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Plus! For those of you who want to read Just Another Life because you are following the story of the Phoenix, I have created a 4Phoenix promotional code that you can use on Draft2Digital to get 50% off the ebook: GHW26 However, just another reminder that these two books are separate even though they share characters. You do NOT need to read one to get into the other. Should you still want to, I thank you with all my heart, I hope you enjoy it, and have 50% off on me. 

Diary of a Phoenix - chronologically - catch up - text only

Prologue

 

My name is Alma, and this is my diary; unchanged, unaltered, unedited, just as I wrote it over fifty years ago. Yes, it has been that long, I calculated: 1992-2045. And of course it has, I just had my 70th birthday. Back then I was a 16-year-old who lost everything and everyone.

This is my truth in its full glory. Or, perhaps not glory, but naked truth that I never thought I’d share with anyone. I was made to write as part of my therapy. I have forgotten many things, but I remember very clearly my therapist telling me to write every day. I thought she was stupid. I never wrote every day, though sometimes I wrote multiple entries in a day. I wrote when I felt I had something to say. Forcing myself to say anything proved to be too hard. Maybe I should have forced myself to write, but it’s easy to say that now when I’m over the worst of it.

Deciding to publish it has not been an easy decision to make, despite the fact that I’ve spent years speaking about my life publically. It’s interesting, when I was a child, so before any of the stuff that you’ll read about, we read Anne Frank. I wondered if she would want her diary to be public knowledge. Now that I understand her through my own experience, I think she would.

If someone asked me how I faced the fact that my whole family was murdered, I would have told them that I cried. For years, I just cried. That’s all I remember. The sobbing, hugging my knees to my chest for comfort, preferring nights to days… I loved rain. My favourite were those dark clouds that weighed heavily in the sky as if they want to crush the earth but something won’t let them. And I was just waiting for that something to break and for the clouds to crush the whole world. That’s what I remember. That and anger. Bursts of anger that made me want to jump out of my own skin. Screaming wasn’t enough. I was so angry. But then, I found my diary. To my surprise, I hardly ever mention crying, though anger is there.   

Time didn’t matter. Initially, it was as if time didn’t exist. That’s hard to imagine even for me, and I’ve lived through it. But even later, when I became aware of the existence of time, I never bothered to put a date on an entry. This must be the only diary in the world that doesn’t have a date. Not one single date. It just didn’t occur to me to write one. I can figure out some, like the entry on my eighteenth birthday, of course I know the date of that. But I’m not going to. I lost everything except time, yet time became irrelevant. There’s something so poetic in that.

However, since I have a whole new life now, I guess it would be alright to put today’s date: 25th October 2045.

I’ve achieved all my goals, and more. Yet I firmly believe that survival is my greatest accomplishment. Life isn’t just about what we’ve gained, it is far more important to see what we’ve overcome. We are programmed to see diplomas, travels, friends, family, even fame and money. We turn a blind eye to the ever present battle with ourselves. And that battle, that’s the battle of life. Losing that battle makes all other wins pointless. What is the value of fame and fortune if you are despised by everyone, even by yourself?

My desires are still the same. If I could have just one conversation with Ayla, my twin sister, I’d gladly swap everything for that, right here, right now, no questions. Just give me one conversation with her. I still talk to the mirror, even though I know how much it hurts when the mirror doesn’t reply. But I’ve learned to live with that, because that’s the way it must be.

You know the prayer: God, please grant me the SERENITY to accept the things I cannot change, the COURAGE to change what I can, and the WISDOM to know the difference. Well, that’s how I live my life. And it has served me well so far.

So, dear reader, as you go through these pages of my life, I hope you will be generous with your understanding.

 

1.

 

I don’t know how to do this. Write a diary? What is that even about?

I open this notebook, look at the blank page, and the lines asking for words, but I don’t know what to write. So I close it and leave it on the bed.

But I have to write. My stupid therapists thinks this is what I have to do. She said “write anything”.

Fine.

I think my therapist is stupid.

There, how’s that for writing anything?

 

2.

 

Dr Lily insists I should write anything, even if I call her stupid, she’s fine with that. I’ve tried to tell her that I can’t write, I’ve really tried over and over again, but she insists I write.

Anything…

I’m in a white room. Everything’s white. The walls, the door, the huge curtain, the floor, the bed, the bedding, the bedside table… That’s it. There’s nothing else here. Shouldn’t there be something else here?

I’m dressed in white.

This is not me.

Of course it’s not me.

Me?

 

 

I can’t live without them.

I can’t be alone.

The nightmares… Those are not nightmares, are they?

What happened to me?

Oh, I’m being stupid again. Sometimes I get these bad feelings. That must be why I’m here. I don’t remember how I came to the hospital, but I know I have a problem. When I try to remember I can’t, and then random memories will pop up out of nowhere.

Nothing happened to me. What could happen to me? I’m fine. It’s all fine. Or it will be. I just need to…

I remember when I was little, my uncle’s friend’s daughter had a problem. I don’t remember the details, maybe I never knew the details, but I know it was really scary for everyone for a while. They kept talking about her fits, and the need to be alone… They’d whisper ‘she’s always silent and depressed’. She’s fine now. Turned out she lacked some kind of mineral. Once they fixed her diet, she was normal again. I’m sure I’m going through something like that.

I need to focus on staying positive. Nothing happened to me. I’m fine. Maybe then they’ll let my family visit. Why won’t they let them visit?  

 

 

After I wrote that I went out to look for my therapist. It was the first time I left the white room. The smell of coffee at the end of the long hall made me scream. They had to give me some kind of injection. I’ve been sleeping since.

My head feels weird.

I can still smell coffee. I know it’s not real. This white room has no smell. Even I don’t smell. Did I ever smell?

Little Danny likes to sniff people. It’s a game to him. Uncle Frank gets so angry at him for calling out bad smelling feet.

Danny likes my mum’s hair.

“Ummm, roses,” he’d close his eyes after taking a deep whiff near mum’s head.

Roses? What do they smell like? I can’t remember. I can remember Danny creeping up behind mum as she sits on the sofa. He’d smell her hair and smile. I smelled her hair too. I liked it. But I can’t remember that aroma.

Aunt Jen would shake her head apologetically.

“He’ll grow out of it,” Grandpa says.

He’ll grow out of it?

 

5.

 

Some sentences pop up in my mind and I can’t breathe. Sentences like: He’ll grow out of it; Don’t sit in Grandpa’s chair; What are you going to be when you grow up; I’ll tell mum – Ayla’s voice, always Ayla’s voice.

Coffee?! I can’t stop smelling it. It’s like buzzing in the ears except I have it in my nose. It’s constant. I get one-second flashes of all kinds of rooms, all kinds of houses; our house, aunt Jen’s house, aunt Milly’s house, even our neighbour Vera…

Houses, and people, and houses pop up in my mind like those foam balloons we used to blow as kids. Except these don’t just burst, they reappear in another place, and then I get flashes of various objects from those houses; a clock here, a picture there, a sofa, a lamp, a chair, wallpaper, even a light switch from my aunt Zena’s house. And laughter, talking, lots of voices, and music, and coffee, always coffee. All these images pop up randomly and it makes me so tired. I have to sleep.   

 

 

Did Ayla have a boyfriend? I had a flashback of her talking to some guy. We were in a café, it felt familiar… But I don’t like him. I don’t like the way she is when he’s around. Is she still with that guy? Maybe they’re married, or engaged?

What do I have to do to get these doctors to let me see my sister, or my mum, dad, someone? I know if I could talk to them I’d be better.

Something’s wrong with me, but keeping them away isn’t helping.

Unless…

No, no… It’s not possible.

 

 

I had to be sedated again.

I peeped behind the huge white curtain. It felt like someone kicked me in the chest. I started choking. A nurse rushed in, she screamed for the doctor.

Next thing I know I was shivering in the bed. The nurse was holding my hand. Her bright blue eyes sparkled as she moved her thumb slightly stroking my thumb.

“Could you open the curtain?” my voice barely made it out of my mouth.

She looked away “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Doctor Lily has gone home.”

I waited for her eyes to return to me.

We’re about the same age.

“There’s nothing behind the curtain, is there?” I asked.

“Just park. Trees mostly. If you look hard enough you can see the main hospital on the other side of the green.”

The main hospital?

Of course they won’t let me see my family when the sight of trees freaked me out. I have to get over this.

“Could you take a look?” I felt my head rising off the pillow.

She smiled and nodded, leaving my hand and moving silently toward the curtain.

Her face disappeared for a moment into the material hanging off the ceiling all the way to the floor.

Then her face appeared “It’s dark. There’s some lights in the distance, and barley visible shadows of branches and leaves.”

I had to see. The moment I moved to get out of the bed, the nurse rushed to me and grabbed my arms. She looked terrified.

I smiled to reassure her. She held me as if I needed help walking.

Face-to-face with the curtain she whispered “What did you see the last time?”

I paused to think. “Nothing,” I said. “I saw trees, and grass. Few benches along the paths.”

“Oh…” she frowned.

I shook my head “I don’t know why I freaked out, but I know I have to do this. If you want to leave…”

“No, I’m staying right here.” Her grip on my hand felt a little tighter. “Okay, it is dark, and there are shadows.” Her voice shaky but determined. “We are on the ground floor, but there’s a net across the whole window so nothing can get in.”

“Net?” My whole body vibrated.

“It’s just to protect from birds and insects. It’s not…”

My legs were moving on their own, away from the curtain.

“Do you want to take the net off?” blue eyes wide open, “I can rip it off. Would you like that?”

I couldn’t breathe.

“I’ll rip it off.” She moved effortlessly into the white material. The window squeaked as she opened it. Fresh air came in and pushed out the anxiety that filled the room. I could see her fist banging and then a loud thump.

“There you go. No more net. The net is on the floor, outside.” She waited for me to respond.

I don’t remember seeing the net. How could something I didn’t even see frighten me so much? But I must have seen it. Why can’t I remember seeing it?

“Maybe we should wait until the morning?” She pulled me gently back to the bed.

With my head resting on the pillow, and the fresh air that filled the room, I felt better than I had since I got here.

“Leave the window open,” I said to the blue eyes.

“Okay, but a bird might fly in. Sometimes they do. Don’t freak out. I’ll be right here. I’ll take care of it. Okay?”

I nodded and closed my eyes. “What’s your name?” I whispered.

Her lack of response made me open my eyes again.

“Call me Sid,” she smiled.

I might have some serious mental issues, but I’m not stupid. Call me Sid? What the fuck does that mean?

Her name tag was peeping out of her chest pocket. I sat up and pulled it out in one swift motion.

Ayla…

My hand shook as I placed the tag back into her pocket.

 

8. 

 

Ayla will be here any day now. She’ll sort me out. I know she’ll come with like ten books on what might be wrong with me, and she’ll be like ‘You need to do this, and drink that, and go here, and…’ I’m sure she’s doing the research as I write this. She’s out there, going through everybody’s bookshelves, looking for a solution. She’s probably already spoken to ten different professionals.

And my mum, and grandpa, oy! I’m sure grandpa is in the fields collecting all kinds of plants to make my teas.

I can see Dad giving orders to everyone in the family and neighbourhood about how to speak to me, how to look at me, how not to look at me… I’m sure even cousin Belma isn’t excused. She’s probably given birth by now. I wonder what name they chose for the baby. She wanted something unique that no one in our family has. It is not easy to find such a name. We’re a big family.

 

 

Doctor Lily didn’t come to see me today. Nurses have been in and out all day, far more than usual, but no one has spoken to me. Considering what happened last night with Nurse Sid, I though the doc would be here first thing in the morning.

I hope she’s alright.

Arrgh! There I go again with bad thoughts. Of course she’s alright. She probably has other patients. Maybe I’m getting better, and that’s why she hasn’t been to see me?

I have to stop having these feelings that everyone is dead. And that everyone will die. And that we are all in danger.

Happy thoughts! Sunsets! Calm seas… Beautiful beaches, trees, flowers, butterflies…

 

10.

 

I haven’t slept at all last night. For the first time since I got here, I couldn’t sleep. I’ve slept days and nights, but last night, not a wink. I sat by the window, thinking. I love the window. At first I was a little afraid of it, but now I adore it. This is why I think I’m getting better.

I don’t sleep constantly anymore.

I am realising I have a problem.

My head doesn’t feel so empty anymore – this sentence doesn’t make sense even to me, but it’s the best I’ve got. I don’t know how to write a diary. I’ve never done this is my life. Why would I? I have a twin sister who remembers EVERYTHING! Ayla is sometimes annoying with how well she remembers. I don’t have monologues. I have dialogues. That’s what I’m good at. Writing a diary is like talking to yourself. In fact, it’s worse than that. Being unable to write a diary is not a sign of a problem.

And I know, I can write Ayla’s name, but I can’t say it – this is an indication of something. She probably did something that hurt me… I don’t know.

And normal things freak me out. I get that’s a problem too. BUT! I love the window now. I was freaked out by the net on the window. Now, I love the view outside.

And the aroma of coffee! I know I fainted the first time I smelled it, but I love it now. I think I should try coffee??? Should I? I can still smell coffee. And it gives me positive feelings. I know I found the smell annoying at first, only because it was constant. Now, I like it. I even like that it’s constant.

So, yes, I still have a problem…

Truth be told, I don’t think I’m having bad feelings, I think I have amnesia. But surely writing in a diary is not going to help me remember. Talking to someone who was there will help me remember. Whatever happened, I can face it.

I need to see Doctor Lily.

 

11.

 

A nurse came and said doctor Lily called me to her office. That’s was weird. She always came to see me. I didn’t even know where to go.

