His Face

His face, a monster, that will, NEVER be, erased from my mind…

His face, that’s, haunted me since, and I don’t EVER see him anymore out there, on the streets anymore.

His face, that will, NEVER go away, etched, into my mind, branded onto, my heart, and, no laser surgical removal of this, permanent SCAR will EVER get it off of me.

His face, a face that’s obscene, that just, kept, gawking at me, at us, women, with the, HUGE breasts, with their, long legs in their, super short shorts…

His face, it will, NEVER go away, not for me, for I remembered, EVERYTHING that’s done to me, since I was very young still, and yet, I’d, erased him out of my mind, as a, person.

he used to come, every single night!

photo from online

His face, I no longer took a note of, he no longer, existed, in this, world I live in!  His face, smeared now, and I can’t, even, recall it, but if I focused my mind, I can, make it out, almost, I guess…

His face, the face of the man who’d, raped me, how can I, forget?  He’d, attacked me, every single night when I close my eyes, he’s, the very first thing I see, when I wake in the morn, he’s, everywhere I am, even though, he’d already been, dead (and no, I still did NOT, “murder” him either!), for…how many years had it been again???  Can’t remember, when the last time I saw him, lurking ‘round the corner of that street………

The Asian-German Version of #MeToo the Victims Chose to Selectively Forget, Not Dared Told Their Loved Ones They’d Been Sexually Harassed

The braveness of this woman, finally remembering what had happened, and decided to speak up and about of her own sexual abuse by a man of high status, that her families trusted, and she’s still not his only victim, her younger sister was molested too, and god knows how many there were in the unknowns that still hadn’t, come out yet!  Off of the Front Page Sections, translated…

The Nightmares that Persisted for Long-Term, Hoped “There will NEVER be Another Victim”

“I kept thinking, had I started screaming, scolding him, then, maybe, there wouldn’t be so many, victims now?” Z (a false identity of the victim) was raised in Taiwan, in 2009, she’d moved to Germany to marry, her husband, Wang is a Chinese language student at Hamburg University locally, at a gathering, she’d mentioned that she’d been troubled long-term of back aches, and Wang claimed that he knew the means of massage therapy based off of the systems of the body, invited the couple to his home for the physical therapy sessions, and she’d not known, that this caused her to have the nightmares for many years that followed.

The three victims were interviewed by UDN, through the webcam chats, they’d described what happened.  As Z was sexually harassed, her husband was close by.  She’d described, that her husband and Wang’s wife were close by on the couch, carrying on in conversations, Wang put a huge towel over her body, then, put his hand inside the towel, and caressed her breasts, as he’d molested her, he’d claimed, that the acupressure points will help the uterus function better.  She’d described her body as being in a catatonic state then, and until they left the home of Wang, she’d told her husband what had happened to her during the massage, and, she’d not gone to the authorities, and blamed herself for allowing him to molest her to this very day.

L (a false name) is the youngest of all the known victims.  She was in Taiwan when Wang molested her, back then, Wang worked for the Central Research Institute, before she was to set out to head to Germany for her studies, because her family was acquainted with Wang, Wang told her he would give her German lessons, invited her into his office for the lessons, and as she’d arrived, she’d found, that it wasn’t his office, but his dorm instead.  As Wang taught her German, he’d put his hand on her shoulders, and started massaging her, then had her lie down to keep massaging her, claimed that Germany is open on this sort of thing, that there would be those who are nude, tanning, and in the end, he’d put his hands down her clothes.

As L left the Central Research Institute, her father waited for her at the gates.  As Wang accompanied her out of the gates, she’d gotten into her father’s car, and asked him to drive to the next place, “everything seemed to be normal”.  She’d not dared disclosed what happened to her to the family, until she’d met W and her sister who were also both from Taiwan, and that was when she realized, that she wasn’t alone in being sexually molested by Wang, that W was also, a victim too.  And, as the group of victims who were interviewed, W had been found among one of the most severely impacted.

