Have you ever wondered how you’re going to die? I’m sure you have, everyone does. Is it going to be a quick painless death? Am I going to suffer? Will it be sickness or old age? Perhaps a tragic accident? I have been thinking about this for a while now, I don’t mean in a suicidal kind of way (we off that), more so in a reflective manner. I analyze my life and those in it, the things I’ve done and would like to do. Am I happy? I’d be lying if I said yes…I’m not. I spend too much time enveloped in negativity, negativity from myself and others. There are still too many things I would like to do in my life, too many experiences I would still like to enjoy, there’s too much improvement to be made to who I am still.
Everything I’ve mentioned is all about me, now imagine the plans and the experiences I have in mind to share and go through with my family…but sometimes I can’t help but shake that feeling that it will all end sooner than I would like it to. I’m plagued with very disturbing images, noises, smells and thoughts…I’ve lived through very tragic scenarios without actually having physically lived them. Very few people ever really understand this so I usually keep these things to myself. I was always told I have a very vivid imagination, ever since I was a child. Could there be more to it? I don’t know. The older I’ve gotten the darker these thoughts have become. They scare the shit out of me sometimes. OK, most times. I think my biggest fear is that these recurring images are a way of me foreseeing something that will happen…the thought of that alone makes the hair on my body stand on end.
A lot of times I’ve thought that maybe these fears and these thoughts are a result of the kind of childhood I had. I was 5 years old when I came to Canada with my mom. I was separated from everyone and everything I knew without knowing why…to this day I can still see my grandmother standing on the other side of that thick glass wall as we were walking away from her. I kept looking back until I couldn’t see her anymore. I remember asking my mom where my dad was and why he wasnt going with us…he wasn’t there to see us off. He joined us here 6 months later. My parents both worked nights with my aunt and uncle (they sponsored us to come to Canada), we were living in the basement of their home. I used to be left alone in that cold basement while my parents went to work their asses off and wouldn’t get back until the next morning. I would be left watching TV since my cousins would lock the basement door so I couldnt go upstairs, the youngest one out of them was 5 years older than me and they all found me annoying. I remember sitting there watching TV until the broadcast would end and that incessant beeping would start. Even then I wouldnt move from how my parents left me…I would be too scared.
I would keep my feet tucked in under my nightgown because I thought someone/something would grab them. I used to see shadows dancing around me and people, big and small, poking their heads out from around corners. I would be scared to even look beside me to see if in fact there was someone standing there in my peripheral. It happened several times that I would be too scared to move, so much so that I would pee myself and sit in it until I either a) mustered up enough courage to get up, change and go lay down on the bed or b) my parents got home the next morning. The nights I would get the courage to go to bed I would lay in the middle of the bed cocooned into a blanket with my eyes darting from side to side waiting to see hands or a face pop up from the edges of the bed. I would hear breathing coming from under my bed and at times could feel someone/something scratching under it. There were very few times that I would actually make it up those basement stairs to check if they had remembered to lock the door and I would find it open, so I would creep up to my youngest cousin’s room and she would let me sleep with her.
I don’t hold any resentment towards my parents for this for they were immigrants and we were staying with family rent free so they felt that this was their way to repay them for bringing us here and letting us stay in their home. My parents were exploited and depressed. Winters were very difficult, we moved into a bachelor eventually and then a one bedroom apartment. I would fall asleep to the sound of the freight trains passing right beside our building, it was soothing at times, only to be woken up by screaming and yelling. My parents arguing, objects being thrown around and me waking up yelling to my dad not to touch my mom…those are my childhood memories as a newcomer here to Canada and its that same fear I feel now as an adult with my own two kids when I see these taunting, disturbing images play out in front of me.