Climbing up the stairs made my heart race. It was almost funny. My legs were shaking yet I felt excited. It’s just a boring, ordinary staircase, one of those walled from all sides. It was well lit, white walls, nothing on them.

Doctor Lily’s office is on the second floor, room 222. Left and left again. I found it.

“Why am I here?” I said as soon as I sat down on the chair.

She walked from behind her desk and sat on the other chair next to me. “Why do you think?”

“Because I’m having very negative thoughts about the world?”

She nodded “What kind of thoughts?”

“That everyone is dead, that everyone will die, that I should be dead…” Her face didn’t change, the look in her eyes as stern as any I have ever seen.

Clearly she expected me to say more. I took a deep breath “I don’t want to die. I’m not suicidal or anything, I just… I think it would really help if you’d let me see my family. At least my mum, or dad, or my sister.”

Doctor Lily scratched her chin “Could I stop them from seeing you?”

It felt like a bomb exploded in my head. I had a million thoughts. Ayla would have sneaked in. I’m on the ground floor. She could have come to my window. We’ve climbed walls and fences since we were five years old.

There is no way anyone could have stopped my dad from coming to see me. I would have heard him shouting at the reception, he would have torn his way to me.

There are more people in my family than in this whole hospital.

I sat there, unable to speak. Doctor Lily kept her eyes on me.

“What happened to me?” I whispered.

“You have to remember,” she frowned, her eyes sparkling. “I can only give you time and support.”

I left her office on wobbly knees. I couldn’t even make it down the stairs. I had to sit and rest. A nurse walking by helped me back to my room.

I slept again.

 

 

I’m not crazy, I’m grieving.

I don’t have negative thoughts, I’m objecting to the truth, the reality.

My amnesia is a shield.

Deep down I know the truth, I just… I don’t know it! When I try to remember I feel dizzy. But the feeling, the hard press on my chest, that’s the voice of truth. My heart knows it, but my head is blocked away from it. It’s like there’s a wall between my heart and my head.

My heart and my head are not communicating. The spilt between them is the problem. I have to bring my heart and my head together again. They need to work together.

How? Why? What kind of truth could do this to me?

 

13.

 

I’m remembering the past with more clarity than I ever thought possible, even though it’s just snippets. But it feels like I’m still there.

New Year’s Eve. Everyone is at our house. There’s glitter and lights everywhere. It smells like cinnamon, apples, cloves and coffee. Ayla and I were about seven. Mum let us put on some lipstick. We were so proud of ourselves. We felt all grown up. We made a pact to stay up until midnight. I can’t remember if we did. I feel like we didn’t.

I think, I’m not sure, but I think we always celebrated New Year’s together, as a whole family. Each year in a different house…

 

 

Sunset on a beach… It’s a lake; green, calm, glistening in auburn light.

Ayla and I are examining the stones we collected.

Dad and uncle Fatih are arguing over a barbeque.

“You’re both stupid,” Uncle Ned says.

Uncle Ned…

“Hard to believe Grandpa and Uncle Ned are brothers,” Ayla’s voice. 

We’re older. Mum is here. Our kitchen. Plums… We’re making jam.

“Every family has an Uncle Ned,” Mum smiles while pouring boiling water into empty jars. Steam is escaping the glass containers that sparkle. Golden leaves and sun are in the window.

I’m steering the bubbling purple mass on the stove. Huge wooden spoon in my hand. “I’m not sure they do,” I glance back at mum with a smile.

“If someone thinks their family doesn’t have an uncle Ned, it’s probably because they’re uncle Ned.”

All three of us are laughing.

“To make matters worse,” mum carries on, “the other extreme means the same thing; if you think everyone in your family is uncle Ned, that also means you are uncle Ned.”

What’s wrong with uncle Ned?

 

 

“I am not carrying my skis, they’re carrying me,” I say to Ayla.

We’re on a slope, heading towards woods. It’s dark, but the snow is glistening in the moonlight so brightly, everything is visible.

She’s got her skis on her shoulder, digging the tips of her ski boots into the snow. I’m going up the slop with my skis on my feet, V-shape print in the snow behind me.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” she shakes her head. “I knew the lift was off for the day, yet I still went down the slope with you. I knew we wouldn’t be able to talk him into turning the lift back on, yet…”

“Well,” I interrupt raising a hand carefully so the stick doesn’t hit me or her, “we don’t know that, he already left by the time we got to the bottom. AND! May I remind you that it took us so long to get down because you kept arguing…”

“Of course I kept arguing, I knew it was a bad idea!” she interrupts, her breathing heavy. “Why was I so stupid?”

“Because you love me, and love makes us stupid,” I smile.

She shakes her head and says “It’ll take us forever to get to the house.”

At some point we stopped to make a snowman. We were laughing. The sky was full of stars.

We’ve made hundreds of snowmen in our life but that one was different. Deep inside of me, I know…

There’s no one and nothing else around. It’s just the two of us making a message for our snowman to hold – A and A were here…

Huge, fluffy snowflakes are dancing through the air.

“People are like snowflakes,” she says. “Each one different, precious, fragile, and beautiful.”

“And made of water…”

“Don’t ruin my point!” She’s angry again. I smile again.

Something bad happened later, I can’t remember what… We laughed and laughed. Building this huge snowman to hold our sign.

 

 

My cousin Amina! How did I not figure it out sooner? Sid always looked kind of familiar, but what the fuck do I know. I just liked how she made me feel comfortable, nice. I guess I thought it’s because she’s here all the time. And always looking at me with those hopeful eyes. Of all the nurses that come and go, Sid is special. Now I know why. She’s just like my cousin Amina.

Not in the way they look, though they both have blond hair and blue eyes, but in their aura. They’re identical. I wish I had my camera… Camera! I loved taking photos.

I wonder if photos are all I’ll have from now?

I wonder if Sid has a dog. Amina had this fluffy little white thing she called Cloud. She took it with her everywhere.

 

 

I remembered that Amina couldn’t keep a secret to save her life. So, I figured maybe Sid is the same way.

As soon as she walked into the room I started talking. I was telling her about my memories coming back, she responded in almost the same way doctor Lily did, how that’s a great sign.

I must admit, the fog in my head is easing. There’s more clarity. I don’t feel so lost, though I am still lost. But that’s fine. Golden rule: As long as there’s improvement, be happy – BTW, I really wish I knew who told me this. I know someone said it to me, but I just can’t remember.

I frightened poor Sid half to death when I asked her to tell me everything she knows about me.

“What makes you think I know anything?” her eyes wide open, she sat on the bed next to me.

“You were here when I came, or did someone bring me in? I don’t think I’ve ever been here before, so how could I find my own way?”

Her eyes scattered about the room “I don’t…” she shakes her head. “It’s not a good idea. Doctor Lily is risking her career on you.” Her hands cover her mouth and she jumps up. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

I smile “Why?” I pat the bed to invite her to sit back down. She does.

“I’m not allowed to tell you things, you have to remember. Doctor Lily is convinced that that’s the only way you won’t be… I mean… The only way…”

“Okay, part of my therapy is to let me remember.”

“If I thought I could help you, I swear I would tell you all I know even if they kicked me out. But Doctor Lily is really good, and she’s taken personal interest in you. She said she’s never met someone who in their hysterics could calculate 14 times 238, yet couldn’t recall who wrote Romeo and Juliet. I’m only telling you this because I think information like that might help. She thinks you have a really special mind, and you need to trust that too.” She got up again.

I didn’t have the heart to ask anything more. Clearly this was not ease for her.

“It’s alright… I get it. I need to remember on my own.”

She smiled.

“Can you at least tell me what are the constant fireworks about. And who is making popcorn in this place all the time?”

I swear she took a step back, look of shock and horror on her soft face.

“That’s not about me…” I tried to explain. Surely she can tell me about the stuff that’s going on around us? Obviously not, since she stood frozen. “I’m sorry, I thought…” and then the sound of popcorn again. I raised my finger, “Hear it?”

She nods, the look of horror still on her face. “It’s not popcorn,” she whispers. “I have to go.” She made her way to the door, slowly, as if pondering her decision. “I would do anything to help you. I need you to know that.” She said without looking at me, opened the door only enough to squeeze her slender body through, and then closed it.

The sound of popcorn went on and I kept wondering what it was… Why couldn’t Sid tell me?

 

 

Someone broke in. Or my mind is starting to play tricks on me.

No, it was…

Our house, or Grandpa’s house… Grandpa’s house I think. It was like the stream at the foot of his garden flooded the whole house.

That’s what happened. I just can’t separate distant memories from the fresh ones, the ones that matter. The ones that could tell me what happened to me.

I can see the stream and Ayla and I walking in it. I can see summer days, and then a flush of danger, but it’s not visible. It’s like lightening, and then goes back to some random memory of snow, or harvest, or collecting lady bugs. One moment I see butterflies, the next moment there are dark clouds and I’m alone, and then back to some normal memory that’s a little more than a flash.

Who would dare to break into my grandfather’s house?

 

 

I have another sentence that must mean something because it shakes my core.

Why are you rushing?

I was talking to Doctor Lily and I was trying to get her to tell me about the day I came to the hospital. She refused a few times, told me I need to remember on my own, and then she said “Why are you rushing?”

She didn’t notice that the sentence shook me, which is good. I’m getting better.

Back in my room I remembered Grandpa.

“Alma, everyone is like a river. Some are narrow, some wide, some shallow, some deep, some curvy, some straight, some flow to another river, some flow to a sea, some break the mountains, some dive under a hill, but you… You are my waterfall.”

That’s me. That’s who I am. I am a waterfall. I’ve never been good at waiting, at being patient. I’m not afraid to fall.

If feels so settling to know this.

I am a waterfall.

I am a waterfall.

I am a waterfall.

 

 

I went outside today… It’s all good.

Well… Hold on… There’s a war going on. So, obviously, that’s not good. Except, in my head, that’s not too bad either.

Oh God! That doesn’t make any sense. These contradictions are starting to piss me off.

I was getting really tired of the popcorn sound. I don’t remember if I thought about it, but at one point I walked out of my room to investigate. The long corridor outside my door was barely lit, completely silent, a little eerie, except for the popcorn sound that gave it life.

To the right of my room is the reception and entrance to the building, to my left just doors. I heard the sound coming from my left. I walked that way. Three doors from my door I noticed a little passage. The sound was coming from that direction. I could see the fire exit at the end of the passage.

Leaning on the long bar across the door was automatic, I put no thought into it. The door was open and I walked out.

It was pitch black. The popcorn sound was considerably louder. My eyes adjusted to the dark and I could see steps, just a few of them between some shrubbery. I went up the steps to an open green area. It was the park I could see through my window. And then popcorn sound. I looked up. A line of fireflies flew through the air with incredible speed.

I’ve never seen it in real life, but I’ve seen it on TV – BTW, I completely forgot about TV. I loved that box, but Ayla didn’t so I never got to watch it for as long as I wanted.

It’s not popcorn, it’s gunfire. Close enough to be heard, far enough to pose no danger.

I started thinking about the fireworks I had heard, and just as I realised those must have been bombs, two nurses showed up in the park.

“Are we at war?” I said to them.

One of them took my arm by the elbow, while the other waved at her. I should know their names… REMEMBER! Ask the nurses’ names!!!!!

The second nurse looked at me and silently nodded.

I nodded back.

Strange sense of relief washed over me as I walked back to my room, nurses following me.

We’re at war.

Who could we be at war with? Our whole lives are about peace and prosperity.

What is a war? I know it. It’s bad. Why do I feel relieved to know it?!

 

21.

 

We’re at war!

Wars = murder!

Enemy kills those they fear the most first, then they kill all!

***

“Was my family targeted?” I said to Doctor Lily, laying on her sofa, my eyes fixed on the ceiling, bracing myself for the worst response because if I faint she’ll never tell me the truth.

“Why do you ask that?”

I sat up. “Because we’re at war. My family is one of the most powerful families in this country.”

She just stared at me like she does.

“You either know, or that’s not what happened,” I snapped.

She frowned as if confused.

“Newspapers would have written about it!” I almost screamed at her. “So did you read about my family or not?”

Her eyes closed tightly as the sound of her swallowing vibrated through the space.

“NO!” I shook my head.

“We don’t know anything…” She came over and sat next to me taking my hand. “Newspapers write all kinds of stuff.”

“What did they write?” no matter how hard I tried to sound normal, my voice came out shaky and weak.  

“That doesn’t matter. Only you know. And you need to remember.”

“Why? WHY!”

“Because you survived,” her eyes sparkled, as she tried to smile but failed. “It’s not just about you. Think about what you represent.”

What do I represent?

What do I need to remember?

It’s the break-in! Grandpa’s house… Oh come on, remember already, you stupid head!

 

 

I keep getting more and more snipes of my life.

Every single one of them features Ayla. Sometimes, even I’m confused if I’m seeing her or myself. Like in a dream. We can see ourselves in a dream. That’s what these memories are starting to feel like – a dream.

One minute we’re little, chasing all sort of bugs. Another minute we’re sitting in a café, chatting over a cup and a cake.

We’ve travelled, we’ve had guests. We’ve danced, and played. We’ve sailed and ridden horses. We’ve cooked and cleaned.

Music, a lot of music.

BUT! What happened to it all?!

 

 

NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! 

Arrrrrgh!

No! That cannot be a memory!

NO!

Oh God! NO!

 

 

My head and my heart lost connection with one another in the basement of my grandfather’s house. I was in his space – a spacious area in the corner of the basement, walled off, soundproofed so he can get away from it all. We were never allowed down there.

I saw myself sitting on top of the wardrobe, near the little window that looks out to the garden, but you can only see the grass.

There were feet. Some in trainers, some in boots. I know I saw more than just feet... One of the boots had a green army uniform on. He was the main guy. I know I saw him, but I can’t bring it back.