W became acquainted with Wang in her elementary years, her families had supported Wang to head over to Russia for his studies.  W told, that since Wang became acquainted with her mother, he’d started noting himself as W’s uncle, and gained her family’s trust.  After Wang was married, he’d moved to Germany, and invited her and her sister to travel, he took advantage of when her younger sister went out, started molesting W at her own home, during the time he’d molested her, he kept claiming, “I’m doing something that helps you using acupressure points!”

Afterwards, Wang went to her home multiple times, and she’d pretended she wasn’t in, and not answered the door.  Once, Wang lied to her, that his wife would be coming by, and as she’d opened her door, he’d attempted to molest her again, she’d screamed at him, “Don’t touch me!”.  Wang went from shock to anger, even Wang’s wife couldn’t understand why she’d reacted so strongly.  She’d escaped back to Taiwan, and, at the start of the year, she saw the setting up of the Heidelberg Taiwanese Mandarin Learning Center being set up, and saw his photo in the groundbreaking, she was shocked, “he’s back!”

She told, that it’d been over a decade since she was sexually molested, she’d dealt with it by blocking the memories out, and not thought back to what had happened then.  Even to the day before the interview with the papers, her mother still asked her, “if  he’d touched you, why did you not bite him?”, she was hurt, but can understand it, because those who’d not been, sexually harassed had, responded like her mother had too, she felt difficult, as she’d written the whole process of what had happened to her down, and gained the support from her entire family, hoping, that Wang will be punished by the law, that this can help stop the authorities from protecting one of their own, “to let there never be another victim again!”

And, this woman is brave, to finally, speak up and out about what happened, but unfortunately, there will always be, the next victim, just not by this particular perpetrator, but there will always be the victims, because the world gets into the habits of blaming the victims when something like this happens, and even as the #MeToo movement is starting to trend everywhere in the world right now.

What I Couldn’t, Recall, from Before…

What I couldn’t, recall, from before, it all came, flooding back, into my mind, too fast, I can’t, process them, and the dusts never, settled down fully, nothing was, calm, again!

What I couldn’t, recall, from before, why are they, all hitting me hard now?  Why do I need to, remember, all of these things of pain from my younger years, why can’t my mind, just, keep me, deceived, as it’d done before, huh?

difficulties accessing the memories locked inside the brains! Image from online

What I couldn’t, recall, from before, it’d all, come back out, of the darkness of my, unconscious, passing through the grays of the, subconscious, into, the consciousness that’s me!  What I couldn’t, recall, from before, they’re all coming back, one by one, a fact here, a fact there, several on a day, none on the next, too many to cope on the following day after that.

Until, until, everything that’s happened to me in the past, presented themselves, collectively, to me, inside, that, Pandora’s, box………

A Part of My Past, that I Just, Don’t Want to, Re-Visit…

“It’s just a part of my past that I just, don’t want to, re-visit again!”

And that was all she, wrote…

But, you can’t help but wonder, what had, happened to her when she was so young, that made her, shut away, all those, memories of old, and, being as young and innocent as you, you kept on, prodding, prodding, prodding her.

Until she had enough of you, badgering her nonstop, and finally, snapped!

what that looked like, for her…

illustration from online

And, you’d come to know, that there’s, that taboo on the past, that you are never supposed to, mention to her about, and, that taboo, it’d, tagged along, as you grow older…

A part of my past, that I just, don’t want to, revisit again, and yet, it kept on, visiting, revisiting me, when I close my eyes at night, I can’t even, ward them off (like evil???), every night as I lay myself down to sleep at night (prayed my soul the lord to keep, yada, yada, yada!), they always, come back, to haunt me.

