On the day I was born, Guinee-Bissau Premier Vieira fires his President Luis Cabral, a Guamanian was crowned the 30th Miss World, and United States still in Cold War, performs nuclear testing at Nevada Test Site. Another One Bites the Dust by Queen and Rock with You by Michael Jackson are radio staples. A Democrat is the sitting US President and Robert de Niro won the Oscar's nod for his sterling performance as a boxer (move over Cinderalla Man) in Raging Bull and Charlie's Angels were on TV kicking butts.
Maybe I was born with drama. Older sister died on a mysterious plague killing infants in the small, 5th class municipality. Martial Law was still not yet lifted and people continue to talk in whispers. I grew up on staples of conversations about a recent NPA raid or a dead body was found in some places. I saw my first real-live gunfight on the street right across our apartment, with men chasing men, and for all the wrong reasons.
I would read and read and read, because I never had any real serious playmates, there was no cable TV yet, and most of the time I am locked up the apartment with my nanny. (And on one occasion, I almost slept with her at my tender age of around 5ish while my parents were away, the same nanny who once slapped me when I was being too rowdy.)I guess maybe that was one of the factors that made me averse to vaginas. It started a series of traumatic and unfortunate events.
Weekends are a breathe of fresh air for everyone. We would go to my grandparents' house by the beach, and my parents would leave me there overnight. Water, the rain, the beaches, and the pounding surf always have been a cure for me. It makes my mind calmer and more peaceful while I enjoy the sweetness of my solitude. They would find me usually alone sitting on the seawall, looking out to the ocean and take in the salty ocean air. Years later, I would return to the very same spot, this time with my ex, his head laying down on my lap, while looking at a perfectly moonlit sky, and its silvery shimmer on the placid sea below.
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