Chapter 5

Journal Entry 1: Tuesday

My therapist says that I should document things in the hopes of possibly unlocking more details from my memory. Retrograde Amnesia they call it. Memories that are a fractured jigsaw puzzle with pieces scattered to the wind. Where to begin?

I was born in the Kashmir region. When I was born? Unknown. My mother’s name? Unknown. My father? Unknown.

My first real memories that I can gather, I am guessing that I am around 10 years old. Living as an orphan on the streets.

My mother, from the best I can remember, was a cast-out. Unwelcomed. Shunned. A pariah.

Between the different religious sects, that made up the area, throughout its war-torn history, I do remember, rocks being hurled at us. Her? Or was it just me?

Regardless, I know I lived with my mother. Yet all memories of what she looked like, what her name was, are all a blurred mess. I have fleeting glimpses of eyes. But yet, each time I think about, I can never have a definitive color of her eyes. Sometimes I see piercing blue eyes, sometimes they are bright emerald green. Sometimes they are bright grey. And yet I recall an image of them being glowing white with just a black dot for her pupils.

I cannot recall her teaching me to read, or write, in all of the many languages that I know. I do not even know how many languages I can fully speak in.

I do remember her words, “Never forget. God almighty is the creator of the heavens and the earth. And Jesus Christ, was his son, that he sent to die for all of man’s sin.”

I can remember those words, but not the voice that said it.

My memories about my life, only seem to start after she abandoned me. I do not know if she was killed, kidnapped or what. Just one day, she was no longer around. From there, I can piece together memories.

To be continued. I have to leave for work.