Dealing with problems
As a human being, I had to cope with all my problems, find a way to handle them, and live my life without parental guidance. In school, I did okay, but I lacked the confidence to interact with classmates and teachers. My grades noticeably declined when I became a teenager and somehow realized that a lot was going wrong in my life, even though I was unable to do anything about it. I was a follower, despite some classmates and teachers clearly tried to encourage me. I suppose we humans lack the switch to instantly shed their past and will transform into someone else. From time to time, I joined a youth group at our local church; this gave me a feeling of tranquility. I was not very actively involved, but I observed and absorb an outsider. When one not much older youth minister asked me, 'Why do you hunch?', I was unable to respond. But the fact that someone cared felt very warm, and it showed me that true Christians see with different living and caring eyes.
In Church
Later, to avoid witnessing and being involved in my parents' constant conflicts, I told, or rather informed, my mother that I would like to visit the Sunday church service. She agreed, and from then on, I went alone, starting at the age of 13. Initially, I was merely seeking an escape from the arguments and fights at home, but soon I genuinely looked forward to going there. It became less about avoiding home and more about feeling a connection to our Father in heaven—not the one still partly intoxicated from the day before. I was never a very devoted Christian, but I felt a sense of companionship, someone I could talk to and, I still believe, who was willing to listen to a lonely 13-year-old boy seeking comfort, some advice, and, most importantly, encouragement. It felt wonderful to learn about His grace and to pray quietly—whether with others or alone silently from my heart, and, I must confess, often with quiet tears.
Going to church inspired me to read the Bible on my own, even I did not understand a lot. But reading the creation, I became certain that God created and loved me, despite many people around me showing the opposite directly to my face. My mother's comment, 'Why do you live when Goethe (a 'great' German novelist) had to die?' was far from uplifting; it was clearly intended to project her own disappointments onto her young son. Knowing that God loves me, I strongly refused to be the doormat for every frustrated person around me. And there have been many!
Upon returning home from Sunday service, the conflicts between my parents had subsided, leaving a peculiar calm after an impending storm of violence and accusations. Filled with the Christian spirit, my quiet anger slowly shifted to pity as I understood that my father was actually a very weak non-educated person, only finding courage in alcohol and asserting himself when drunk. After sobering up, he resembled a small child, unable or unwilling to recall the pain and trouble he caused his family. To make up, he attempted to be excessively friendly but could only fail - as everyone knew from experience that the same troubles would recur the following weekend.
With an alcoholic father and a Nazi mother as the sole background and no feasible alternatives, this young individual had limited options for maturation. One option was to accept that the parents' path was the only one, becoming the same unemotional, narcissistic person. The other was to defy this so-called destiny and seek a way out, which could be more challenging and be often quite solitary.
After dinner, my mother would usually go into the living room to watch her own TV program, while the four of us children would turn into the 'girls' room' and watch whatever we wanted. While staring at the tube, we didn't say much to each other; the program seemed to be more interesting and entertaining. I was relieved when it was time to return to my room and finally back into bed. Lying there with my eyes open, I could not fall asleep. In my mind, two very different worlds constantly collided - the bright and warm, respectful, polite, and positive one clashed with the only life I was so familiar with, which was dark, cold, disrespectful, impolite, very negative, but often violent and even abusive one.
Light in my life
Today, an unknown young woman on a bus brightened up my bleak existence, proving unintentionally that another way of living exists beyond what I experience every day. Numerous thoughts and questions filled the mind of this young yet ambitious man, some of which could be answered somehow. However, many, many others still remained quite unclear and significant enough to deprive me of much of my sleep that night.
The next morning, I woke up very tired but could not control the flashing smile on my face while thinking about yesterday. I returned to my daily routines, but this time with a different, positive spirit of something better yet very vague awaiting me. I did not pay much attention to my daily problems and insults against my person. I tried to keep a positive mood with an occasional smile, encouraging myself to keep working on myself. I remember that I tried to build better relationships with my colleagues at work, tried to be polite, and to walk upright. To me, the world looked and felt much better; I had an easier feeling about everything around me.
I even looked positively forward to the upcoming Christmas season, usually a very painful experience for every one of us in the family. On one side, we should celebrate the birth of our Lord Jesus Christ, but on the other side, there was the sad reality of bad spirits living with and among us. If we were lucky, my father would not be drunk, and my mother would not argue for days long afterward. But either one of them not happening would feel like a true blessing—too good to be true. As expected, my father was drunk one day before the Holy Night, and the whole story repeated itself—again!
The other thing that did not change, even with a positive attitude, was the weather. It was still too cold to ride my motorbike, so I had to stay at home rather than ride my 'small escapes'. After New Year, I was still unlucky that I had to leave early for the bus and return late. Of course, I was looking out on the bus for her, but it seemed that the time for a 'hope I can see you again' hadn't arrived yet. 'But hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things. And no good thing ever dies (The Shawshank Redemption)!'
It took a few more months for the weather to become friendlier and steadier. Finally, I could register my motorcycle again for the spring season. I was relieved that my independent life had returned, and with one laughing and one crying eye, I bid farewell to the winter and the bus.
The company I was working for was not far away, only a short 10-minute ride on my motorbike but a 40-minute ride by bus. We were living in a civic development area including social housing, connecting two main roads to the city. One was an expressway while the other a main road. I took the slower route out of convenience so it was no surprise that some of my road was shared with the bus line.
I worked from 7:30 am to 5:00 pm, including morning and lunch breaks, and could ride directly home after work. I had only one traffic light on the way, so I could be at home within 10 minutes. But most of the time, I chose a longer route, sometimes taking 2-3 hours before returning to a toxic home.
I'm not sure why, but one Thursday I didn't feel like taking the longer way and went straight back home. Part of my road was shared with the bus line, only when it turned right for the last stop, I continued straight and made two right turns to park my motorbike in front of our apartment building. While I was focused on the road, suddenly in the corner of my eye caught a glimpse of a very familiar figure with blonde hair wearing a long, dark brown coat, walking briskly in my direction on the sidewalk. I didn't expect her to recognize me in a leather jacket wearing a helmet on a motorcycle - when we first met, I was someone who took the bus.
After passing her, I turned my motorbike around and rode slowly, opening the visor of my helmet. My heart was pounding so loudly that I thought she might hear it. Gathering all my courage, I rode up to her and asked, 'Are you on your way back home?' She turned her head towards me, and in an instant, there it was again - the smile I would never forget! 'Oh, it's YOU!'
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