The house above me burned.

It was hot.

I don’t remember smoke.

There were no sounds. Literally not one sound. I don’t remember hearing a thing.

The feet in the window moved further away from the house.

It all went black. 

I don’t know how I got there. I don’t know how I left the basement. I just know we were all at Grandpa’s house. My whole family was there. Everyone I love was there. They were all in that house. My grandfather’s house. The house that the feet set on fire.

 

 

I want them dead! I want them ALL dead! I want to be the one to end their lives. I WANT TO KILL THEM ALL!!!! It’s the only thought that soothes me.  

The boots! Death is too good for him. He must suffer. He must feel the pain I feel. I know he gave the orders. I know he’s responsible the most.

They are all responsible. They all must die. And I must be the one to kill them!

 

 

Why was I the only one in the basement?

They came in… I hear thumping on the ceiling, they’re moving into the house. Gun shot.

“NO!!!!” multiple voices from the house. Someone’s been shot.

And then no sounds. I hear nothing else. Was my hearing the first one to abandon me?

I want to get out, I want to go back up, but I can’t find the door.

I’m shaking. I’m on the floor.

And then somehow I’m up on the wardrobe, hiding, just peeping out of the small window near the ceiling, looking at the men around the house, hundreds of them. I could see their feet. I sneaked a few glances up, but I can’t see what I saw, I see myself doing it. Maybe Ayla was with me? But, if she was, where is she now?

Fire! I know the house is on fire.

Blank… Nothing more.

Next thing I know I’m talking to Doctor Lily. I know it wasn’t our first conversation.

How can I fill in the blanks?

Oh shit… I’m so stupid. Grandpa’s room is soundproof, of course I didn’t hear anything. Yet I did hear footsteps at first, so I must have been in the basement when they came in, and then I went into Grandpa’s room. And once there, all sound was cut off.

Okay, that’s one possibility. That makes sense.

Did I want to get out through the window?

Oh, I don’t know…

 

 

If you cause death, you should expect death to come after you. I will be their death. I will make them suffer. That’s why I’ve survived. My family is not destined to be an easy target of some devil reincarnated. My family will not go down just like that.

I will become death!

Text

Entry 69

I really am a waterfall. I might not grasp the full meaning of that, at least not until something happens, and everybody stops to take a moment, except me, I dive right in.

They carried in a guy screaming ‘bring me my leg’. He had lost so much blood, he seemed depleted. He wasn’t responsive, clearly his screams were automatic or something, because the look in his bloodshot eyes was lost.

We run up to the operating theatre 12, but the doctor wasn’t coming. I removed the guys clothes, and he had a huge bruise, just like the one another patient had two days ago. I knew it was a sign of internal bleeding, and considering that Benjamin’s screams were getting really shaky and elongated, I cut him.

Doctor Sammi came in and took over.

Three hours later he told me “Well, if you can do the cutting so well, you can do the stitching too. Take it over nurse.”

I cut a guy. I cut a human being and saved him. Me! And I didn’t even think about it. It was just… I was there, I knew it had to be done, I did it.

People die very fast in this place. Sometimes, you just have to try. But I could have killed him? Then again, if the shrapnel didn’t kill him, what chance did I have?

To make things a little more fun, I was just reading about brain tissue. Remove the T and you’ve got brain issue. I think that’s what happened, I removed the T and ended up with a huge brain issue.

It all worked out. Benjamin is in recovery. I check on him all the time. It’ll be a few days before he’s really in the clear, but so far so good.

Entry 68

There is so much soul in sharing your imagination with someone. Bits of reality inevitably make it into the world of fantasy, breaking it up, but if your mind is strong enough you just go past that, ignore it, and imagine the world as you wish it to be.

Sid and I have created a world of our own. It’s become so familiar we can just dive right into it. Our magical forest where we have power to win against evil. She uses water, I use my power over time, and we win every battle easily. Plus, the animals help. And the good wins before the evil has a chance to cause any harm.

It’s fascinating that even a woman with magical powers has to be beautiful. You’d think magical powers would be enough, but not so.

“With magical powers, of course she’d be beautiful,” Sid rolled her eyes when I suggested that perhaps our looks aren’t that important. 

In our last episode, a demon attacked our forest, so I had to slow down time for her to get enough water to throw it on the monster, and then freeze it. We, or I, communicated with the animals for the information.

Sounds so stupid when I write it, but it was so real when she dragged me into it. We were in it completely. Sometimes, I feel people looking at us, sitting on our bench, imitating all that we would do… I don’t care. Frowns, smiles, or shaking heads, I love our forest of perfection and everyone else can just bugger off.

Entry 67

Zero time has been wasted getting me into medical uni. I am officially a student. My school days are over.

Four books on medicine has turned into 17 in one day, the day that I got my results, like they MUST have had them prepared and they were just waiting for the green light to give me three bags of books. I’m going through them one by one.

Stack of books on human body next to my bed, never thought I’d see that. Let alone that I’d love them all. They’re helping me feel serious about my job – being a nurse. It’s still hard to believe that I’m doing it. I’m stitching people up. Me! WTF?! And I love it. Which makes it even weirder.

Entry 66

I told Sid about the squirrel. She and I met on our usual bench – BTW, everyone knows and respects that that’s our bench and they stay away from it. Anyway, the weather is getting hot now, and we were just enjoying the shade and I was like “Okay, I have to tell you something, but you must promise you will not think any less of me.”

“After you told me about stealing a dead arm and then giving it back, seriously? It’s worse than that?” She smiled.

I had to think. Is it worse? “I don’t know if this is worse, but it is odd.”

And then I told her all about being nervous to go out, asking for a sign, and the sign being the squirrel.

She tried not to laugh, but she failed. When I asked her why was she laughing she shook her head “You’re not the only one with a weird mind.”

“What? Come on, you have to tell me.”

She sat up “You know how much I love you, right?”

I nodded.

“I just thought… This thought just popped up, and it might sound like an insult…”

“Oh, get it out already!” I snapped at her.

“I thought…” she took my hand, “I thought, of course your spirit animal is a squirrel, you’re attracted to nuts.”

I can’t remember the last time I laughed so hard. I don’t know why she’d think that was an insult. One, I’m attracted to her, so that makes her a nut. And two, it is 100% true. I am a nut, attracted to my own sort.

Then she told me something very interesting – she’s no stranger to asking for a sign, in fact, she seeks predictions in various ways: coffee cups, beans, even tarot cards. Apparently she’d love to have a crystal ball. She’s afraid to summon ghosts, which means she believes in ghosts. I might have to ask her to try my future at some point. Not that I believe in that. But then… Fate versus decisions we make, or, more importantly, decisions other people make for us… I guess that would be useful to know. What decisions are other people making that could affect my life? Anyway… Plenty of time for that.

Entry 65

I got all A’s. I can’t say it’s without Ayla. Reading the textbooks brought it all back, knowledge that I gained with her.

They want to give me my diploma.

I don’t want it.

I’ve asked Sid to take it for me and just keep it at her home.

I just can’t face the idea that I have this important piece of paper, and Ayla doesn’t. Or I don’t know if she does.

I’ve done the high school, that’s good enough. I don’t need to see the diploma, at least not yet. Let’s just move on…

Entry 64

The results of my exams are due tomorrow. I think I’ve passed considering that I’ve already been given four medical university textbooks, which I am reading (thanks Ayla, seems your persistent reading ahead has become a habit that I can’t get rid of). Though, to be perfectly honest, I think the hospital would accept me even if I haven’t passed. The situation is really bad and they need people who can handle it. And I can. There is something so uplifting about helping, especially the really bad cases.   

Besides, the books I’m reading now are all new knowledge to me so what does it matter if I passed geography. From what I can tell, there’s just a lot about human body not about humans from here or there. Like there’s no difference and geography plays no role.

I knew a little about the human body, but this is like I knew nothing at all. Is it weird that this new information is helping me plan better how to kill those who killed my family? I should be learning how to save lives, right? Funny, learning how to save lives also teaches how to take them.

My favourite part of the day is chatting to Sid on our bench. It’s really hot now, so the shade is cool. But it takes like three minutes for us to carry on in our imaginary world and forget all that’s happening around us. Sid has the ability to bring me into her head, into her imagination. It surprises me every time. One moment I’m just in my head, trying to figure it all out, the next moment I’m floating into a world she knows so well, yet makes it up as we go along. It’s hard to describe. But I’m pretty sure that in all that improvisation, a lot of it already exists, or I hope a lot of it pre-prepared. It’s too amazing if it isn’t.

I should suggest she becomes a writer! I will suggest that! But then, she’s really good as a nurse as well. She should do both. Wooooow… This is what Ayla used to do to me. Be this, be that, be both, in fact, here’s something else you can be, just be everything. That used to annoy me. Drive me nuts, in fact. Hmm… Things have changed, haven’t they?

Entry 63

Fireworks never stop. Sid is the only one who gets that sentence. I wouldn’t dare to even mention to anyone that bombing is fireworks. She’s become such a big part of my life. If fairies really exist, I was blessed with the best one. I mean, Cinderella, darling, step aside. Your fairy only dressed you and gave you transport, and even that had a ‘use by’ date. My fairy saved me, brought me back to me, and she just keeps on being here.

Our chats on our bench are more about fantasies and imaginary world than anything real. I think we spent about two minutes going over updates on her family, and my life at the hospital, and then an hour about how she wants to have power over water, and when I said I want to have power over animals she was like: “Well, that’s nice, and it’s cool and all that, but it has to be something that life depends on. TIME! You should have the power over time!” She almost jumped up at her own idea. She was very excited, so I had to accept, but then she gave me power over animals and time.

We’ve got as far as making up spells…

We’ve managed to create a whole new world, a world that makes us happy. It might be crazy, or it might be normal, but if being happy is crazy, then I’ll choose crazy.

Entry 62

Life is made up of little pieces. For me, those pieces are all the people in my life, my family. They can drive me nuts sometimes, but each and every one of them is a part of me. And I am part of them. We are the way we are because of that. We’re all similar yet different. Alone, none of us is much to look at, but together, we make a cool image. Family photo compared to a single face in a passport.

The worst case scenario makes me want to puke, so I’m trying not to think about it. Besides, why torture myself like that? It is highly unlikely that I am the only survivor.

I must have faith in my courage to face the events of the past that have changed my life forever. But, as long as I’m alive, I must do my best. I’m no fool. I know I’ve gone through a tragedy, but I’m also not a nobody. It’s not about forgetting the past, that can never be. The past is the reason I’m here. And for every moment that I am here, I will honour the past and have courage for the future. It’ll take some time to sort out the mess in my head, but time is the only thing I have.

I must move forward with faith and hope. Keep my vision clear, my heart ready. There must be a reason I’m still alive.

Entry 61

That death scene, or the loss, I saw at the hospital really got to me. I’ve been thinking a lot about it. Or, I’ve been thinking about my situation.

Hope! That’s all I’ve got and it’s the difference between what I saw and what I’m going through. I get Pandora’s box much better now. Zeus didn’t put hope in the box. Anyone who would do so much evil, and it was Zeus NOT Pandora, wouldn’t think to put hope in there. Hope steps in when there is so much loss we wouldn’t survive the sorrow. Our fight for survival is natural, like: a law of nature. Therefore, that fight for survival, as long as there is a chance, will override all other events. Hope is the way we survive.

 

I am wrapped in hope right now. What will be in the future, is unknown, but right now, in this moment, I’m holding onto hope for dear life.

Entry 60

I’m rethinking my thoughts on death. Or! Wait… What do I want to say?

How could I forget… No, I didn’t forget, it just… Death isn’t about the departed, it’s about the living. Those of us who remain behind.

The hospital is so chaotic, I’ve only met the families of those who survived, who were saved by some amazing doctor. Today, for the first time, I saw a family who were told that their loved one didn’t make it. I was far away, but I heard the scream of a woman, I assume the mother. She was pulled by a man into a hug, a strong, all embracing hung, yet her cries continued to echo over the noise of the hospital.

I thought I knew the pain of grief, but that was… It hit my heart in a way I’ve never felt before. I know a lot about tight chest, and chest pains, but this was more like the heart almost snapping and the ribcage being empowered, like electrified, to keep the heart together. Survival mechanism that kicks in automatically whether we want it or not.

Who survives, and who doesn’t? It’s all just one big mystery. It’s easier to think it was written in the stars, but many of these people, in fact, 99% of our patients wouldn’t be here if some lunatic didn’t shoot deadly objects. We can blame the stars, or find comfort in the tale of fate, but the fact is, some moron made a decision that has created this chaos that costs innocent lives, and causes unspeakable trauma. Those people who cause this must pay for it in this life and the life to come.

Entry 59

Boots and pearls! That’s what it all comes down to.

The hospital is full of boots, the army boots, the boots like the ones I saw through the window when my grandpa’s house was burning. I am dealing with it, on my own, silently, I can’t tell even Sid about it. I can deal with boots that are not army-like. I’ve managed to see beyond my experience. But I’m struggling a little more with the heavy, black, thick sole, leather ones worn by everyone taking part in this fucking war. Taking them off someone helps. It gives me a sense of power, and the memory of the boots transforms like the woods in the moonlit night. I can handle it. I have to handle it.

The idea of pearls helps.

I told Sid about the time Ayla stole Grandma’s pearls and broke them, and how we were both punished for it.

“I get that,” Sid nodded. “Pearls are the best!” She overlooked the part I thought would stick – that we were both punished, that I was punished for something my sister did. But Sid’s mind chose its own way.

I followed: “What?! The white balls?”

“They’re not just white balls,” she seemed comically disappointed, “they’re grains of sand that went through a painful transformation inside a shell in some deep ocean.”

