My upbringing. I’ve never met anyone who had a childhood even remotely like mine. I can’t explain my family, I see other families and they seem bizarre in their normalcy. I mean, my mom raised us with pictures Ganesh, the Dalai Lama, Buddha, and Jesus all sitting on our bookshelf surrounded by prayer beads blessed by monks. And I was raised Catholic. She took us to different countries, we as children lived like a backpacker in another country, no rest, just exploration.
I think with all the experiences I had before I was 15 I don’t even know how I came about. I can never fully explain why I don’t relate to almost anyone my age properly. I don’t feel like we grew up in the same reality, the same world. I’m baffled by others who have lived next door to me and were the same age.
I’m learning how to explain my life and who I am, and the ‘why of me’... I couldn’t ever articulate my background so I decided to force myself by writing it.
So, I’m working on a book. At 24, a memoir seems necessary.
Bleh, I could try and edit this to make it more clear but again, I’m struggling with the whole thing myself. Wade through it if you can.