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
Showing posts with label Resentment. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Resentment. Show all posts
Friday, October 28, 2016
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
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)