Notice: This story is not pro religious, it is not Catholic. Just some individuals are such. Based on a true story. Everyone is free to believe what they wish. In this story represents some of the downsides of specific persons whom happen to be religious, but it is not an attack of religion or any audience whom happens to be it.
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Some tales start with sparkle, others with joy, some with tragedy. Mine? Mine was all of the above. Mine still writes every page. A broken muse, from beginning to the part I perceived as the end.
To understand me, we need to start at the beginning.
The ultrasound of two babies in black and white, the cry of one.
A real world story that sounded like fiction.
Based in reality, my reality strained further upon the woven strings of lies my society and family spun onto me.
"Get rid of the children," my father said to my mother many years ago. "I will, but I must consult the priest first."
"They were conceived before I am to be wedded! Priest, you don't understand, my family and his family are very important, I'm sure you know. Now, of all times, after all the scandals of the ones prior to us, we can't get in this scandal. What would people think of me?" my mother said without any real care. To her, children were an asset, a burden. Something she claimed to love with already two she'd hidden from other fathers out of wedlock.
"I am to believe that one is the reincarnation of the goddess that started the family you wish to wed. I know it sounds far-fetched. As there is only supposed to be one god in the Catholic Church. However, the tradition of the saintess, which is practically a goddess in the Roman and Greek times, remains," the priest said.
My mother always told me of this day; I can't say I remember it, as I had yet to be born.
I can only go based on what she said occurred.
"One of the babies, I believe the prophecy will continue and one will change the entire world."
"Don't be dramatic," my mother replied to him. "That is a bunch of nonsense and isn't even Catholic."
"It may be a mixture of old; however, your to-be husband still upholds the tradition of naming the firstborn, or the 'chosen' child, with the saintess's likeness after her with the name. It may be not discussed publicly, as yes, many people are used to multiple names here, especially religious names, but the energy of this child is extremely special. I warn you against sinfully getting rid of it," he said.
"So I can keep just the blessed child?" she asked.
"I... would suggest against this path," he replied.
"Very well. I shall discuss with my fiancé," she replied, whisking away with fixed cold gaze.
She found herself getting a medical termination using power and influence that may not have been legal at the time to eliminate one, the girl. "I have only the need for the perfect heir, keep the boy. I don't want to have my pregnancy progress early when I need to cover up the child's existence until after my wedding," she said as if it were a simple matter.
However, she would find the boy was not the one to be kept. At such stages, one cannot truly distinguish well during the procedures.
My first glimpse of the world was that of fractured arms and wounded feelings.
"Why did I have a girl! I DO NOT WANT HER," my mother's voice spat at my father.
"Still, you must; we can have another child now that we are married. We'll have more heirs. We'll have a boy."
My country, Spain, was progressive in many, many ways. However, we still had one very pertinent flaw. Male primogeniture.
It may not apply to most families should they ignore the hum of quiet sexism in the undercurrent of society. For mine it did. My family was multinational, they carried a lineage and prestige beyond that of mostly familiarity.
I was not even told where I was born throughout childhood. I spent my days growing up all over the world, primarily in Scandinavia, Spain, Singapore, and Switzerland. Something my friends oft joked that meant I was a Quadruple-S, a high ranking rare charecter in a game.
Traveling between many countries, never quite fitting in any.
My mother was Syrian-German, who hid her origins just to fit in and marry my European father. Leaving behind her powerful family to join another.
This is not even the most interesting part of my story. I stood here now in front of crowds of many, wondering how I got here.
"This country is my home." I said, looking at all the people before me. Politics was never really my personal calling. I liked the entertainment industry too much. People, though, they were. I wanted to do good more than anything. Even if that meant leaving my own dreams behind.
Not every story is predictable. I've had mine laid out. Sometimes we start one with the end so we can truly begin anew.
My head thought back to the memories of baby me crying as they scolded me. The videos of me speaking my first word at less than two weeks of age, for my family to downplay my abilities.
I never really was confident in myself back then. There was a very shy child standing there watching her parents yell and scream and throw items and hiding in a corner.
There was that preteen struggling to survive.
A girl who survived a shooting. The girl who tried to end her own existence. The girl who struggled through each assignment with many dreams and a heart excited to love.
I now looked across me at my friends standing there at the podium. "You've got this!" they mouthed at me.
"I would like to thank the special someone who got me this far even when I lost so much. Oh that special one," I said before continuing my sentimental speech.
My head was still filled with memories. One of the first ones was of a girl, just about my age, "hello," she said politely, right about my age, in a contrasting pink dress to my blue. I curtsied to her shyly. "Hi," unsure of the future, with our parents behind us.
The next memory in my head was someone with beautiful brown skin and short curly hair, with deep emerald green eyes, smiling at me widely.
Oh, how growing up can be volatile. Many people missed these days, but I didn't. Not even for a moment.
Yet, I knew very well it was a part of me.
It made me, me.
My eyes rested on that sweet little round-faced, fox-eyed Korean boy. Smiling at him. I'd met many people from many languages and cultures. I was at least blessed with that.
Lastly, a memory that was more than a memory, a reality that was a whole thought filled my head. I inhaled deeply, closing my eyes, inching closer to the mic.
Then slowly... I spoke.