Dear Sun you’re so good and yet so virtual.
I have this memorie getting back often these days. I was 5 or 6 years old, in my foster family and things were getting good. Ok it was weird, I was kind of special, little black dude in a 300 pl white village. The first black I ever saw in my life was a little boy in the same situation that I was. He lived down two houses and didn’t stay more than a few months. I stayed 6 years.
Anyway I was starting to feel good and legitimate even. Then they were telling me things like “you know you don’t belong here right?” explaining to me that it would not be like this for long, that it was exceptional and that I’ll have to choose some parents.
I can remember that blues getting as huge as the entire oceans of this world. I would just stay in awe, looking at my feet, frowning. So what now? Street maybe?
Suddenly I had to think hard, to evaluate things like an adult. My foster ones knew that I was able to understand Iaw already asking questions. It was hard for them too.
So no choice. Move forward Harold. Think of the future and as you have no choice but doing things the best you can to make people happy and be thankful and stay with them, do it.
It’s in my skin and bones now.
The thing is, I can’t share it with nobody as a unique child. Of course I’ve been interested with people with weird pasts all my life, from my 12years old friend fan of horror movies with just a mother and a brother to friends with abusive parents etc.
Well I always find out that everybody has at least at a moment in his or her life or laying beneath, something someone fucking real to stick to and maybe rest a bit. In movies too. In litterature too. In all the culture, there is something not virtual to get a grip on and move on for people. As social mammals that we are, if you don’t have that, you are just using energy to avoid to go down emotional hell. I don’t.
That’s why I’m quite a control freak sometimes. Managing is a survival thing for me.
The other day in France I was having my little sister who can now have a conversation on family stuffs with interest, at my place. She can’t stop saying “my parents” like yeah, she’s really the child of my parents. But I could also share my feelings with her and it felt good. I wish I had someone to talk to these years, share with pain like Q with his brother or his father. And then his own son that he left in Sweden –Q had seven child from five women-, he came back at one point and they shared to tears.
I can’t do that with nobody. And it doesn’t seem to happen to others.
Doing so with a girlfriend is very temptative but a disaster. In couples sharing pain is maybe not a very good thing especially in my weird case. I’d rather not base a relation on pity. So I’m more in a position where I’m running away of those bad things.
All of that made me as I am though. And the result is not too bad.
I can only keep the blues away with music and love. They just ease my mind so easily no other things can. The first one is always around. The second seems to hide from me.
But when I find it, when I have it for real right here right now, it can’t be better. Ever.