Okay, I was wrong. Pearls are more than just white balls. And Sid is like a pearl. There is something so deep and hidden about her.

“I have an hourglass at home,” she smiled, “every time I see the sand move from the top to the bottom I wonder if one of those grains will become a pearl. Right now, I think it should.”

I think she shares more than a name with my sister. People are like snowflakes, and a moment can become a pearl.

Entry 58

Sid and I can create a world that even Hollywood wouldn’t be able to bring to life! She and I have taken to fantasising about magical powers that would enable us to end this war.

We are the warriors.

We are the rulers of the mountains.

We can make water fly, and trees move.

The forest is our home, because from there we can see all, yet no one can see us.

It sounds so childish, yet it is sooooo much fun. Then again, when coffee, just a cup of coffee, becomes part of your fantasy, it can only go up from there.

At some point I will have to write a story based on our imagination collaborating in the best way possible. Right now, I have to run to the hospital. Night shift is lacking volunteers. People are getting tired. Understandable. Sid is at home, so no breaks with her, but she’ll be here first thing in the morning.

Entry 57

Man alive, seriously, what’s wrong with my brain? I haven’t noticed that there’s no food. Sid brought it up. She and I meet for chats on our bench during our breaks as well as ‘after work’.  

“Haven’t you noticed that you’ve been on a steady diet of beans, corn, and dry bread for months now?” She said, her head tilted, her smile soft.

“No,” I shook my head, “I hadn’t noticed.”

She laughed. “How could you not notice?” She asked gently the question many people would snap out of their mouths in anger. “Do you remember coffee?” Sid asked me, knowing the answer. “That was the last of it, the batch you smelled.”

“There’s no coffee?” I was honestly shocked, but of course there’s no coffee, we don’t grow it.

Sid shook her head. “We have chicory now.”

“The weed with blue flowers?”

She looked at me as if she was trying to see into my mind through my eyes. “How does your mind work?”

“I don’t know,” I used my cartoon voice. “It’s weird, right?” How could I remember chicory so easily, yet it takes me forever to remember my own life? I’ve heard about chicory from my grandma. I want to say it’s good for the liver???

We fantasised about pizza and burgers, and hot chocolate. We promised each other all of those as soon as the war is over. Now, all I can think about is cake. Irma made the best chocolate cake ever. All kinds of cake. I really really want some cake. And coffee. I haven’t had a carving for it, but now, I’d cross a mountain to get a cup. And fresh bread. There were times when we’d suddenly have like 50 people at our house for breakfast, and dad would go to the bakery and get like a basket of freshly baked bread.

“Imagine if it could rain coffee beans,” I said to Sid pointing at the clear blue sky.

“Ummm…” She closed her eyes. “And sugar!”

“Sugar?” I looked at her. “How would we separate the two?”

“We’d find a way,” she nodded as the sirens went off calling all available staff back to the hospital.

I jumped up but she pulled me “I just…” she began almost crying. “My older brother is on the front lines.”

I couldn’t grasp her meaning; why was she telling me this?

“I have his photo here,” she said taking out a damaged photo of a handsome young man sitting under a tree in some garden, smiling to compliment the sunny day that it was. “If they bring him, could you… I can’t stand the sight of blood, even though I volunteered at the hospital. That’s why they sent me there,” she nodded at the psychiatry building. “I want to be here is he’s…”

“If, God forbid,” I took her hands, “but if he’s brought in, I will take care of him as if he’s my own brother.”

She smiled the sweetest smile I’ve ever seen.

Sister’s love! Does it get any deeper?

And, I must say, being able to remove the worry on her face, the dread in her beautiful eyes, fills me with more joy than I thought possible right now.

Entry 56

With my exams over, they’ve relaxed the rules a little. Not that they told me, I just figured because Sid stopped being so nervous when I’m late. She also agreed to wait for me at the bench – we chose one bench in the park that’s close enough to the main hospital so I can see her through a window, and far enough so she doesn’t hear the ‘screams’. She said the only thing she can hear at the hospital is agonising screams. I have noticed them, but they don’t bother me. Sometimes, people need to scream. Sometimes, I wish I could just scream. But that’s the difference between physical injuries and emotional ones – physical ones are visible, therefore anyone can be excused for screaming. Emotional and mental pain isn’t visible. So if you start screaming people get very confused.

Sid calls the waiting for me on a bench a promotion. She smiles as she sits under the tree, listening to the birds chirping. Weather is just magnificent. Not too hot, and the cold days are behind us.

We sit on the bench and chat. This sprinkle of normality removes my need to scream. We chat about anything and everything, whatever comes up. Though I have noticed that she doesn’t like to hear about the hospital, and I’m not sure I’m allowed to tell her – patient confidentiality and all that, not that anyone told us about it, I just know it. But Sid likes to hear about the stuff I remember. She loves it when I tell her about the notes I’m making in my ‘family’ journals. It’s interesting, I have this one notebook where I write about me and how I feel and what I think, I’ve filled in about 40 to 50 pages – it’s a thick notebook. Yet, I’ve filled in eight thinker notebooks, and I’m half way through a thick notebook with the notes on my loved ones. Talking to Sid about this helps me remember more and more.

Though I behave very seriously and responsibly at the hospital, I still feel like a fake. I wonder if that will ever go away.

Entry 55

I’ve done all the revising I intend to do. I am due to sit three exams tomorrow. I am not nervous at all. I just want to get it over and done with. Then again, I’m aiming for just a pass. I had all A’s before, but that was because Ayla insisted that if she has all A’s I had to have them as well. I know I’ll get some B’s and C’s, maybe even some D’s, but she can tell me off for that when she comes. For now, I’m doing this my way. Though I am worried about her. Where is she? What is she doing? Is there someone taking care of her, helping her?

I’m also at the hospital every day, helping. Usually I’m cleaning wounds, or dead bodies. Well, I do whatever needs doing from cleaning the halls to assisting with operations. Previously, they told me I have to get my high school diploma and become a medical student before they can treat me as a proper nurse. However, I’m officially a nurse even though I have not received my diploma let alone become a medical student. I don’t know what’s going on, and I don’t think anyone does. But the idea of me being a nurse, like proper nurse, makes me giggle. It sounds like a beginning of a bad joke… Just going with the flow. Trying not to think too much about how much I want to share this with Ayla and what would she say.

I’m not allowed to stay at the hospital longer than eight hours a day, which is fine… Sid has been assigned the task of helping me keep track of time – I still get lost and just forget. I don’t really understand it, I’ve never been like this, if anything, I’ve always been very responsible about time, but Sid is doing a great job. She hates going into the main hospital, the place freaks her out, she said “Organs, bones, and blood should all be packaged neatly inside our skin,” cringing at the idea that they are often found outside our skin, and it is a mess.

She waits for me by the door. I hate to keep her waiting, so that helps me remember to check if she’s there. I love that door. It led me to the hospital, and now, even when I’m leaving I look forward to walking through the park with Sid, chatting away like two completely normal young women. Normal? Hmm… Well, our version of normal includes fantasy. It’s the only way to survive this mess. Imagination and fairy tales. But I believe that’s normal.

The hospital feels natural to me, but I can tell that Sid does NOT want to hear the details.

I wish I could stay there longer. When I’m alone, I’ve started to hear silences. It’s really odd, and it annoys me to no end. Being at the hospital is an escape from that, so I wish I could stay there, but I understand that I should rest no matter how much I don’t want to. I have to take it slow.

Entry 54

Oh what a relief!

I’ve brought the diary with me to the hospital. After my last entry, I don’t think I should leave it. I don’t think anyone’s been reading it, but just in case.

I’m hiding in the loo, writing.

I told Dean’s mum about the arm. She seemed a little shocked, but she agreed to tell others. When she did, it was like a gallery of facial expressions. We had it all, from giggling, to being so horrified I thought one person was going to pass out.

Dean wants to hold a funeral for his dead arm, marking his final resting place already. He’s barely twenty years old. It is his right arm. I was hoping he’s a lefty, he isn’t. He’s gona miss that arm. But this is giving him a sense of closure and stability. There was a look of gratitude on his face; a sorrowful smile, like ‘it’s not ideal, but it’s better than nothing’. So I think I did good. Then again, it occurred to me that I left it under a pine tree like a Christmas gift. I didn’t mean that. But, sometimes, fate, gives us a hand – pun intended.

I have to get back to work for another hour or so, and then back to my revision, if I can even call it that. I know all that stuff. Ayla has hammered it into my brain forever.

I’ve been given my exam time table; starts next week. Three exams on the first day, then two, then one, then a day off, then two, then another two, then a day off, then three and then one to end. 14 altogether. That’s high school. The examiners will come to the hospital, which is a relief as well.

 

Entry 53

Okay, I need to write this in case I find myself being sued. Who knows what my amnesia will remove next?

I’ve already written about how I came to the hospital. Well, that first patient, Dean as it happens, he had his arm chopped off by shrapnel. He’s fine now, but just as the doctor finished and was ready to leave the operating room someone came in with Dean’s arm.

It all happened really fast. The doctor was giving orders to the other two volunteers to get the patient out to such and such room, he told me to take the kit back to the storage, and then someone just opened the door, holding an arm “This is his,” they said. I took the arm and looked at the doctor. The guy who brought it just left.

The doctor looked at me and said “That’s dead, take it to the mortuary.”

One of the other volunteers took the kit “You take that, I’ll take this for you, it’s on my way anyway,” she said.

I was holding this arm, much heavier than I thought it would be, and I couldn’t believe it.

The mortuary is in the basement, hardly any light at all. There are two areas, the large one with dead bodies, and a smaller room with various body parts just left on a metal table that looked so cold. I saw half a foot, a leg up to the knee, a hand, a couple of fingers, even an ear. I had no idea what they do with those, but I couldn’t leave the arm just there. Since then I’ve learned that they burn the lot. Anyway…

So, I took the arm and went down the dark long hall to just think. At the end of the hall was a door. Another one of those with a long bar across it. That door hasn’t been opened in a long time. The hinges were squeaking and there were dry leaves on the other side of it.

The outside looked like the perfect place to hide a dead arm – woods all around, particularly pine trees with their branches like a long skirt of those old dresses that ladies used to wear. I took a large bin-bag, well it was one of those industrial ones, huge and tough, I filled it with earth, and then I stuffed the arm into the earth. Then I left the bag with the earth and the arm under a tree. But, I was worried some animals might find it, so I went around and collected rocks and broken bricks, and anything else I could find. I left the bag tucked into the spiky needled branches that rest on the ground. And then I covered the whole bag with the rocks.

I know this isn’t the best thing to do, but… Okay, this is insane. A moon must have cast a shadow over my brain when I did this, but I swear my heart was in the right place. Now, looking back, I should have just left the arm with the other body parts… Oh man! I just couldn’t. I knew it would be missed. And, I don’t want to fix this mistake. I’ve checked on the arm a few times, it’s safe. But I should tell Dean about it. It is his arm. I saved it for him. If I don’t give it back it’ll be as if I stole a dead arm, and that’s worse than just saving a dead arm.

Dean’s family and friends are visiting him on daily basis. I spoke to his mum a few times. I think she’s very understanding. I have to tell Dean about the arm, but maybe I should tell his mum first?

Entry 52

Ayla and I skipped second and sixth grade, so we were in our final year of high school when the war started, in fact, we were about six weeks away from our final exams. Ayla was one of those rare students who prepared a year in advance, and I had to be just as weird. So, when Doctor Lily asked me if I want to repeat the final year before I do my exams I said “Please don’t make me! I’ve been through that year twice already; once for real, and once because my sister is such a weirdo.”

Education minister wrote to Doctor Lily that she’d be happy to grant local high school permission to let me sit final exams.

The head of that high school came with a pile of books and said “Doctor Lily is convinced that you’ll have no problem remembering this stuff.”

The sight of those books, just the covers, took me right back to a school bench, sitting with Ayla, having her push me on. Can I do this without her?

Well, only one way to find out – dig into these books.

Entry 51

While I was writing that entry, wondering what on earth will happen now, a nurse came and told me to go to Dr Lily’s office. Dr Balkan was there. He was frowning, she was smiling.

We had a chat about why I went out and how did I end up helping at the hospital – I did NOT mention the squirrel, I thought that would make me sound nuts. It felt like he was concerned about the amount of death taking place in that building on the other side of the park. Why would I be concerned about death? I can’t wait for mine. I just need to get some stuff done, and then bye-bye world. However, he didn’t mention death, and neither did I.

Long story short, hospital is desperate for volunteers and Dr Obran thought I’m a natural, he even said I should consider becoming a surgeon.

“He said he’d be happy to help every step of the way,” Dr Lily looked proud, “that he’s never seen a talent like you. So, have you ever thought about becoming a surgeon, or a doctor of any kind?”

I could tell she feared I wouldn’t remember. But when it comes to that, there is nothing to remember.

“I’ve never figured out what I want to be,” I said. “Everyone always knew what they want to be, except me. I didn’t know. That’s what made me the odd one in my family.”

They both listened patiently, their expressions almost the same.

“But,” I went on, “I think I would like to be a doctor, perhaps even a surgeon. It appeals to me.”

Dr Balkan leaned towards me, the wrinkles on his forehead deep “So the sight of blood didn’t… for lack of a better word: traumatise you?”

“No, saving lives as much as possible felt very empowering.” That was the biggest truth I ever told. That’s exactly how it felt. I didn’t realise it until it just came out of my mouth.

A surgeon!? Me!? Really? The hospital MUST be very very desperate. In fact, I know they are. Wars are the busiest times for doctors.

