Years passed. When I left the country, I wiped off the wet paint of art and romance. Memories of blood and tears stained the creviced canyons of a city that was once home. I packed my belongings, and did not return. Not for a long, long time... There was a period of great turmoil that followed after. A period of unrest and emotional chaos, only with no where else to run, I was left to face my emptiness. I involuntarily came face to face with the mask of loneliness parading this entire time as if a terrifying truth. Its company gradually became my greatest ally, and formed the foundations of a new strength. When my mother left her country, she left with me around her hip. Fatherless. The karma of the absent masculine. I found my drive as she had. Baby, less. Gone. Buried. To cut the umbilical cord of karma, all the while with guilt streaking my inner thighs, because... who was I to decide the Fate of such things? No one. I left and despite the constant pain of such memories that resurfaced once a month, I clung to the small redemption of something tangible... It was time to finish what I began years ago and kept leaving behind me. In the world of academics, the dry pages of scripted words which all my life I read with disdain became my only source of stability. I befriended a young woman whose life I would have had. Then another. And another. Young, talented, persevering yet fragile mothers everywhere around me with their young children, all of them without fathers. Alongside the painful abandonment of their children's father, these mothers also all seemed to share the experience of a fortuitous assault at the hands of strangers. Men without faces. Sons of an anarchy wasted in the hellish sphere of what it means to be human. How peculiar to be invited into the inner world of these women's past, connected to one another through trauma as if by some grand design... and the eerie coincidence that brought me to them. Why? This was the burning question I kept asking, yet never could discover the answer for. And I passed through the seasons clinging to the bureaucracies that cage these single mothers with debt. I clung to the financial loans that allowed me to endure a continual, unraveling Unknown. It is a strange feeling... for a woman's womb overnight to turn into a tomb in which an unformed soul is aborted back to the Unknown. And there were many nights that I wept in secret, against the pressing desire of wishing only to be known. I spent years traveling across the Pacific and Atlantic seas... drawing love to me, and clinging still to only that which was tangible. As love, you may know, was always the most intangible phenomenon of all. |
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