A part of my past, that I just, don’t’ want to, revisit again, and, despite how I wanted to, leave those memories behind, they can’t stay suppressed forever, even as I’d, worked too hard, casting them out of my mind during the day, there’s no way, of warding them off at night, as they manifest themselves, and became those horrible things that frightened me in my dreams………

That Excellent Catcher

Memories of our own, childhood years, how this young boy, became, a man, the day he stood up, against, his own, father, translated…

Back when he was younger, my father was almost to the point of, abusive, harsh, disciplinarian.  He’d often used physical measure to punish us, the time I remembered the deepest was how I got strung up by the beams of my home, with my hands tied behind my back, and beaten up by him; and sometimes, my mother would be, beaten alongside us too.

And, just like all those, tragedies, with, too many, reasons, too many, excuses, and, with the erosions of decades of time, almost everything had been, forgotten in details; but, the heavy, burdensome fragmented memories would still, surface back up from time to time.  At around ten years of age, when you weren’t as tall as mom, you’d, fearfully stood by her side, watched your father eat his breakfast, as he’d, grilled your mother.  You can’t remember what he was so angry about, just that he’d, picked up an empty bowl, and, thrown it at your mother, who’s no more than three meters away from where he’d sat.

Maybe it was, instincts, reflex, maybe?  You’d, moved your feet, turned to the side, extended your arms, and, everything happened, lightning, fast, like with help from above, you’d, magically, blocked that bowl that came flying toward your own mother; the bowl was like a fly ball, after hitting your arms, rolled on down, a couple of times, and, halted, unbroken, on the, floors.

from being helpless like this…photo from online

You’d not cried out in pain, and was, shocked, and glad, that the bowl didn’t, get, shattered.  Perhaps, your father, in the midst his anger too, was, surprised, couldn’t believe, how the fast ball he’d, thrown, was, caught, by the kid who’d, never, practiced any catching skills, and, gave him an, out!

Afterwards, you’d never asked what was going through your mother’s, mind the.  The awful memories, ought to be, forgotten, just like you’d longed that you could, wanting to know, what you did was right, or was it wrong, in the moment it’d, occurred.

Many years later, you were, married, and your wife told you, that your mother, who wasn’t at all, talkative, had, mentioned it, many times to her in private, almost once every time they saw each other.  And mom was, smiling, with that sense of, comfort, “Ahhhhhhhh, that young boy…was…certainly, an, amazing, catcher all right!”

So, this, is a young boy’s action, to protect his own mother, from his own father’s, abuse, and, it must’ve been, a very, difficult childhood, to grow up in an environment so volatile, when you don’t know when your fathers are going to come home, and blow up at your mothers, and yet, this young boy stood up, and SHOWED his father, put an end to the father’s, hurting his own, mother.

The Fragmented Memories of His Forgotten Childhood Now Slowly, Remembered…

The memories of what he’d tried desperately to recall but couldn’t, all came back to the surfaces again…

The fragmented memories of his forgotten childhood now slowly, remembered, because, he was, finally, ready for them now.  The fragmented memories of his forgotten childhood, a childhood, full of, darkness, of pain, of hardships had been, blocked out of his awareness, for survival’s sake, and now, as he’d, survived those years, he finally started to, remember.

The fragmented memories of his childhood, now slowly, remembered, to say the impact was less, was a total, lie, because it wasn’t, but now he’d, matured, he could, better deal with them, more effectively, unlike how he may have dealt with them, had they come back to him, earlier.

the nightmares of the past all came back to life! Sketch from online

The fragmented memories of his childhood, now slowly, remembered.  What do you want from me?  He’d asked them, and, received, NO replies, because his past had been, dead a long, long, long time, and it takes them awhile, to finally, come back to life again!

The fragmented memories of his childhood, now slowly, remembered, it was painful, but, as he’d, reexperienced all the moments of trauma of his younger years, he’d reminded himself, that he wasn’t, that helpless young child anymore, and he was better able to cope with everything, like he was, watching a movie of his own, childhood trauma, as an, outsider…

A Bad Dream that Got Tucked Away, in Her, Deep Sleep…

There’s, that bad dream that got, tucked away, in her, deep sleep, she tried, to, extracted it out, but she couldn’t, it’d, ingrained itself, attached it self, too deep, into, her, deep sleep now.

