Growing up in a country that you can’t remember much no more hurts. Not being able to remember much because the memories that you have are from when you were much younger. It hurts when you feel like you’re not from one country or from the other. I lived 6 years in my home country. Those wonderful years of where I spent my youth. I was a happy little girl with no worries but experiencing little moments that would come back at me in the future. I came from a family that was not completely poor but at the same time not middle class. I am the oldest of three from a kid of a dysfunctional family. My mother was 18 and my father was 35 when I was born. Not such a pretty picture. I was born in a hospital that was in a different town from where my parents lived. Why I was born in that town was because the hospital was free. Not a pretty picture. I was born September 14, 1993. I was an only child till January 1995 when my sister was born. I don’t know where she was born or what time. I just remember that like a bit after she was born my parents split up. Their relationship was not you’re happy ever after kind a story. To say that now they hate each other and can’t stand each other. It’s good that they are not in the same country. When they split up a new stage in my life happened.