I just can’t wrap my head around the idea of being something so important. Me?! The idiot trying to remember all the members in her family? Me? I might become a doctor? Part of me is excited to see that miracle come to life. The other part is certain I’ll fail, and I’m okay with that. It’s like, if you’re gona fail, fail at something huge. And this is so huge, even trying it is an accomplishment. So failure seems like – shrug!

Long story short, they are letting me carry on volunteering at the hospital. Thank God for that. I was thinking: What are my options? Sit here, in this room, wait for… For what? My memories are coming back, but what does that mean? I am in the pit of hell and have to find a way to live with that. I can’t escape that. If I had another life stashed away somewhere, I swear I’d leave this and take that other life on. But I don’t. This is the only life I have so I have to live it. The best I can hope for is to balance the hell out with some purpose, something to do, some way to get out there. Regain a sense of hope…

Entry 50

It wasn’t that crazy. I’ve been playing back the last two days, the ones I was missing but not missing.

I wondered out and walked through the park towards the main hospital. Strange sounds were getting louder. The closer I got the more I could hear screaming, shouting, and slamming of doors, calling out. By the time I got to the main building, there was commotion of sounds. I pressed my nose on a window but I couldn’t see much.

A small door a little further away from the window was ajar. I went in. I found myself behind a reception. I kind a panicked, that was no place for me. Plus, the sight of people running in all directions, shouting, carrying those that were bleeding, made me feel a sense of urgency. As I turned to leave, I knocked some papers to the floor. I picked them up, and while I was looking where to leave them, a guy in a white coat waved at me and said “Get me a surgical kit now! Operating room 1!”

I didn’t have a choice. I had to do as I was told. And the way his arm went from me to the door on his left while he was ordering me what to do, I figured I had to go that way.

The doctor went in the other direction, not even another glance at me. I made my way to get a surgical kit without any idea what that was or where to get it. Down the long hall behind the double doors four young men were carrying another young man on a stretcher. They were all covered in blood, but the look of horror on the faces of those doing the carrying was a complete contrast to the look of peace on the face of the guy being carried.

A woman in a white coat walked briskly behind them. I stopped her “Where do I get a surgical kit?”

She frowned at me “The storage!” she snatched her arm from my grip and went on.

A man dressed head-to-toe in white was running a few people behind her. I pulled him too. “Where's the storage?” I said.

He gave me an angry look, pointed behind me and said “On the right”. He also pulled his arm from me and continued running.

I made my way to the storage, careful I don't bump into people who took equal care that they don't bump into me. It’s odd, almost intuitive in a way. People bump into one another walking slowly on wide roads with plenty of space, yet in those tight corridors, where everyone was rushing no one bumped into another person.

I found the door with the word ‘storage’ on it. Feeling a sense of relief I opened it. Steam came right at me. I ignored it and walked into the room. Through the thick foggy air I saw at least four women. “Shut the door! Shut the door!” One of the women shouted, waving her arm frantically.

I did and said “Doctor sent me for a kit.”

“Wait by the door.”

I stepped back until I couldn’t step no more – the chunk of white wood pressing on my back made it clear I can’t go any further. In a few moments a woman came to me with a try of medical equipment “Didn't I tell you to wait by the door?” She said angrily, shouting as if I have a hearing problem.

I frowned at her, glancing back.

“The other side of the door!” She shouted even louder. “And where the fuck is your coat?”

I didn’t reply because I had no idea what she was talking about until she unhooked a white coat from the wall on my right and flung it at my face. I took the coat, put it on, and then grabbed the tray.

She opened the door. I left, back into the corridors of mayhem.

The hospital has 23 operating rooms. It is by sheer lack that I found the right one, on the first floor, where the mayhem gets considerably smaller. The stairs are almost like a magic passage into a different zone.

The operating room was well lit by the sun coming through the large windows.

The man on the table, the patient, had his arm chopped off. It seemed like he was coming in and out of coma every few seconds, making painful sounds. All I could do was stand there, with a huge desire to help.

No wonder Dr Obran mistook

Entry 49

It seems I’ve caused a bit of a clash of the Titans; Dr Obran – head of surgery, Dr Balkan – head of psychiatry, and Dr Lily, my doctor, keep repeating ‘two days’. Dr Balkan keeps saying how I’ve been missing for two days. Dr Obran keeps saying how I’ve been at the main part of the hospital, hence not missing for two days. And Dr Lily keeps smiling, more inclined to side with Dr Obran, but Dr Balkan is her boss. She mentions two days as evidence of my progress. Besides, she’s kind of responsible for my ‘recovery’ – they called it that, I’m not sure I agree but whatever; and that’s what the arguments were about: have I recovered enough for something like helping the wounded, or is it going to have a negative effect on the ‘progress made so far’.

I kept thinking about the squirrel and how the daft thing was right. I got out, and it was the right decision. But two days? I’ve been there for two whole days? That’s crazy! What’s even crazier is that I want to go back to the hospital. Doctor Lily is right, if I’ve spent two days there and not even realised it because I was doing so well, then obviously that’s the place for me. I hope they let me go back. I think Dr Balkan is making the decision.

Entry 48

A squirrel came! A squirrel!!!!

I have to make a move from this room. I don’t know where. I don’t know how. But I have to take the first step. Yet the idea of being killed before I can do what I need to do made me question that need. So… I asked for a sign. I opened the window and I said if any animal comes into my room it is a sign that I should just get out, follow my nose, and see where I end up.

I waited and waited. It’s still cold outside. I was starting to feel the cold. Nothing came in. I even left some of my bread on the plate near the window, nothing. There are no insects flying about. But I was hoping a pigeon or a sparrow might come.

Just as I was thinking ‘Okay, going out is not an option’, feeling like all hope is gone, a squirrel came in. I sat on my bed. It hopped through the window, took the bigger piece of the bread, and then hopped out. I swear! A squirrel.

If Ayla was here she’d say that that’s not just a sign that I should get out, it’s a sign that I will achieve it all. So, I’ll be going out. No idea where or how…

A squirrel! My animal. I love it!

Entry 47

These are all great things I’m doing, but if someone survived, how are they going to find me in this hospital? I have left my name with some organisation that connects people, but I need to get out. I just don’t know how or where. I don’t know if it’s a good idea.

The point is, if those who killed my family find out I survived, they will come after me. I can’t have that, because I need to kill them. And! I need to learn to use a gun, but I could use my knowledge of poisonous mushrooms to start the process. I know all the mushrooms no human should eat. I know where to get them. And I know how to give it to those who need to die.

So, I have two categories: 1. Find out who else has survived. 2. Kill those who murdered my family.

I need to get both of these done without too much fuss because the last thing I’d want is for someone to come after me to finish the job. I have to finish the job first.

Entry 46

Our parents had the assumption that we were always both to blame. And it was better to play along with that assumption than to fight it, because when we played along, our punishments were smaller. So Ayla and I made a pact to always accept the blame.

Dance through the punishment! – that’s what we called it. We’d team up and apologise. Once, we were grounded for only a week, and we thought we’d be grounded for at least a month if not three. When we knew we’d be punished, we just both said that we were both at fault.

I got caught that one and only time I had a cigarette in my mouth. Of course I got caught, huge family, lots of friends and neighbours, small town. Someone saw me and told my dad. Ayla was nowhere near me. She was returning our books to the library. But our parents acted like we were both hiding behind the school, smoking. We were in our room, grounded for a month, when Ayla said “Taking the blame is becoming a creative process…” She had to imagine who was there and where we were, because some questions were directed at her: “Did you just follow that no good Davor?” my dad asked Ayla.

I tried to gesture that Davor was there, but he came later, I did not follow him. If anything, he followed me. She didn’t get it, she just nodded.

I took blame for her as well… She was caught with grandma’s pearls – our mother’s most valuable possession. The idiot thought she could wear them outside, and then she’d take them off and hide them in her bag. Well, they broke in her bag. Making it sound like I was wearing them as well was a comedy show.

Thoughts of Ayla are heavy. Even happy ones feel like a fire in my chest. I really miss her.

Entry 45

I’ve remembered the bad thing that happened the night Ayla and I had to climb the mountain through the snow, and we took a ‘little’ break.

We noticed the snow sparkling blue in the distance. We knew it was a police snowmobile, but it had nothing to do with us. We just went on our merry way, making our snowman, dancing through the snowflakes, laughing. Until! The blue light came up to us. The police officer got off his vehicle and said “Are you Alma and Ayla?”

I looked at Ayla and asked her: “why does he know our names?”

Ayla shrugged.

Mum and dad freaked out when we didn’t come home.

Driving up that mountain during snow fall is dangerous, driving up the mountain at night while snow is falling is suicidal. Yet Grandpa still did it. He came to the house while mum was listing all the bad things that could have happened: wild boar, wolves, bears, falls, hitting a stone, hitting a tree, breaking legs, arms, necks, backs – it was a long list.

We were grounded for six months. It was bad back then, not so bad now. It’s kind-a funny now.

Entry 44

95 members so far. I know there are more. My family is huge. When little Sara was born, Cousin Iris said the hospital asked her to tell the family to organise their visits better. It was like a joke. Iris is one of those ‘can do’ women. She’s an architect by profession, but she’s most proud of her kids. She’s eighteen years older than me. Sara’s her fifth child. She loves to cook – always a feast at her house. And she’s always been a bit of a favourite in the family, all us girls should be like her; aunt Milly’s only daughter. Aunt Milly has three sons: Dean, Amir, and Timmo.

All these people. All these memories. A rich and eventful life. Everyone brings something with them. Nobody is perfect. Like my cousin Meho used to say: Nothing’s perfect and that’s perfect for me. And I’m so glad I’m writing it all down. It is a mess. Probably bigger mess than it should be, but at least I’m getting it down. Some of them have to be alive still. It’s just not possible that I’m the only survivor. It’s not possible. And some day I will be with them again, and we will read these notebooks together, and laugh. That’s what life is all about, after all. People we make our memories with.

Entry 43

I went from being a fanatical reader to being a fanatical writer. I’ve filled in two notebooks already, working on my third. My memory isn’t all that clear and I keep having to cross out stuff, or add stuff, it’s a bit of a mess now, but I’ll sort it out. Plus, I think this is normal. No one remembers everything about everyone. We forget stuff.

My cousin Nadia, the piano player, I hope she survived. She’s ten years older than me, and she always took my side. She’s one of those soft-spoken, always smiling type people.

Her sister Nelly, a journalist, eight years older than me, used to say “Nadia will be here any moment, so now you can do whatever you want.” Then she’d smile and take out her little notepad and pen. She jotted down everything. She got me my first camera. Well, joint gift from her whole family. Wait, I need to add that to the other notebook.

Entry 42

Dearest mother, I need you to tell me how to do this. I don’t know. What am I supposed to be doing?

I know if you’ve survived, this would be too painful, but we’d be here for each other.

If you’ve survived?

Wait, I don’t know who survived?!?! I am such an idiot. I can’t organised funerals before I know for certain that the person is dead. That would be vicious. And, someone else must have survived, but I don’t know who.

And I’ll take anyone.

If I had a choice, it would be Ayla. Sorry mum. I love you, but I think if you had to choose between you or Ayla you would have chosen her. So would dad, and grandpa, and grandma… And I think everyone else would understand my choice.

But I’ll take anyone. Annoying, obnoxious Uncle Ned who was only ever invited to family events because it would be horrible not to invite him, I’ll take him. I don’t even care what state he’s in. If he’s drooling and can’t move, I’ll take care of him.

That’s what I should do. I should write about them not as if they were dead, but as if they too survived. As if they might come back to me.

I need another notebook.

Entry 41

Latest book Sid brought me is a local story, full of dialogue.

“That’s what I’m missing,” I said to Sid pointing at the book. “I miss dialogues. I miss people. Going out. Do you know what my biggest problem was?”

Sid looked at me with those blue eyes that she has, yet hardly ever gets to enjoy. It’s such a shame that people can’t see into their own eyes. After all, if eyes are a window to our soul, people should be able to look into their own eyes to see their soul, for better or worse. Or maybe our eyes are not a window to the soul but a window from the soul. I can only catch a glimpse of the amazing world inside of her, the world she calls home? 

“I was the only one in my family who didn’t know what she was going to do with her life.”

I recalled the memories that came back to me like little pieces of a puzzle I’m supposed to put together.

“Me too…” Sid whispered leaning towards me. “And then the war started…” she shrugged, “and here I am. I’m going to be a nurse.”

“So this just came up?”

“Silver lining, as they say,” her face twisted slightly into something between a cringe and a smile. “And you will find your way too. You’ll be like a phoenix, rising to the sun, unafraid of the heat.”

The expectation is both frightening and exciting. Can I live to be a phoenix? If Sid thinks I can, maybe I can????

Entry 40

I don’t know how to survive this pain. It’s not even pain, it’s… It’s, anguish! When you have pain on your body, you squeeze it or rub it or something and it gets better at least for a while. I can’t… This is inside. It hurts in one place yet it hurts everywhere. It hurts to breathe. Water causes pain like flames. Why didn’t the sky open up and rain on the flames, put them out. Why didn’t God intervene? How could my family be dead?

 

And what the fuck am I supposed to do about their funerals?

Entry 39

Ayla!!! Aylaaaaa! Please come back. I can’t do this without you. Please. I’ll do anything. We don’t ever have to watch TV ever again. And if we do, you can always, always, always choose what we watch. ALWAYS!

You can always be the first one to the bathroom and the wardrobe. I will wear only what you let me wear, and that includes all the hair-clips. You can choose first, and even if you change your mind and want something I’ve already put on, I will let you have it.

If someone gives me something that you like more than what they gave you, I will let you keep both gifts. Just come back.

I swear, I swear to you I will ALWAYS keep my side of the room as tidy as your side. In fact, you can have the whole room, I’ll sleep in the shed. I don’t care, just come back. Please, come back.

