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.
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