Pandora’s Box

         We had a special kid in our little group at the orphanage, his name was Billy. The poor guy was full of sores on his face he suffered from strabismus and did not even know how to communicate. He was the weak link in our group. He was always bullied. I took pitty of him, so I started to take care of him. To dress him right – because he would have been punished by the supervisors if he wasn’t dressed right- and to take his defense. But soon this care for him would change into gelosy and hatred…

Every saturday our supervisors would tell us that our “mother” will come and take us home. All we wanted was to see our mother, because the imagine those people put in our minds was that we all have a mother, and she loves us, and she will come to take us, save us from that place. Our “mother” was our Goddess, she was everything. Our goal was to survive there because our mother would come and save us. So, each saturday was a day of hope. Lots of people would come at the orphanage, chose a child, take him home for a trial, to see if they liked the kid or not. If they liked him, they would adopt him, if not they would bring him back. Us kids we were like merchandise.

I remember two families that took me. The first one was an old couple. They had at least 50 years, and on top of that, they had 8 children. They were a warm couple. They lived in a small house filled with joy. I remember that there was the first time I tasted boiled chicken liver with lemon. They were good people, but unfortunately they didn’t had the means to take another soul in their home, so they took me back to the orphanage.

The second person i remember taking me home, was a lady. She was young, single and rich. I can’t remember her face exactly, but what I can remember was her bedroom. It had white modern furniture, and yet it was verry feminine. She had a pretty makeup table, and on it there laid in order hair accessories, because she had a very long brown and straight hair. I slept in her bed that night, and yet I still see the silhouette of the back when she turned the light of and telling me good night. That night before I fell to sleep, I remember I felt HOPE. I really belived she was my mother. But then, the next morning, she took me back to the orphanage. As I think about it now, that was mental torture for a kid.

But I still had hope that one day my mother would come. That hope wouldn’t last long…that black day when I felt anger, gelosy and hatred for someone had come. It was Saturday, no mother came to see me, to take me. In our room there was commotion in the air. Why? Because the weak link Billy was going to be adopted. Yes, the ugliest kid in our group, the one who was always mocked got to escape that hell. When I found out, I ran to see if it’s true. And there in the middle of the entrance hall, his mother was dressing him with a thick new jacket, because outside was winter again. It was the winter I would turn 5 years old. When I saw that scene, where his mother was looking at him with so much love, and he was looking at the walls; I hated him. He didnt realise what a big chance he was given…I started to cry, and to hate him. I cried because I realised that I don’t have a mother, that my mother doesn’t exist, that it was all a lie…and I hated him because he had one and he didn’t deserve.

That was the first time I felt those emotions, like the Pandora’s Box just opened in my hart. It didn’t last long, because the day that changed my life forever was only 2 weeks away!


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