I will NEVER ever talk you into anything ever again. We will do things you want to do. And only what you want to do and when you want to do it.

Please come back!

Entry 38

By the time Sid came back I was sobbing. I tried to keep writing in the diary, but the hand just couldn’t hold the pen. I realised that as the only survivor I had a duty to my loved ones, a duty beyond revenge and justice for the way their lives ended.

“They don’t have a grave, they haven’t even had a funeral!” I said through tears.

She started crying too. “It’s okay,” she said softly, “I don’t think it matters for the dead.”

I looked up at her.

“I think the funerals are really for the living,” she explained. “We need those. I think the dead are with God, and God judges them by their deeds not ours.”

She was making sense. Why would God punish my family for the deeds of anyone else including me?

“And I have thought about it,” she went on, “you know our national heritage are those ancient grave stones that are decorated with messages we no longer understand?”

I nodded. She was talking about stecak. We’ve made a trip to them many times. My mother always takes flowers. She insists on honouring the dead.

“What if those messages say that those are graves for the bodies without one?”

I frowned. A grave without a body, for a body without a grave. I was starting to really like the idea there and then. Now, I love the idea. There is something so timeless about it. And I like the idea of timeless.

“So, when you need to visit your family, remember them, you could borrow those graves? For all you know, one of your ancestors might have made them. And they are all together now in the afterlife.”

“You think they’re all together?” I felt a smile.

“One hundred percent, I have no doubt,” she placed her hand on her heart. “And, one day you will join them, just not yet. You have a lot to do here.”

I genuinely smiled at the thought of being reunited with my loved ones. “And you will come to visit us?”

“You better believe it. If your house in the afterlife is better than mine, I’m gona be round all the time,” she nodded.

“And I could organise a funeral… Couldn’t I?”

“Of course. And anything you need, you know I’m right here. I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to do a one by one type funeral. We will organise as many events as you want.”

Entry 37

I wanted to question Sid’s motives for the choice of books she brought me, but I knew she’d pretend like she had nothing to do with it, she was just bringing me what she had at home.

We started talking about different authors. One moment we were talking about best books, and the next thing I knew I said: “How long have I been here?”

I expected her to freak out at the question, so when she smiled I was shocked.

“Finally!” she breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s the question we’ve been waiting for.”

“What? Why?”

“Because it shows you are accepting the idea of time, of future. And you do have a future.”

Future? It’s such a strange idea…

“Almost ten months,” she said.

Ten months? I couldn’t grasp the thought. Ten months?

Sid glanced at the clock hanging on my wall like some reminder or aid, and she said “I have to see another patient really quickly, but I’ll be right back. I don’t want to miss our beautiful phoenix rising from the ashes.”

I frowned in confusion. Phoenix? Our? What the fuck was that?

“Well,” she smiled as she was walking out the door, “still a little dusty, but getting there.”

Her proud smile lingered with me. Am I a phoenix? I know I’m a waterfall, have I also become a phoenix? It kind of makes sense in more ways than one. I literally came out of ashes. Still don’t remember how, I’m still seeing the fucking boots all over the place, but I will. I will remember the faces in those boots. They will all come back to me… 

Ten months? It took me ten months to reach this point? That’s almost a year!

Of course it’s been a few months. The weather went from mild, to hot, to mild, to falling leaves, to snow, and it’s cold now but there’s no snow, it’s gloomy.

Breathe!!!! It’s okay!

Ten months? We’ve had our seventeenth birthday. Or, I have… Ayla… Oh God! No! She has as well, I just don’t know where. But, that’s okay, there’ll be many more birthdays.

Ten months?! Have they been dead for ten months? And! Who is dead and who isn’t?

No! That can’t be right?

Entry 36

The moment she brought the books, I knew she had a plan. But I went with the flow and I’m glad I did.

The titles of the books are enough of a clue:

Heart of Darkness, Dead Souls, Tales of Horror, The Lost World, Dead Men Tell No Tales, Crime and Punishment, Last of the Mohicans, and… My favourite: The Art of War!

I’m not kidding, those are the books she brought me.

I’ve read them all. And, I must admit, I feel a change. I’m not facing something no one has ever heard of, but I do know I want my story to be different… I need to work on the ‘how’?

I’m trying to stay away from memories, they hurt too much. It’s all gone. Nothing like those memories will ever happen again. But then, maybe…

I will also regain my love for boots. Sid brought me some green ones. I will wear them, I just need a little time.

Plus, I think Sid’s favourite colour is green. About 80% of the stuff she gave me is green. Or, she used to like green, but she doesn’t any more. I’ve only ever seen her in her nurses’ uniform – all white!

Entry 35

Riches I hold in light esteem,

   And Love I laugh to scorn;

And lust of fame was but a dream,

   That vanished with the morn:

 

And if I pray, the only prayer

   That moves my lips for me

Is, "Leave the heart that now I bear,

   And give me liberty!"

 

Yes, as my swift days near their goal:

   ’Tis all that I implore;

In life and death a chainless soul,

   With courage to endure.

The Old Stoic by Emily Brontë (1818 – 1848)

 

She didn’t go through this, yet she said it for me. How?

I still want revenge.

They murdered my whole family. The boots. I keep seeing them and it turns my stomach. It’s such a simple, innocent, everyday item that they’ve made me hate. I will not hate boots. Boots are not to blame. It’s the animals in the boots. I will hunt them down like they deserve to be hunted. My time will come. I’ll never give up.

I still need to find a way to… To do what? Live? It’s not enough! I can’t just live, yet even living is a challenge. I have to do more than live?

Entry 34

Getting a little bit suspicious about the books Sid is bringing me. I am very grateful for the books. Glancing at the shelf gives me a sense of accomplishment. But…

Well… at first it was all the cosy reads like Jane Austin, sprinkled with few other Brits, then Germans, then Russians… Now she brought me Dante, all three: Inferno, Purgatory, and Paradise.

Entry 33

Why can’t we measure time in books?

That was five books ago – meaning, I’ve received a considerable amount of new information since then, so I’m a little fuzzy on the details of what you want me to remember.

That was 20 books ago, meaning I’ve had a lot of new info, characters, places, and stories since then, please refresh my memory.  

That was 50 books ago – oy, you’re lucky I remember you at all.

Entry 32

In my defence, the books I’m reading now are too engaging. Woman in White is the only book Ayla and I had to have a copy each.

The Idiot is Dostoyevsky’s best work as far as I’m concerned.

AND! How did I never compare Madam Bovary and Don Quixote before?

I missed the clock. The idea of the clock did not cross my mind. While I think I have a valid excuse, I must do better. Doctor Lily shouldn’t be kept waiting.

Entry 31

“Why do you think we left a clock in your room?” Doctor Lily asked me at one of my appointments.

Truth be told, I hadn’t really noticed the clock. Now that I look at it, it is ticking loudly.

Apparently I’m supposed to keep an eye on it and make it to my appointments on my own without being told that it’s time. I will try to remember that.

I also need to remember to go to sleep. I went from sleeping all the time, to not sleeping at all. Replaced one unhealthy habit with another. That’s what she said.

I’m still into reading, big time. But I get these flashes of burning… Grandpa has the best library. It must have burnt… I shouldn’t think about that. Books can be replaced.

Entry 30

I’ve been reading like my oxygen depends on it. I can’t stop. Sid was right, the books feel like home. She has brought a piece of my past back to life. These books are exactly the same as the ones I read before…

Were these books always this great? I don’t think they were. I liked reading, I adore it now. The only problem is that I keep being interrupted. I still see Doctor Lily on daily basis, but I go to her office when a nurse barges in to tell me it’s time.

Entry 29

“If you go, I’m coming with you,” Sid said, her blue eyes serious. “You can’t do it on your own. You’ve only been out once. You need me!”

I didn’t expect her to respond like that. I only told her that I intend to leave, to steal a gun, and to look for the men who killed my family, because she’s a friend. She’s my cousin Amina. She deserves to know.

I told her I’m sure I’ll remember when I go back to my grandfather’s house. If I was to see men there, I’m sure my memory would return. I want to kill them all.

“You can’t come with me,” I shook my head.

“Why not?”

“You want to get killed? Can you imagine what that would do to your family?”

“Do you want to get killed?” She replied.

“Of course not,” I said, thinking how I don’t really care. I had to kill them. If I ended up being killed, so be it.

“Forget the tragedy! Focus on your miraculous survival…” Sid took my hands. “You have to stay alive just to spite them. You are their failure. If you get killed, they’ve won. They will have no failure.”

I hadn’t thought of it that way. I can’t let them kill me.

I have to live? But… I don’t know how to live. I need to die. And I need to die honourably.

Oh God!

“You don’t understand!” I shouted at Sid, snatching my hands back, pacing about the room. “I can’t live.”

“Yes you can!” She said in a voice I didn’t think she had; a voice that sounded so strong it shook me. “Yes, you can.” She repeated softer. “You can…” her voice became a whisper.

My eyes felt like they were on fire, yet there were no tears to put out the flames. I sat on the bed.

Sid sat next to me. “You deserve justice in whatever form you think best,” she kept her eyes on mine, “and I will do anything to help you. ANYTHING! But I think we need to be smart about this.”

I watched her become my guardian angel once again. Now she seemed more like my cousin Nadia. Nadia was always on my side. She was soft too. Played the piano? Maybe… I’m not sure.

“In my view,” Sid carried on, “we need to get your head sorted out first. And! I’ve had an idea for a while… It might be completely stupid, but it might not…”

She paused and I was getting annoyed. “I like stupid ideas,” I said. Something about that sentence felt so true, it was calming.

“Books?” she said slowly, carefully, cringing at the word. “You said you like books, that your family had a lot of books, well… Books are all the same. I have books. If I bring you mine, maybe that will make you feel like a little part of your past is still alive. Is that stupid?”

“No…” I couldn’t take my eyes off her. That was the best idea I have ever heard.

“And, maybe we could bring you a desk, some shelves, I could even bring you some normal clothes…”

Normal clothes? I looked at myself. All in white.

“I can wash them…” she said. “Hospital has a white policy because it’s easiest to wash.” She explained as if she read my mind and knew I was confused.

Her kindness brought back hope I thought was dead. Maybe a little hope, but hope all the same. I mean, she doesn’t even have to be here, let alone worry about me like this, share my pain like this. I have no choice. This pain is my pain and I can’t get away from it, but she can. Yet she chooses to stay with me. I wonder if I would have done that for someone?

I didn’t really think my plan all the way through, did I? You can’t just go and murder a bunch of people. For one, they will fight back. It’s a human rule. Heck, even animals fight for their lives.

To achieve my goal, I need to work on me first.

Entry 28

My mind is trying to trivialise what I know to be true now. It keeps bringing up some memories of a life they killed. The laughter is now tainted with blood. There is no going back. There is no fixing this.

They killed my family. I want revenge.

Entry 27

If you cause death, you should expect death to come after you. I will be their death. I will make them suffer. That’s why I’ve survived. My family is not destined to be an easy target of some devil reincarnated. My family will not go down just like that.

I will become death!

Entry 26

Why was I the only one in the basement?

They came in… I hear thumping on the ceiling, they’re moving into the house. Gun shot.

“NO!!!!” multiple voices from the house. Someone’s been shot.

And then no sounds. I hear nothing else. Was my hearing the first one to abandon me?

I want to get out, I want to go back up, but I can’t find the door.

I’m shaking. I’m on the floor.

And then somehow I’m up on the wardrobe, hiding, just peeping out of the small window near the ceiling, looking at the men around the house, hundreds of them. I could see their feet. I sneaked a few glances up, but I can’t see what I saw, I see myself doing it. Maybe Ayla was with me? But, if she was, where is she now?

Fire! I know the house is on fire.

Blank… Nothing more.

Next thing I know I’m talking to Doctor Lily. I know it wasn’t our first conversation.

How can I fill in the blanks?

Oh shit… I’m so stupid. Grandpa’s room is soundproof, of course I didn’t hear anything. Yet I did hear footsteps at first, so I must have been in the basement when they came in, and then I went into Grandpa’s room. And once there, all sound was cut off.

Okay, that’s one possibility. That makes sense.

Did I want to get out through the window?

Oh, I don’t know…

Entry 25

I want them dead! I want them ALL dead! I want to be the one to end their lives. I WANT TO KILL THEM ALL!!!! It’s the only thought that soothes me.  

The boots! Death is too good for him. He must suffer. He must feel the pain I feel. I know he gave the orders. I know he’s responsible the most.

They are all responsible. They all must die. And I must be the one to kill them!

Entry 24

My head and my heart lost connection with one another in the basement of my grandfather’s house. I was in his space – a spacious area in the corner of the basement, walled off, soundproofed so he can get away from it all. We were never allowed down there.

I saw myself sitting on top of the wardrobe, near the little window that looks out to the garden, but you can only see the grass.

There were feet. Some in trainers, some in boots. I know I saw more than just feet... One of the boots had a green army uniform on. He was the main guy. I know I saw him, but I can’t bring it back.

The house above me burned.

It was hot.

I don’t remember smoke.

There were no sounds. Literally not one sound. I don’t remember hearing a thing.

The feet in the window moved further away from the house.

It all went black. 

I don’t know how I got there. I don’t know how I left the basement. I just know we were all at Grandpa’s house. My whole family was there. Everyone I love was there. They were all in that house. My grandfather’s house. The house that the feet set on fire.

Entry 23

NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! 

Arrrrrgh!

No! That cannot be a memory!

NO!

Oh God! NO!

Entry 22

I keep getting more and more snipes of my life.

Every single one of them features Ayla. Sometimes, even I’m confused if I’m seeing her or myself. Like in a dream. We can see ourselves in a dream. That’s what these memories are starting to feel like – a dream.

