When a marriage comes to an end, the couple is not the only affected. The family within and all the good times and memories are lost or put in the past. My parents were never truly happy together; I didn’t realize that until I grew and matured a bit more. The faces you see in public are not the same ones behind closed doors. The masks come off, and all that’s left are the bitter sounds of lies, resentment, and hate. All this needs to end at some point, there has to be a finish line where one can’t go any further and the only option left is giving up. When the end arrives, some don’t understand the situation, and others don’t want to accept the fact that it’s over, but it was all over before it even started. Sure, it’s an impact that hits hard and wounds profoundly, but there is no way around it. The only thing left to do is to face it, to face the cold reality that everything that once was thought to be, is no longer. It takes strength. Things like these and mainly this, is what forced me as a child to grow up fast, to be filled with questions I shouldn’t been thinking of, but did. This situation is what built the character that I am today.

I was about 7 years old when my parents split up. We lived in Bakersfield, California. My family consisted of father, mother, grandmother, brother, sister, a couple of chickens, a couple of roosters, a dog, some cats that often wandered around the farm, and a whole lot of cattle. Church was a big part of our weekly routine. We were Seventh Day Adventist Christians. The whole family attended church 2-3 times a week. Church was the only time the family was together. Father was always working, and when he wasn’t working his errands consisted of playing baseball with his buddies, and drinking until losing consciousness. Mother was either working, or simply trying to avoid going home. When she was home, she was always occupied; cleaning, cooking, or just “busy”. My parents could be the best parents ever, just not in the same room, simply not breathing the same air.

My life was forced to turn completely. The world I had created for myself as a child was turned upside down it seemed. I moved to a complete new state, new city, a new house, a new school, a whole new environment. I was a kid, I threw a fit, I kicked and screamed but that didn’t change anything, not one bit. It didn’t matter how tight I would shut my eyes, and how hard I crossed my fingers, my life had been changed permanently. Even though I’m only a kid, my responsibilities change, I am now responsible to get used to the fact that my life will never be the same. It is my responsibility to get used to the new “father figure” mother has chosen. I am responsible for making new friends, and memorizing a new address and home phone number. In a way, a piece of my childhood was taken from me, ripped apart. The careless mind and no worry heart are obstructed with new worries, with fear and confusion. It is clear now, my parents are no longer one, my family is broken, my father is thousands of miles away, and my mother has become such a stranger; communication is minimal.

He never called, he never wrote. Obviously he wasn’t the father I thought he was. I discovered new things. Made my eyes wide open. I picked myself up from wasting my time throwing tantrums and asking for things that were never going to happen. It took me a while, but I adjusted to it. Later, I adjusted to watching another man make my mother happy and making her cry, but then filling her head with lies and making her happy again. I adjusted to having a mother that was a settler. I adjusted to feeling like a stranger in my own home. There really wasn’t anything I could do as a kid. Situations and circumstances make “kids” mature. All of this made me mature. I realized I needed to get out there and do things on my own. I can’t leave my “home” yet. I have to wait one more year, but I’m trying my hardest to be patient. I’ve messed up too much in the past, I’m not the most responsible kid when it comes to academics, but I will do something with my life when I grow up. I’m scared; I live with fear of ending up like my mother. I don’t want to be like that. A while ago I realized that I don’t trust any guy because they always leave me, just like my father did. I shouldn’t be like that. It’s not my fault that I haven’t heard from him in 6 years. It’s not my fault I have put up walls and live with my guard up. I’ve been through so much in so little time, but that doesn’t stop me from living. It makes me stronger, it makes me mature.

My character is bold. I carry myself with dignity, respect, bravery, attitude, and consciousness. I know what I have to do to keep myself alive. I over think and over analyze, but this has helped me along the way from preventing myself of ending up in a ditch and my life completely shattered into a million pieces before my eyes. I have learned from my mistakes, and I have changed because I realized that not all change is bad. I’ve learned strategies like taking deep breaths in and out. I’ve picked myself up from the ground and gathered the grains of hope I had once lost. I realized I am strong and nothing will change that. I can do anything I set my mind to, as long as I believe. In the end everything will be just fine, or it’s not the end yet.