We’re Sisters, aren’t we?!

“Everyone thinks we’re sisters!”, you say and smile brightly at the woman who just asked if we were. “We’re mother and daughter, actually, but yes, we are like sisters.”
You brush your hair back from your face and beam at her.

I do not smile.
Every time you say this, I want to shake you.

Oh, don’t get me wrong; it’s not because you’re older than me, in case you think that, it’s because you are… my mother.
And I need you to be just that.

I already have a sister, I don’t need another one.
I need my mother.
My mom.

I am your child.
I tried to explain this to you once… tried to explain, that I would love nothing more than to feel like I am your child – just for a little while.
I guess it landed on deaf ears.
You consider me equal.
You ask me to make decisions for you.
You ask me for counsel.
You rely on me.

After all these years, you still have no idea what I need. I love you dearly – you know I do – but sometimes, I wish I could just be the little girl… and curl up in your arms. I wish I could lean on you for a while – feel you comforting me.
I never had that… and you know it, too.
I grew up way too fast, had no choice but to become a woman… independent, tough… and sometimes hard – mostly on myself.

The little girl in me is still there – and she still needs you to care for her. She will always be there.
Maybe, if you could see things from my perspective, you would understand.

I miss you, mom.
I never had you… and I doubt, I ever will.

The little girl in me though… she will never stop hoping.


When I was little, I had a magic wand.

It was made out of transparent plastic with a certain kind of clear liquid inside… and when you shook it, a whole lot of blue, silver and gold glittery shapes would float around in it. Stars, circles, little half-moons, hearts… it had it all.

It was magical.

My parents spent a small fortune (for a toy) getting it for me back then – they never regretted it.
How much I loved my wand.

I never wanted to be a princess… never wanted to be a magician or a sorceress.
When I dressed up for fun, I always wanted to be a knight.
But I never became a real knight… I always cheated.

I had a marvelous wooden sword that my dad had crafted for me – it went along nicely with my billowing cape and my makeshift sword belt.
But aside from the sword, I always had my wand with me.
I know… Cheater.
When things got really bad and there was a “fight” I couldn’t seem to win, I would take it out, wave it around in the air – and all those imaginary villains who gave me a hard time would just… disappear.
I was always victorious.

At night, when I couldn’t sleep (unfortunately, that happened quite often), when I feared all the monsters which were out to get me, I would get my wand from my nightstand, focus all my fear and slash the air with it a couple of times. Then, I would fall asleep… clutching it tight.
It was my safety blanket.

Years went by and I saw that I didn’t need my wand anymore to help me solve my problems. I was old enough to take care of them all on my own.
I put it on a shelf, looked at it once in a while…
Eventually, I put it away.
It seemed childish to still have it lying around.
It had to go.


My mother visited today.
We were talking over coffee, when she got her purse out from under the table and reached inside.
There was a twinkle in her eye and a small smile on her face when her hand appeared again.
She was holding… my magic wand.

I was so touched…
I couldn’t believe it.
After I put it away so many years ago, it never again crossed my mind.
Not until this day.

I got my magic wand back.

Life is so much easier with a little magic in the world.
I don’t care if it seems childish… I will once again keep it on my nightstand.

I got my magic back.

I am once again… invincible.

Sequence of Truth


There was a time I existed… only in my own head.

There was a timeIi went nearly extinct; thrived only by nourishing words… seldom received.
For a while, those got scarce… and my light almost winked out.

It was a tough time.
But i made it through.

I saw the look on my mother’s face when they told her my father had killed himself.
I saw my sister fall apart.
I heard their questions and pleas… heard them mourn, saw them crumble and fall.
I didn’t want to help them find answers.
I knew there weren’t any.
He was gone… and nothing would make him come back.

Oh, I hurt, too.
I cried, too.
But I wouldn’t join them. couldn’t join them.
None of them had ever known what he had done to me.
They still do not know.

I am not sure if he deserved my tears… I want to believe he did; because deep inside, he was a good person.
Someone worth mourning.

Does it make sense to love and hate one person equally?
Does it make sense to miss someone who screwed with your head and heart, but at the same time always looked out for you?
Does it make sense to want to kick someone’s ass and hug them at the same time?

For me, it does.
I miss my father.
No child is born bad; there is always someone who is responsible for screwing people up.
Someone did that to my dad.
And my dad did it to me.

Back then, life wasn’t easy.
Like I said… my light almost winked out.
I almost gave up.

Almost… that’s the keyword.

I had to make a decision.
Long ago…
I decided that I would be the one to ruin my life… if anyone should have the opportunity, it should be me.
Ever since that day, I wear my fighting gloves. They might look old and worn by now, but they are still all I need.
Problems, no matter how big they may seem, are minor obstacles.

At the end of the day, after all, I still breathe.
I still have my spark.

Isn’t that all that matters?

I do exist.
Not only in my own head, but in this world.
I do exist… and i could not be more thankful.

Pain and joy both make me realize one thing…
I am still alive enough to feel them.

faded memories

who are you?

a stranger, calling me mother.
i try to escape his touch but the more i withdraw, the harder he tries.
this hurt look on his face – i know i should feel bad for him, for me… but i do not know why.
holding my hand seems to give him comfort; maybe i should endure? i can see how much it means to him.

do i know you?

a silent tear. and another. he tries to hide them from me, tries to shrug them off.
he smiles at me, but i know it’s fake.
it’s as artificial as this room… this place.

this bed… my bed? this is not my home.

what is this?
where am i?

home. i want to go home… but i do not know where i belong.
if i close my eyes, maybe the clingy stranger will go… leave me alone.
if i close my eyes, maybe i will escape? avoid this charade, this B-Movie.

if i close my eyes, maybe i won’t wake again.

who am i?

if i only knew.