One minute we’re little, chasing all sort of bugs. Another minute we’re sitting in a café, chatting over a cup and a cake.

We’ve travelled, we’ve had guests. We’ve danced, and played. We’ve sailed and ridden horses. We’ve cooked and cleaned.

Music, a lot of music.

BUT! What happened to it all?!

Entry 21

We’re at war!

Wars = murder!

Enemy kills those they fear the most first, then they kill all!

***

“Was my family targeted?” I said to Doctor Lily, laying on her sofa, my eyes fixed on the ceiling, bracing myself for the worst response because if I faint she’ll never tell me the truth.

“Why do you ask that?”

I sat up. “Because we’re at war. My family is one of the most powerful families in this country.”

She just stared at me like she does.

“You either know, or that’s not what happened,” I snapped.

She frowned as if confused.

“Newspapers would have written about it!” I almost screamed at her. “So did you read about my family or not?”

Her eyes closed tightly as the sound of her swallowing vibrated through the space.

“NO!” I shook my head.

“We don’t know anything…” She came over and sat next to me taking my hand. “Newspapers write all kinds of stuff.”

“What did they write?” no matter how hard I tried to sound normal, my voice came out shaky and weak.  

“That doesn’t matter. Only you know. And you need to remember.”

“Why? WHY!”

“Because you survived,” her eyes sparkled, as she tried to smile but failed. “It’s not just about you. Think about what you represent.”

What do I represent?

What do I need to remember?

It’s the break-in! Grandpa’s house… Oh come on, remember already, you stupid head!

Entry 20

I went outside today… It’s all good.

Well… Hold on… There’s a war going on. So, obviously, that’s not good. Except, in my head, that’s not too bad either.

Oh God! That doesn’t make any sense. These contradictions are starting to piss me off.

I was getting really tired of the popcorn sound. I don’t remember if I thought about it, but at one point I walked out of my room to investigate. The long corridor outside my door was barely lit, completely silent, a little eerie, except for the popcorn sound that gave it life.

To the right of my room is the reception and entrance to the building, to my left just doors. I heard the sound coming from my left. I walked that way. Three doors from my door I noticed a little passage. The sound was coming from that direction. I could see the fire exit at the end of the passage.

Leaning on the long bar across the door was automatic, I put no thought into it. The door was open and I walked out.

It was pitch black. The popcorn sound was considerably louder. My eyes adjusted to the dark and I could see steps, just a few of them between some shrubbery. I went up the steps to an open green area. It was the park I could see through my window. And then popcorn sound. I looked up. A line of fireflies flew through the air with incredible speed.

I’ve never seen it in real life, but I’ve seen it on TV – BTW, I completely forgot about TV. I loved that box, but Ayla didn’t so I never got to watch it for as long as I wanted.

It’s not popcorn, it’s gunfire. Close enough to be heard, far enough to pose no danger.

I started thinking about the fireworks I had heard, and just as I realised those must have been bombs, two nurses showed up in the park.

“Are we at war?” I said to them.

One of them took my arm by the elbow, while the other waved at her. I should know their names… REMEMBER! Ask the nurses’ names!!!!!

The second nurse looked at me and silently nodded.

I nodded back.

Strange sense of relief washed over me as I walked back to my room, nurses following me.

We’re at war.

Who could we be at war with? Our whole lives are about peace and prosperity.

What is a war? I know it. It’s bad. Why do I feel relieved to know it?!

Entry 19

I have another sentence that must mean something because it shakes my core.

Why are you rushing?

I was talking to Doctor Lily and I was trying to get her to tell me about the day I came to the hospital. She refused a few times, told me I need to remember on my own, and then she said “Why are you rushing?”

She didn’t notice that the sentence shook me, which is good. I’m getting better.

Back in my room I remembered Grandpa.

“Alma, everyone is like a river. Some are narrow, some wide, some shallow, some deep, some curvy, some straight, some flow to another river, some flow to a sea, some break the mountains, some dive under a hill, but you… You are my waterfall.”

That’s me. That’s who I am. I am a waterfall. I’ve never been good at waiting, at being patient. I’m not afraid to fall.

If feels so settling to know this.

I am a waterfall.

I am a waterfall.

I am a waterfall.

Entry 18

Someone broke in. Or my mind is starting to play tricks on me.

No, it was…

Our house, or Grandpa’s house… Grandpa’s house I think. It was like the stream at the foot of his garden flooded the whole house.

That’s what happened. I just can’t separate distant memories from the fresh ones, the ones that matter. The ones that could tell me what happened to me.

I can see the stream and Ayla and I walking in it. I can see summer days, and then a flush of danger, but it’s not visible. It’s like lightening, and then goes back to some random memory of snow, or harvest, or collecting lady bugs. One moment I see butterflies, the next moment there are dark clouds and I’m alone, and then back to some normal memory that’s a little more than a flash.

Who would dare to break into my grandfather’s house?

Entry 17

I remembered that Amina couldn’t keep a secret to save her life. So, I figured maybe Sid is the same way.

As soon as she walked into the room I started talking. I was telling her about my memories coming back, she responded in almost the same way doctor Lily did, how that’s a great sign.

I must admit, the fog in my head is easing. There’s more clarity. I don’t feel so lost, though I am still lost. But that’s fine. Golden rule: As long as there’s improvement, be happy – BTW, I really wish I knew who told me this. I know someone said it to me, but I just can’t remember.

I frightened poor Sid half to death when I asked her to tell me everything she knows about me.

“What makes you think I know anything?” her eyes wide open, she sat on the bed next to me.

“You were here when I came, or did someone bring me in? I don’t think I’ve ever been here before, so how could I find my own way?”

Her eyes scattered about the room “I don’t…” she shakes her head. “It’s not a good idea. Doctor Lily is risking her career on you.” Her hands cover her mouth and she jumps up. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

I smile “Why?” I pat the bed to invite her to sit back down. She does.

“I’m not allowed to tell you things, you have to remember. Doctor Lily is convinced that that’s the only way you won’t be… I mean… The only way…”

“Okay, part of my therapy is to let me remember.”

“If I thought I could help you, I swear I would tell you all I know even if they kicked me out. But Doctor Lily is really good, and she’s taken personal interest in you. She said she’s never met someone who in their hysterics could calculate 14 times 238, yet couldn’t recall who wrote Romeo and Juliet. I’m only telling you this because I think information like that might help. She thinks you have a really special mind, and you need to trust that too.” She got up again.

I didn’t have the heart to ask anything more. Clearly this was not ease for her.

“It’s alright… I get it. I need to remember on my own.”

She smiled.

“Can you at least tell me what are the constant fireworks about. And who is making popcorn in this place all the time?”

I swear she took a step back, look of shock and horror on her soft face.

“That’s not about me…” I tried to explain. Surely she can tell me about the stuff that’s going on around us? Obviously not, since she stood frozen. “I’m sorry, I thought…” and then the sound of popcorn again. I raised my finger, “Hear it?”

She nods, the look of horror still on her face. “It’s not popcorn,” she whispers. “I have to go.” She made her way to the door, slowly, as if pondering her decision. “I would do anything to help you. I need you to know that.” She said without looking at me, opened the door only enough to squeeze her slender body through, and then closed it.

The sound of popcorn went on and I kept wondering what it was… Why couldn’t Sid tell me?

Entry 16

My cousin Amina! How did I not figure it out sooner? Sid always looked kind of familiar, but what the fuck do I know. I just liked how she made me feel comfortable, nice. I guess I thought it’s because she’s here all the time. And always looking at me with those hopeful eyes. Of all the nurses that come and go, Sid is special. Now I know why. She’s just like my cousin Amina.

Not in the way they look, though they both have blond hair and blue eyes, but in their aura. They’re identical. I wish I had my camera… Camera! I loved taking photos.

I wonder if photos are all I’ll have from now?

I wonder if Sid has a dog. Amina had this fluffy little white thing she called Cloud. She took it with her everywhere.

Entry 15

“I am not carrying my skis, they’re carrying me,” I say to Ayla.

We’re on a slope, heading towards woods. It’s dark, but the snow is glistening in the moonlight so brightly, everything is visible.

She’s got her skis on her shoulder, digging the tips of her ski boots into the snow. I’m going up the slop with my skis on my feet, V-shape print in the snow behind me.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” she shakes her head. “I knew the lift was off for the day, yet I still went down the slope with you. I knew we wouldn’t be able to talk him into turning the lift back on, yet…”

“Well,” I interrupt raising a hand carefully so the stick doesn’t hit me or her, “we don’t know that, he already left by the time we got to the bottom. AND! May I remind you that it took us so long to get down because you kept arguing…”

“Of course I kept arguing, I knew it was a bad idea!” she interrupts, her breathing heavy. “Why was I so stupid?”

“Because you love me, and love makes us stupid,” I smile.

She shakes her head and says “It’ll take us forever to get to the house.”

At some point we stopped to make a snowman. We were laughing. The sky was full of stars.

We’ve made hundreds of snowmen in our life but that one was different. Deep inside of me, I know…

There’s no one and nothing else around. It’s just the two of us making a message for our snowman to hold – A and A were here…

Huge, fluffy snowflakes are dancing through the air.

“People are like snowflakes,” she says. “Each one different, precious, fragile, and beautiful.”

“And made of water…”

“Don’t ruin my point!” She’s angry again. I smile again.

Something bad happened later, I can’t remember what… We laughed and laughed. Building this huge snowman to hold our sign.

Entry 14

Sunset on a beach… It’s a lake; green, calm, glistening in auburn light.

Ayla and I are examining the stones we collected.

Dad and uncle Fatih are arguing over a barbeque.

“You’re both stupid,” Uncle Ned says.

Uncle Ned…

“Hard to believe Grandpa and Uncle Ned are brothers,” Ayla’s voice. 

We’re older. Mum is here. Our kitchen. Plums… We’re making jam.

“Every family has an Uncle Ned,” Mum smiles while pouring boiling water into empty jars. Steam is escaping the glass containers that sparkle. Golden leaves and sun are in the window.

I’m steering the bubbling purple mass on the stove. Huge wooden spoon in my hand. “I’m not sure they do,” I glance back at mum with a smile.

“If someone thinks their family doesn’t have an uncle Ned, it’s probably because they’re uncle Ned.”

All three of us are laughing.

“To make matters worse,” mum carries on, “the other extreme means the same thing; if you think everyone in your family is uncle Ned, that also means you are uncle Ned.”

What’s wrong with uncle Ned?

Entry 13

I’m remembering the past with more clarity than I ever thought possible, even though it’s just snippets. But it feels like I’m still there.

New Year’s Eve. Everyone is at our house. There’s glitter and lights everywhere. It smells like cinnamon, apples, cloves and coffee. Ayla and I were about seven. Mum let us put on some lipstick. We were so proud of ourselves. We felt all grown up. We made a pact to stay up until midnight. I can’t remember if we did. I feel like we didn’t.

I think, I’m not sure, but I think we always celebrated New Year’s together, as a whole family. Each year in a different house…

Entry 12

I’m not crazy, I’m grieving.

I don’t have negative thoughts, I’m objecting to the truth, the reality.

My amnesia is a shield.

Deep down I know the truth, I just… I don’t know it! When I try to remember I feel dizzy. But the feeling, the hard press on my chest, that’s the voice of truth. My heart knows it, but my head is blocked away from it. It’s like there’s a wall between my heart and my head.

My heart and my head are not communicating. The spilt between them is the problem. I have to bring my heart and my head together again. They need to work together.

How? Why? What kind of truth could do this to me?

Entry 11

A nurse came and said doctor Lily called me to her office. That’s was weird. She always came to see me. I didn’t even know where to go.

Climbing up the stairs made my heart race. It was almost funny. My legs were shaking yet I felt excited. It’s just a boring, ordinary staircase, one of those walled from all sides. It was well lit, white walls, nothing on them.

Doctor Lily’s office is on the second floor, room 222. Left and left again. I found it.

“Why am I here?” I said as soon as I sat down on the chair.

She walked from behind her desk and sat on the other chair next to me. “Why do you think?”

“Because I’m having very negative thoughts about the world?”

She nodded “What kind of thoughts?”

“That everyone is dead, that everyone will die, that I should be dead…” Her face didn’t change, the look in her eyes as stern as any I have ever seen.

Clearly she expected me to say more. I took a deep breath “I don’t want to die. I’m not suicidal or anything, I just… I think it would really help if you’d let me see my family. At least my mum, or dad, or my sister.”

Doctor Lily scratched her chin “Could I stop them from seeing you?”

It felt like a bomb exploded in my head. I had a million thoughts. Ayla would have sneaked in. I’m on the ground floor. She could have come to my window. We’ve climbed walls and fences since we were five years old.

There is no way anyone could have stopped my dad from coming to see me. I would have heard him shouting at the reception, he would have torn his way to me.

There are more people in my family than in this whole hospital.

I sat there, unable to speak. Doctor Lily kept her eyes on me.

“What happened to me?” I whispered.

“You have to remember,” she frowned, her eyes sparkling. “I can only give you time and support.”

I left her office on wobbly knees. I couldn’t even make it down the stairs. I had to sit and rest. A nurse walking by helped me back to my room.

I slept again.

Entry 10

I haven’t slept at all last night. For the first time since I got here, I couldn’t sleep. I’ve slept days and nights, but last night, not a wink. I sat by the window, thinking. I love the window. At first I was a little afraid of it, but now I adore it. This is why I think I’m getting better.

I don’t sleep constantly anymore.

I am realising I have a problem.