A bad dream that got tucked away, in her, deep sleep, she couldn’t understand W-H-Y, or how it’d gotten there, why won’t it just, leave her, alone?  A bad dream that got tucked away, in her, deep sleep, that’s, her problem then?  To never feel, fully, rested, because even when she looked like she was, sound asleep from the outside, she’s being, troubled, by that bad dream that’s, tucked away, in her, deep sleep.

She’d run around in circles in her sleep nonstop, like those princesses in their dancing shoes that couldn’t stop dancing through the nights, and her mind raced in her sleep, and she’d, waken in the morn, feeling, tired as ever!

what she experiences…photo found online

A bad dream that got tucked away, in her, deep sleep, she’d, finally realized, that it can’t go on like this, she needed to, find the roots of everything that’s caused her, insomnia, and she went under hypnosis, and, the session revealed something so shocking to her, that she’d, blacked out.

A bad dream that got tucked away, in her, deep sleep, it’s now, found its exit, into her , consciousness, it’d, found that, entry point, and got that spotlight on that stage inside her mind, demanding, ALL of her, undivided, attention!

Her Father’s Chair

She got a call, her parents’ home is now, foreclosed, and, the individual who’d called her told her she could come, and take whatever she’d wanted out…

She’d, entered into, that darkened living room, the lights won’t turn on (electricity’s disconnected???), and, she’d, fumbled around in the darkness, and, stumbled across something that tripped her feet, and it took her back, into, her childhood (after all, that was the home she grew up in!).  She saw that chair, in all of its, older glorious days, how the velvet was still, unfuzzed up, how it’d looked, brand new, where her father, used to sit, with her, on his laps, after supper, patted down her hair, cuddled with her, told her countless stories!

Her father’s chair, that was, all the memories, she had left, of him, she couldn’t, recall, anything about her, other than, in the “presence” of that chair, like he’d, never existed, outside, the realms, of that chair for some unknown reasons.  Her father’s chair, it’d carried, that deep, dark secret, inside, the cushions, it’s the place, where her father, loved, playing that little game when her mama’s off to her book club, cooking class, or whatever the HECK it was her mama was into, during her childhood years.

the monsters in her father’s, chair…found online

As those memories all came, flooding back up, she’d, felt that chill down her spine, she’d, wanted to, escape, out of the room, but the room suddenly, closed down, and she became, trapped in.

Her father’s chair, it was, not a, good place at all, she couldn’t, remember any of the better moments she’d spent, with him, in that chair of his, and, she’d remembered how, he’d, used to, put his hands down her blouse, and, patted her tiny little, nipples, and, she’d felt, aroused, then, she was, overwhelm with, guilt!

Her father’s chair, she’d decided, to BURN that piece of memory down, and, she’d had the movers come, hauled that piece of dead furniture, out on the lawns, and, she’d, STRUCK a match, and, everything went up in smokes, and, she’d, burned the whole house down with it, and she’s still, NOT charged with arson, in fact, the city should be grateful to her, for, ridding the neighborhood of that, eyesore!!!

The Lies of the Ninth

The memories of trauma, suppressed, because the individual, was way too young, and, something DID happen, maybe, just not the version of the story that this person had told, to her/his, adult counterparts, translated…

There was something that happened when I was younger, that impacted me, something that’s, a part of, my chaotic memories…

At nine, my mother wanted me to test into the GT classes of an all-star elementary school, that’s, farther away from where I used to live, I’d gotten in, and, she’d, transferred me there.

On the first day of school, as I arrived home, I’d told her, that I was, almost, abducted by a bad guy, there was, a woman in a covered up motorcycle helmet that told me she’d brought the lunches for my mother to me.  I’d told my mother: back then, I was playing outside the gates of my school, and the woman asked me to go with her, I’d felt that something wasn’t quite right, because mom wouldn’t do that, and I’d, run scared, back to the school.  But, I wasn’t, acquainted with my new school yet, it took me, a long time, to finally, get back into my class.

