time dear reader, I will write my next letter as soon as I can.
May you walk in the light of God.
Sincerely.
Luis
Where should I start? I guess, at the beginning.
Do I remember my childhood? barely. Was it so bad that I blocked it all? No. Well, the good parts I remember I guess.
I was born in August of 1969 in the country of Peru (south america). I don't remember my father leaving me and my mother, all I knew was that I had a mother and no father. I think I was 5 years old, old enough to understand what it meant when she explained it to me, that he had left us but that it was not my fault. It wasn't until years later after we returned from Germany that I found out he had left us for his mistress.
Germany... good memories there. I don't remember even the face of the man my mother fell in love with, but I remember how we left Peru with my grandmother crying at the airport the day we left for Europe. I believe I was about 7 years old.
It didn't take long for things to change, the kind German turned into a monster. I can still remember how badly he had treated her. I could hear the screams and how he abused her verbally and physically. I hated him, wanting him to disappear, It went on for a few months, until one night mother packed our things and we left to live with a girlfriend of hers, I think they were coworkers.
Mother worked at a hospital, I'm pretty sure she was a nurse and the way her friend treated me with kindness and always with a smile. I thought that she had to also be a nurse.
It did not take long for her to divorce, even tho she never mentioned the word, only that we would never be with that bad man again.
A few weeks went by before we moved into a small apartment in a tall building (at least it looked tall from the outside). I'm certain we lived in Hamburg.
There is where I met my friend Mike. I don't even know how to pronounce his name properly, decades have passed since then. Probably his full name was Michael, and his last name sounded like Lepa or something like it.
He was a blond kid, a bit older than me. Son of a woman that lived downstairs from us, we played ball, rode our bikes in the neighborhood and played with our toys every day. It was the most innocent and wonderful part of my childhood, something I held on to for many years, and still recall on occasion with fondness.
Every weekend or so mother would take me with her down to the local laundromat where I would run around (because I didn't listen to mother, like most kids do at that age) while she was taking care of our clothes. One weekend, I ran straight into the door handle of one of the washers. Next thing all I saw was red and hearing my mother screaming frantically.
I remember being in an ambulance, then waking up in a hospital bed with bandages over my left eye. My mother was sitting on a chair next to the bed. She told me I was lucky that I still had an eye, that the German doctors had saved me from being half blind.
To be honest, at the time I didn't understand it all. It took many years until I could understand how badly I had injured myself. Today I can feel the bone under my left eye, pushed in as if someone had hammered part of it.
A few weeks went by and everything went back to normal, back to school, back to playing with my best friend Mike, back to being a careless kid again. My mother did become a bit more protective then.
I wonder sometimes what I would've become had we stayed there. Until next time dear reader, I will write my next letter as soon as I can.
May you walk in the light of God.
Sincerely.
Luis
Wednesday, September 28, 2016
Letters of my Life
I've decided to put my entire life here, on this blog. Of course there is no way to describe everything in deep detail or it would take me another lifetime to do so. As to the reason, it is not clear cut.
On one hand I want to think back to the things that have happened in my life, some have been horrible, some have been blessed. On the other hand I would like to share my life experience with others who perhaps can learn from my bad and good decisions.
But the most important reason is this, I'm 47 years old and homeless. I don't know if I'll be alive tomorrow.
I've considered how to approach this, and I think posting in the form of a letter to a friend sharing my life would be something I can accomplish.
Unfortunately I cannot guarantee daily or even weekly posts. It all depends if I'm near a public library or another open WiFi connection.
There are aspects of my life which are very painful, but I feel that I should be able to not only recall my experience, but also to remember how it affected me, positively and negatively.
God has a plan for everyone, I have no idea what my future holds, but I trust that god will guide me in the right direction.
God bless you reader.
Sincerely.
Luis
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