My head doesn’t feel so empty anymore – this sentence doesn’t make sense even to me, but it’s the best I’ve got. I don’t know how to write a diary. I’ve never done this is my life. Why would I? I have a twin sister who remembers EVERYTHING! Ayla is sometimes annoying with how well she remembers. I don’t have monologues. I have dialogues. That’s what I’m good at. Writing a diary is like talking to yourself. In fact, it’s worse than that. Being unable to write a diary is not a sign of a problem.

And I know, I can write Ayla’s name, but I can’t say it – this is an indication of something. She probably did something that hurt me… I don’t know.

And normal things freak me out. I get that’s a problem too. BUT! I love the window now. I was freaked out by the net on the window. Now, I love the view outside.

And the aroma of coffee! I know I fainted the first time I smelled it, but I love it now. I think I should try coffee??? Should I? I can still smell coffee. And it gives me positive feelings. I know I found the smell annoying at first, only because it was constant. Now, I like it. I even like that it’s constant.

So, yes, I still have a problem…

Truth be told, I don’t think I’m having bad feelings, I think I have amnesia. But surely writing in a diary is not going to help me remember. Talking to someone who was there will help me remember. Whatever happened, I can face it.

I need to see Doctor Lily.

Entry 9

Doctor Lily didn’t come to see me today. Nurses have been in and out all day, far more than usual, but no one has spoken to me. Considering what happened last night with Nurse Sid, I though the doc would be here first thing in the morning.

I hope she’s alright.

Arrgh! There I go again with bad thoughts. Of course she’s alright. She probably has other patients. Maybe I’m getting better, and that’s why she hasn’t been to see me?

I have to stop having these feelings that everyone is dead. And that everyone will die. And that we are all in danger.

Happy thoughts! Sunsets! Calm seas… Beautiful beaches, trees, flowers, butterflies…

Entry 8

Ayla will be here any day now. She’ll sort me out. I know she’ll come with like ten books on what might be wrong with me, and she’ll be like ‘You need to do this, and drink that, and go here, and…’ I’m sure she’s doing the research as I write this. She’s out there, going through everybody’s bookshelves, looking for a solution. She’s probably already spoken to ten different professionals.

And my mum, and grandpa, oy! I’m sure grandpa is in the fields collecting all kinds of plants to make my teas.

I can see Dad giving orders to everyone in the family and neighbourhood about how to speak to me, how to look at me, how not to look at me… I’m sure even cousin Belma isn’t excused. She’s probably given birth by now. I wonder what name they chose for the baby. She wanted something unique that no one in our family has. It is not easy to find such a name. We’re a big family.

Entry 7

I had to be sedated again.

I peeped behind the huge white curtain. It felt like someone kicked me in the chest. I started choking. A nurse rushed in, she screamed for the doctor.

Next thing I know I was shivering in the bed. The nurse was holding my hand. Her bright blue eyes sparkled as she moved her thumb slightly stroking my thumb.

“Could you open the curtain?” my voice barely made it out of my mouth.

She looked away “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Doctor Lily has gone home.”

I waited for her eyes to return to me.

We’re about the same age.

“There’s nothing behind the curtain, is there?” I asked.

“Just park. Trees mostly. If you look hard enough you can see the main hospital on the other side of the green.”

The main hospital?

Of course they won’t let me see my family when the sight of trees freaked me out. I have to get over this.

“Could you take a look?” I felt my head rising off the pillow.

She smiled and nodded, leaving my hand and moving silently toward the curtain.

Her face disappeared for a moment into the material hanging off the ceiling all the way to the floor.

Then her face appeared “It’s dark. There’s some lights in the distance, and barley visible shadows of branches and leaves.”

I had to see. The moment I moved to get out of the bed, the nurse rushed to me and grabbed my arms. She looked terrified.

I smiled to reassure her. She held me as if I needed help walking.

Face-to-face with the curtain she whispered “What did you see the last time?”

I paused to think. “Nothing,” I said. “I saw trees, and grass. Few benches along the paths.”

“Oh…” she frowned.

I shook my head “I don’t know why I freaked out, but I know I have to do this. If you want to leave…”

“No, I’m staying right here.” Her grip on my hand felt a little tighter. “Okay, it is dark, and there are shadows.” Her voice shaky but determined. “We are on the ground floor, but there’s a net across the whole window so nothing can get in.”

“Net?” My whole body vibrated.

“It’s just to protect from birds and insects. It’s not…”

My legs were moving on their own, away from the curtain.

“Do you want to take the net off?” blue eyes wide open, “I can rip it off. Would you like that?”

I couldn’t breathe.

“I’ll rip it off.” She moved effortlessly into the white material. The window squeaked as she opened it. Fresh air came in and pushed out the anxiety that filled the room. I could see her fist banging and then a loud thump.

“There you go. No more net. The net is on the floor, outside.” She waited for me to respond.

I don’t remember seeing the net. How could something I didn’t even see frighten me so much? But I must have seen it. Why can’t I remember seeing it?

“Maybe we should wait until the morning?” She pulled me gently back to the bed.

With my head resting on the pillow, and the fresh air that filled the room, I felt better than I had since I got here.

“Leave the window open,” I said to the blue eyes.

“Okay, but a bird might fly in. Sometimes they do. Don’t freak out. I’ll be right here. I’ll take care of it. Okay?”

I nodded and closed my eyes. “What’s your name?” I whispered.

Her lack of response made me open my eyes again.

“Call me Sid,” she smiled.

I might have some serious mental issues, but I’m not stupid. Call me Sid? What the fuck does that mean?

Her name tag was peeping out of her chest pocket. I sat up and pulled it out in one swift motion.

Ayla…

My hand shook as I placed the tag back into her pocket.

Entry 6

Did Ayla have a boyfriend? I had a flashback of her talking to some guy. We were in a café, it felt familiar… But I don’t like him. I don’t like the way she is when he’s around. Is she still with that guy? Maybe they’re married, or engaged?

What do I have to do to get these doctors to let me see my sister, or my mum, dad, someone? I know if I could talk to them I’d be better.

Something’s wrong with me, but keeping them away isn’t helping.

Unless…

No, no… It’s not possible.

Entry 5

Some sentences pop up in my mind and I can’t breathe. Sentences like: He’ll grow out of it; Don’t sit in Grandpa’s chair; What are you going to be when you grow up; I’ll tell mum – Ayla’s voice, always Ayla’s voice.

Coffee?! I can’t stop smelling it. It’s like buzzing in the ears except I have it in my nose. It’s constant. I get one-second flashes of all kinds of rooms, all kinds of houses; our house, aunt Jen’s house, aunt Milly’s house, even our neighbour Vera…

Houses, and people, and houses pop up in my mind like those foam balloons we used to blow as kids. Except these don’t just burst, they reappear in another place, and then I get flashes of various objects from those houses; a clock here, a picture there, a sofa, a lamp, a chair, wallpaper, even a light switch from my aunt Zena’s house. And laughter, talking, lots of voices, and music, and coffee, always coffee. All these images pop up randomly and it makes me so tired. I have to sleep.   

Entry 4

After I wrote that I went out to look for my therapist. It was the first time I left the white room. The smell of coffee at the end of the long hall made me scream. They had to give me some kind of injection. I’ve been sleeping since.

My head feels weird.

I can still smell coffee. I know it’s not real. This white room has no smell. Even I don’t smell. Did I ever smell?

Little Danny likes to sniff people. It’s a game to him. Uncle Frank gets so angry at him for calling out bad smelling feet.

Danny likes my mum’s hair.

“Ummm, roses,” he’d close his eyes after taking a deep whiff near mum’s head.

Roses? What do they smell like? I can’t remember. I can remember Danny creeping up behind mum as she sits on the sofa. He’d smell her hair and smile. I smelled her hair too. I liked it. But I can’t remember that aroma.

Aunt Jen would shake her head apologetically.

“He’ll grow out of it,” Grandpa says.

He’ll grow out of it?

Entry 3

I can’t live without them.

I can’t be alone.

The nightmares… Those are not nightmares, are they?

What happened to me?

Oh, I’m being stupid again. Sometimes I get these bad feelings. That must be why I’m here. I don’t remember how I came to the hospital, but I know I have a problem. When I try to remember I can’t, and then random memories will pop up out of nowhere.

Nothing happened to me. What could happen to me? I’m fine. It’s all fine. Or it will be. I just need to…

I remember when I was little, my uncle’s friend’s daughter had a problem. I don’t remember the details, maybe I never knew the details, but I know it was really scary for everyone for a while. They kept talking about her fits, and the need to be alone… They’d whisper ‘she’s always silent and depressed’. She’s fine now. Turned out she lacked some kind of mineral. Once they fixed her diet, she was normal again. I’m sure I’m going through something like that.

I need to focus on staying positive. Nothing happened to me. I’m fine. Maybe then they’ll let my family visit. Why won’t they let them visit?  

Entry 2

Dr Lily insists I should write anything, even if I call her stupid, she’s fine with that. I’ve tried to tell her that I can’t write, I’ve really tried over and over again, but she insists I write.

Anything…

I’m in a white room. Everything’s white. The walls, the door, the huge curtain, the floor, the bed, the bedding, the bedside table… That’s it. There’s nothing else here. Shouldn’t there be something else here?

I’m dressed in white.

This is not me.

Of course it’s not me.

Me?

Entry 1

I don’t know how to do this. Write a diary? What is that even about?

I open this notebook, look at the blank page, and the lines asking for words, but I don’t know what to write. So I close it and leave it on the bed.

But I have to write. My stupid therapists thinks this is what I have to do. She said “write anything”.

Fine.

I think my therapist is stupid.

There, how’s that for writing anything?

Prologue

My name is Alma, and this is my diary; unchanged, unaltered, unedited, just as I wrote it over fifty years ago. Yes, it has been that long, I calculated: 1992-2045. And of course it has, I just had my 70th birthday. Back then I was a 16-year-old who lost everything and everyone.

This is my truth in its full glory. Or, perhaps not glory, but naked truth that I never thought I’d share with anyone. I was made to write as part of my therapy. I have forgotten many things, but I remember very clearly my therapist telling me to write every day. I thought she was stupid. I never wrote every day, though sometimes I wrote multiple entries in a day. I wrote when I felt I had something to say. Forcing myself to say anything proved to be too hard. Maybe I should have forced myself to write, but it’s easy to say that now when I’m over the worst of it.

Deciding to publish it has not been an easy decision to make, despite the fact that I’ve spent years speaking about my life publically. It’s interesting, when I was a child, so before any of the stuff that you’ll read about, we read Anne Frank. I wondered if she would want her diary to be public knowledge. Now that I understand her through my own experience, I think she would.

If someone asked me how I faced the fact that my whole family was murdered, I would have told them that I cried. For years, I just cried. That’s all I remember. The sobbing, hugging my knees to my chest for comfort, preferring nights to days… I loved rain. My favourite were those dark clouds that weighed heavily in the sky as if they want to crush the earth but something won’t let them. And I was just waiting for that something to break and for the clouds to crush the whole world. That’s what I remember. That and anger. Bursts of anger that made me want to jump out of my own skin. Screaming wasn’t enough. I was so angry. But then, I found my diary. To my surprise, I hardly ever mention crying, though anger is there.   

Time didn’t matter. Initially, it was as if time didn’t exist. That’s hard to imagine even for me, and I’ve lived through it. But even later, when I became aware of the existence of time, I never bothered to put a date on an entry. This must be the only diary in the world that doesn’t have a date. Not one single date. It just didn’t occur to me to write one. I can figure out some, like the entry on my eighteenth birthday, of course I know the date of that. But I’m not going to. I lost everything except time, yet time became irrelevant. There’s something so poetic in that.

However, since I have a whole new life now, I guess it would be alright to put today’s date: 25th October 2045.

I’ve achieved all my goals, and more. Yet I firmly believe that survival is my greatest accomplishment. Life isn’t just about what we’ve gained, it is far more important to see what we’ve overcome. We are programmed to see diplomas, travels, friends, family, even fame and money. We turn a blind eye to the ever present battle with ourselves. And that battle, that’s the battle of life. Losing that battle makes all other wins pointless. What is the value of fame and fortune if you are despised by everyone, even by yourself?

My desires are still the same. If I could have just one conversation with Ayla, my twin sister, I’d gladly swap everything for that, right here, right now, no questions. Just give me one conversation with her. I still talk to the mirror, even though I know how much it hurts when the mirror doesn’t reply. But I’ve learned to live with that, because that’s the way it must be.

You know the prayer: God, please grant me the SERENITY to accept the things I cannot change, the COURAGE to change what I can, and the WISDOM to know the difference. Well, that’s how I live my life. And it has served me well so far.

So, dear reader, as you go through these pages of my life, I hope you will be generous with your understanding.

Journaling videos on youtube

This video doesn't have an entry because it's about the highlights of the story so far. It's important to see how the plot is progressing. With books like this, it is so east to forget the plot because you keep thinking about the state of the mind of your character, which means that it's not just about what they'll say but how they'll say it. To keep the story moving, reminders are needed on regular basis. 

This video doesn't have an entry because it's about the highlights of the story so far. It's important to see how the plot is progressing. With books like this, it is so east to forget the plot because you keep thinking about the state of the mind of your character, which means that it's not just about what they'll say but how they'll say it. To keep the story moving, reminders are needed on regular basis. 

 

At this point, I promised myself I will do only one image per entry, no matter how they turn out, until I get to the end of the book. Except the entries that have a bigger impact on Alma, they get a ‘note’ image as well.

 

Let's get through the whole book. Then we'll get on fixing what needs fixing. With Junk Journaling on my side, I'm looking forward to going over it. Though, to be honest, I'm worried I'll work on the book forever. So I might need a friend to tell me: The Book Is Done! Leave it alone. - I had this with Just Another Life. A friend told me that it's done, otherwise, I'm sure I'd still be working on it.