memories

it's always a little hard being home. You probably already know that I didn't have the best childhood (teenage-hood?). It wasn't all bad, of course. Some things were lovely. But some experiences, well, I am amazed every single day that I managed to get past them.

it's been easier since we moved out of our old house. I think my mother lives there now. I have no idea; I haven't talked to her in a year and a half. But that house had bad vibes.

there's the beach, of course. Which is really unparalleled. And seeing Justin Bobby again (although he reminds me of just how much I miss Simba, which breaks my heart a little bit. Eleven days til I see him again).

I don't have very many friends left here. My last year of high school wasn't the best. And in any case, I went to an international school, so most of my friends do not live here anymore, anyway.

I've been writing a lot, which is good. I found a novel I wrote when I was 12 -- I've been looking for it for years. I read the first few chapters. It wasn't that bad for a 12-year-old, actually. Maybe that means someday I'll be a decent writer.

I've also been reading a lot. Other people's books, I mean.

today I decided to create a bulletin board of happy memories. Which was a nice process, but it was really exhausting, too. Because in order to find the good stuff, I had to scroll through the ugly messes too, and it made me a little sad. If I'm being honest.

I asked my dad over dinner if he stole all the albums from when we were little, or if my mother simply didn't want them. She didn't want them. The only album she wanted, according to her lawyer, was the one of her childhood. Not ours. That made me sad, even though I don't really think much about her anymore.

when I was around three years old, my dad's company sent its employees on a cruise ship from Israel to Turkey and Rhodes, Greece. My sister didn't go, because she was basically still a newborn. So I was looking at those albums. And me and my mom -- well, I don't know, she looks so happy. She has this spark that she lost in later photographs. And it really makes me wonder.

I know my father is not exactly an unbiased source, but he's the only one I have. I don't really remember being three. So I asked him, was she happy with me then? Did she love me?

he said she was already overwhelmed. Very quickly she realized being a mother didn't suit her. He said I'd knock on his door at night, at ages two and three, asking him to read me a book, please, because Mom fell asleep before she even started.

I guess there's no point to this post, except that, I don't know, memories are hard for me sometimes. Photos make me wonder: did I do something to make her dislike me along the way? How come she seemed that much happier with me when I was three years old?

"because you were like a little doll that she could play with. She could still control you, make you the way she wanted."

I hope my dad is right, because otherwise, how is it possible that I messed up so badly that almost two years ago, I ended up losing my mother completely?