Favourites & Scapegoats

I always thought I was hollow. Like the chair in the photo. Too broken at the beginning of the journey and too battered to put in the effort commensurate with the goals. That's why I always read everything I could get my hands on. To fill this sad void that I have carried through my life since birth. And then something happened. I left my country of origin.

I came to this land without mercy. I worked, I failed; I loved, I hated. My name was mispronounced as many times as the gallons of rain and gales rolled across the land. My views were misunderstood, twisted and turned, mixed with mud and taken for granted. Theories arose about who I am or who I was, where I was, and who I was with. In most cases, others had an imaginary view of me based on one or two incidents, which were usually so misconceived that the only action that could be taken was self-defence.

In my case, any actions towards me were quite nasty. And then something changed again. More inwardly than ever. I discovered my true self.

It happened through writing. You know, like you've been a reader your whole life and you finally end up on the other side. That no matter how many books and stories you read, this fire in you will never go out. It can only get stronger and stronger until it is fulfilled.

After discovering that I had been a scapegoat my whole life, first in my family and then in my jobs, which I wanted to leave at the slightest opportunity, my life became one big battlefield. I was never who I truly was. All I did was to please someone outwardly to receive a reward, whether it was money or the satisfaction from a job well done. But the more I worked and tried to be there for these reasons, the more this tingle grew around me and people rallying against me. Now I know what it is. Jealousy.

They were jealous because they knew all I needed was to let it continue, and for that they needed an army. I always wanted to be independent, but I never thought it would make anyone around me hate me. I wanted to be independent and alone for one reason only: to write whenever I wanted. So that I don't get interrupted when I have a burst of creativity (or “creative flow” if you prefer) and I can't lose it because someone wants to do things "together", whatever "together" means. And at this stage of my life, I would give everything for this. And if you're a writer and you've been waiting for inspiration for days or months, you definitely know what I'm talking about here. This is especially true for fiction authors.

After losing everything and everyone around me, I know this is not the way. But what if this is the result of dealing with people who never accepted me as a writer, even though I honestly told them so face to face? People who thought I was unfaithful (in love); a cold, heartless bitch who left my old parents alone (they always had their favourite, my sister, the biggest enemy they could create by turning her against me, or maybe it was just the opposite and she was the one who turned them against me, which is basically the same thing morally); a lazy bum who just wanted money (I worked harder on myself than anyone else to put other people's insults out of my head instead of working on solutions that were to be solved by the seniors in company); constant noise maker despite the inability to write and live with entertainment that exceeds all living standards (other tenants in the area). “Whatever people say I am, that's what I'm not,” to quote one of my favourite British bands, Arctic Monkeys. I was many things that others wanted to see and thought they had actually seen (what Photoshop can do these days that the mind cannot do is simply mind-blowing), but they never saw the real me: a writer.

I am a man reborn as a writer. An insightful person who wants to know how things work and find solutions to flaws. I am a writer who has overcome herself so many times with the sheer knowledge of everything that has happened to me, that now each failure is so refreshing and immediately puts me on the right path. I am a writer whose power lies in dismantling all the broken parts inside and putting them back together in a new order so that they work perfectly and continuously while I still have the body to achieve it, that is, eyes to observe, ears to hear, a nose to smell, mouth to talk about it, hands to type, and legs so that sometimes stuffy brain can run free like a dog.

A holistic approach has always been my forte, but in writing this is of particular importance. It means going to sleep and waking up with the most important message stuck behind your eyelids. Spit out your guts and be damned satisfied with it. I hope that one day someone will really appreciate it for the effort, although it is not always visible to others.

I hope the world is still ready to take me as I am.

***

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