The truth... Your truth will never be mine because we are raised in a different world and our eyes are coloured if not blind for each other's needs.
"I tell you once you get older."
I wonder why I need to be older. If I ask, question I am old enough to hear the answer. Deal with it. Wisdom and ageing don't always go hand in hand. I know because I see more than other people. I see what they don't see, I hear what others don't hear and feel it in the air. My instinct, those feelings never lied to me. They are true. They protect me and warn me.
"You should think first, not judge, give a fair chance."
How many times did I hear these words? I don't just act, I think fast, am not impulsive and I know what happens if I ignore my feelings. It always ends up bad for me. In the end, they blame me.
Instinct is the security belt. They lie it's for animals only. Animals are not able to learn, invent something or find a solution for a problem. Biology taught me humans are animals too, part of nature, mother Nature. Humans are mammals like cows, dogs, pigs, monkeys and elephants. We are all part of mother nature although humans are the only ones who steal and kill for fun.
"You and your bible," the Biology teacher said.
The truth is I don't have a bible. The truth is this is a Catholic school. The truth is I am not catholic. The truth is evolution and Darwin have nothing in common with what Catholics believe. I just asked "what about God" to test the teacher. His eyes spit fire and it's clear he hates me. He continues the lesson in a dialect I don't speak. I don't care. I am smart and look him into the eyes.
"You are shameless."
How many times people said this to me? I did not make me. The ugliness, my skin, nose, mouth are all DNA given by my parents. I know my mother hates me. The truth is I am in her way. I look her into her eyes if she says "I hate you so much I wish you were dead!" I know she means it and it is okay. At least I know how she feels about me. The truth is she will destroy me. Hit me, strangle and stab me when she can. At least she is honest about her feelings. She scares me but she will never backstab me like the rest of the family.
They all lie. My entire family does.
"Your mother will never hit you," grandmother said. She was there, saw it, was a witness but is afraid. She fears for herself, her life. Grandmother doesn't care she never did.
"In Israel, your grandpa is killed," she says. It's not true. She wants to believe that but grandpa died of bone cancer. He had it for many years, dad told me. The truth? Grandpa wanted to go to Israel and grandmother refused to join him. Israel made grandpa happy. He left alone while he was very sick, made many photos and kept a diary. Grandmother dumped it in a drawer.
If you cannot face the truth it's easier to make something up. Lies told are easier to believe than the naked truth. In reality, we cannot deal with it. We ask people to lie in our faces.
My classmates, bullies, the teachers and my family all lie. They rarely tell the truth. If I ask they ignore me or make up some story. I can see when people lie. Liars are not honest people. If someone says: you can trust me you cannot trust that person. People use you, try to use you and only care about themselves. How they look and what other people think and say about them.
Is it really so hard to say: I have no answer or I don't want to answer you? I don't know why people lie but I think most do to be liked or to pretend they know everything. My dad for example he always knows better, thinks he is better than other people. He loves to brag and tells how much the girls liked him as he was still at school. The girls fought about carrying his schoolbag. I never have a bag. Books, notebooks and pens stay at school. Dad also tells how he had to shove a small piece of cheese or cake over his slice of bread. The last bite of bread was covered with cheese or the cake. I asked granny his mother and she says he lies. It never happened. Most of his how-to-raise-a-child stories about his childhood are not true. He read them in a book or made it up. Dad still lies or says if I ask how or what he never said it. My mother does the same. Even if five people heard her saying it she says we are the liars. My parents have this in common. Both lie and change the truth.
She was ill last week and couldn't visit school but will happily catch up on the missed lessons my mother wrote. I had to hand it over to the teacher. It's not the first letter with a lie she wrote but it's the first time I have to give it to the teacher. Ill means she did molest me and no one is allowed to visit, see me. I am not sure if the teacher knows about her about me. I don't ask if I am back at school because it will not change anything. My mother will say I lie, I am a problematic child and difficult to handle. Perhaps they will send me to a nuthouse instead of my mother. My dad is a lousy dad he never tells her to stop beating me up, not to scold at me, punish me if she's angry with someone else.
The life of an adult counts more than the life of a child. Children lie, make it up, adults are trustworthy. What happened to the idea that the youth is our future?
"Bad people go to prison. If you do not listen, obey you will be punished."
I am not allowed to speak before I am asked to. There are so many rules at home but also at school. No toilet visits, raising your hand, facing someone if you speak, shake hands, kiss uncles and aunts I never met before. At 7 pm to bed, out of bed at 5:30 am, polishing shoes, setting tables, cleaning at home and school.
What I learn is not the same as what others learn. The schoolbooks we use are different. We all are taught differently. If the teacher tells about his childhood it is a different world. So is it as grandmother tells about it. It's more like the world of "Ot en Sien". A world where children do not visit school so early. There are boys and girls. All girls wear dresses with skirts and wooden shoes are normal. There's no need to show your ID and people know where you live and your mom is at home and dad works.
It's a world I only know from books although the headmaster still hits children and my mouth is still washed with soap.
"I can read your face," my mother frequently says and it's good enough to hit me again. The truth is she cannot stand my face. She cannot read my mind if she could she would know how I feel, what I want and that she is no longer important to me. I no longer believe her, trust her and I don't want her to touch me. I cannot stand her smell.
"You ever had this before," the nurse asked. My mother took me over there because I fainted or am dizzy. They tested for the kissing disease but I don't kiss people. I am not sure if they really tested me. The nurse says nothing is wrong with me everything is fine. The truth is she doesn't care, doesn't question anything my mother says. She doesn't speak to me but via my mother. The monster who dragged me over there to prove she isn't a bad mother. No one says: you look terrible, tired, where did you get these bruises?
The nurse and my mother agree I take some pills for my blood for a while. They are dark red and taste dirty.
Vaccination is not allowed if you are sick, have a fever, your immune system isn't strong, you have epilepsy and so on.
I have allergies and eczema which means I will not have the next vaccination. Perhaps later. An infected skin is already bad enough. "Your immune system is too busy," dad says. I feel how something pumps like crazy inside of me.
I have had some vaccinations though in my leg. Dad doesn't want girls to be injected in their arms. My mother was and she has 3 spots in a row on her arm. I have two in my leg but you can hardly see them. Although I have so many allergies I never had the flu. My parents are never sick either. My mother says hygiene is important. Our house is always cleaned. If it's finished she starts again. If I can only live in such a clean house it means I can never visit school or someone else. She lies if she says she does it for me. If I am that allergic to everything she wouldn't make me do all those house chores, we wouldn't have woollen carpet and she wouldn't force me to wear clothes that make me feel itchy. The truth is she does it for herself. She can't live with the idea of dust, a bread crumb on the table or a spider hiding somewhere in the house.
If anyone asks me I speak the truth. Why? Because it doesn't matter they will always be angry with me. I am the perfect scapegoat because I am different. People feel better about themselves if they can blame someone else. The teacher told us that during history. It's a book grandpa his brother wrote. The brother that died a long time ago. I wonder if he knows his history book is no longer used and all history is wiped out. We are no longer allowed to hear about our history, the wars. Soon everybody who remembers is dead and all history remembered is just an ancient, impersonal story, a tale told.
The truth is what you are willing to believe. Coloured by how you are raised, social media, Reuters and Google
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