Putting things right

I don't know what inspired me to write this post. Actually, I know. It's "The house of the spirits." I re-watched it tonight and, for the umpteenth time, it evoked the same emotions of love, devotion, magic, courage, family, motherhood and passion passed on to generations. 

And so while Blanca was tortured, I thought that I could die for my daughter too. While Esteban accused his estranged wife of not educating their daughter to be noble enough, I thought the resemblance of my motherhood style with Clara has gotten true. I don't have her supernatural powers, but I do live in my own world (something my dear husband reminds me when we quarrel). And I encourage my daughter's passion.

I wish I had the same Clara's attitude to deal with the past. Mine is still conflictual. I came to term with my pain in a way to free myself, forming a new memory that creates the symbolic space for me to orient myself towards a new future. But I haven't forgotten yet. And forgetness is crucial for reconciliation with past opponents. 

"We must remember what happened in order to keep it from happening again. But we must forget the feelings, the emotions that go with it. It is only by forgetting that we are able to go on". A Rwandan government official in 1995 when asked by Priscilla Hayner 'Do you want to remember or to forget?' source

I'm not at that stage yet. And I won't be as long as those involved in my pain won't manage to patch things up with me. I'm terribly aware of this obstacle to finally put things right. Until then, there can be no new beginning and everyone will remain imprisoned in their own history.

I say so because each image from Abruzzo I see hurts like hell. It's not because of the things I miss. What I don't miss is more and makes me adfirm that, just like the past, my region is a good place to visit but I wouldn't want to live there. It's what was deprived from me to live with that I miss. With all their negative influence, I realize that my folks raised me not to fully integrate with my territory. I wasn't allowed to speak dialect, couldn't meet with the locals and was sent in different schools. My mother never really cooked local food neither. 

Still, I remain attached to some memories but I don't feel like going back anymore at the moment. My folks house was recently sold at a terrible auction, which is like a knife that hurts me deeply. I couldn't tolerate to go back and see that someone else is living happily in the house where I spent my childhood. Recently a friend told me that the new owners are renovating the roof. Clear, it was falling into pieces. My parents never really took proper care of their property, probably because they always knew it wasn't worth investment, since it could go away anytime. And recently, during their frequent relocations to Romania, the house was even more abandoned and ruined by my brother's negligence. 

I start to understand people who don't feel like seeing their beloved ones dead bodies. They say they want to keep a healthy and good memory of them. It never made sense to me. Well, it does now, in an odd way, and forgive me for my nasty and maybe inappropriate parallel. But it's how I feel right now.

I wonder what I did of so wrong to deserve something like this. Then I think that people reactions to the unplanned event of life is different and changes according to their selfishness or courage. It's not my faults if I have rotten parents, and I stopped feeling guilty when others blame me for being so hard on my parents. Parents are parents no matter what. No way. Life taught me that biology doesn't guarantee a family and I don't have to forgive someone if he hurt me that bad. Even if that someone is a parent. Love means never having to say I'm sorry. Now, this is appropriate, if you ask me!