Growing Up (7), a true kind of short love story

(continued from part 6)

Unlike how others would see me, I wouldn't consider myself an introvert, 'preferring to concentrate on inner thoughts and ideas'. For as long as I can remember, I've been naturally joyful and curious about various things, reflective, and eager to understand the reasons and mechanisms behind things and events. I still have an old, slightly discolored, unsharp, black & white photo of me as a cheerful young child, making my first careful steps into this world.

To illustrate this, my mother once recounted a story when my father and I went to the hospital to bring my newly born youngest sister and my mother home. At that time, we lived in a house with two floors and had to drive to the high-rising hospital. As I got out of the car, I stood beside the road in awe, gazing at the towering building.

My father noticed and asked, "What are you looking at?"

I turned to him and asked, "This building is so tall, how do we get up there? There must be many stairs!"

"There is something called an elevator," replied my father, clearly amused.

"Oh, what is an elevator?" I was curious.

Mathematically, I was 3 1/2 years old when we picked up my newborn baby sister.

But this once curious and happy child transformed after many negative experiences, disappointments, and literal physical and mental abuse that discouraged it from asking questions, which led to a complete withdrawal from sharing ideas and thoughts. This clearly began with my own parents and moved other adult and not much later to my sisters, neighbors, and classmates.

Initially, I looked up to my parents as any baby would naturally would do, particularly to my mother, who was my initial connection to the new world after birth. However, as I grew older and learned more about them, I felt not only disappointed and disillusioned but also realized their limited education which inevitably led to low life aspirations and expectations. They existed only in their own small world, endlessly repeating the same routines without any desire to tackle basic issues such as getting along, sharing, forgiving, and so forth.

My mother recited, like many parents would, the tale of the three piglets: one built a house of straw, another on of sticks, and the third of bricks. She could recite it perfectly word by word but somehow could not connect it to real life and overlooked the moral; the one with the strong foundation protected those whose homes were destroyed by the bad wolf. To me, both my parents appeared simply immature and overwhelmed by the difficult task of raising their children and giving them a broader perspective on life and the world.

As I was tired to run against walls in my family, I naturally focused on my own life, my own future. The job selling spare parts at a Volkswagen and Audi dealership was going all right, providing me with something to learn and do. As my relationships with my colleagues continued to improve, I volunteered to work on Saturday mornings for a higher hourly payment and, of course, to spend less time with my family time. It was surprising how much more interesting these extra working hours were; I suppose it was the feeling of sitting in the same boat and making the most out of it. I developed a special bond with some colleagues, filled with fun and interesting experiences. I even looked forward to working on the first day of the weekend and often volunteered.

A whole new World

There were still some Fridays when I could catch her on her way home. If the timing was perfect, I would talk to her right away, or I'd wait until she arrived. Needless to say, seeing her friendly face filled me with excitement and happiness, making all my daily troubles disappear. Her beauty was beyond just a pretty face; the more I learned about her beautiful and positive mind, the more I was amazed that such an educated and gentle person would choose to spend her time with someone as uninteresting and aimless as me. She made me feel accepted and valued for who I was, giving me a sense of dignity for the first time in my life of over 20 years. Like that moment on the bus, she asked questions, and I felt she genuinely was interested about me, my thoughts and opinions. In just five minutes of conversation, I discovered more about myself than I had learned from my family since birth.

There's a saying that 'beauty is in the eye of the beholder.' To me, beauty transcends mere appearance; it's about the inner essence and the depth behind it. It's about the feeling of encountering something truly special and unique, something that touches you so deeply it shakes you to your core, and if you embrace it, it could transform your perspective on life.

It's akin to witnessing a ballet performance for the first time, where the orchestra's music echoes, and you observe the graceful dance shaped by years of discipline and dedication, suddenly uniting and being overwhelmed by the immense force of absolute perfection and beauty, leaving you motionless, watching in awe.

No, I will never become a ballet dancer, but I can certainly appreciate the years of dedication it demands and, quite naturally, strive to stay in this moment of beauty for as long as possible. In the same way, I held onto the memory of the kind person I met on the bus after many, many years.

Awakening

But one day, I arrived earlier than usual and found my mother and youngest sister staring out of the window. As I quietly approached them, I suddenly heard my baby sister exclaiming "that's the girl brother is seeing!"

Her words struck me like a hammer, 00I felt not only exposed but also as if I were falling from my dreams into the harsh reality of my family and background. It seemed as if the worst kind of gossip had unveiled everything I had tried to avoid, striking me hard at the core of everything I believed to be right and noble. There were reasons why I didn't want to mention my family, one being the low living standards I grew up with, which I felt truly ashamed of.

(to be continued)