As I’d told, I’d, started crying scared.  My mother was shocked, the very next day, she’d, called up the school, as well as the Department of Education to, we’d, almost gotten the case on the press; within a week’s time I was, transferred, back to my former school again.

But actually, this, was a story I’d, made up.

illustration from UDN.com

There were, two primary motives of me lying: to find a justifiable reason for me heading into school ate, and find a way to go back to my former school, that’s not based off of “I don’t want to go to my new school”.

Two years ago, with my deep-rooted guilt, I’d, told my parents this truth, admitted that I was, lying to them from back when in the family therapist’s office, and I’d, made up the stories, from an illustrated book my parents bought for me, “I Have a Way”, and, the details of what the woman whom I’d told had, tried to take me away, came from the illustration of a person in a helmet, trying, to take a child away in the pages.

Because my story was, fully-thought out, without any flaws, to the point, that my parents, as well as the staff members of the school all thought it was, true, for almost, twenty years.

Do children who read, really behave themselves?  The knowledge I’d gained from reading, taught me how to commit a crime.

And yet, up to recently, I’d felt, chaotic of this memory.

There was a part of me that felt, that might there have been, something that’s, happened to me, even though it may not have been, the version of the stories I’d told?  How else, would I come up with, the specific details, including what the woman sounded like, what she was dressed in, what her scooter looked like…………

The me at nine years old, I’d, watched the scenes, played on in my mind, as I’d, “retold” my mother what had, happened (and if I remembered correctly, the highest scoring section of my G.T. exams was in the “thinking skills in space and images”).  And, I’d, started crying like there was, no tomorrow, to the point I was, trembling hard, if I were lying, then, how come I had, such physiological response?  Could it be, that I’d, fooled myself into believing?  Or, had there actually, been something that’s, too awful, too shocked, for the me at age nine to accept?  So I’d, forgotten, and, altered this memory of mine, to make it, fictitious?

Several years ago, I’d gone to a hypnosis therapy session, to deal with the problem of ‘feeling a ton of pain, but I can’t cry”.  This was, completely opposite to the me at nine, who’d, “made up a story, that’s, false, and cried like it actually, happened.”

And yet, at the physical classes, I’d shown, the “reflexive response outbursts” in crying, as the coach helped me to relax my diaphragm, I’d, started, wailing hard, it was, a sort of cry, from the depth of my body.

The coach told me, that the diaphragm is a place where, “unresolved emotions are, stored”, so, there may be, some sort of, very deep trauma from long ago, that’s still, not yet, entered, into my consciousness, stayed still inside of my body.

I’d instinctively felt, that in the lies I’d told when I was nine, there might have been something, that’s made me stuck, as a twenty-nine year-old, grown up right now.

So, something definitely happened to you, because of the physiological response of your body, and this sort of a response only comes, when the body had, experienced, something that’, extremely, traumatic, so, maybe something HAD, happened to you at age nine, just not as you’d, remembered it, being almost abducted by a stranger, maybe, it was, something else, that’s, more serious, because the body, it, NEVER lies, and it’s, up to this individual, to dig even deeper, if s/he can, to find out exactly, what had, happened to her/him in his childhood years, and resolve what happened to her/him, piece, by piece.  And, until this person resolved everything, s/he will, always, have that thing that’s, blocking her/his path, from reaching her/his, full potential.

Some Moments, You Work, Really Hard, to Forget…

Some moments, you work, really hard, to forget, but just, can’t.  We all, have these moments, in our pasts, that we’d done something awful, hurt someone, when we never meant to.

Some moments, you work, really hard, to forget, but just, can’t, these are, the moments, that will, stay forever, IN your mind, haunt you, for life, and, there, is NO way you can, EVER, just, SHRUG it all off!

Some moments, you work, really hard, to forget, but just, can’t, like that night, that you should’ve gone STRAIGHT home, but instead, you’d, hit the bars, and got, picked up, by some LOSER, and, after a few drinks, the room, it started, swirling, turning, and, it all just, went BLACK…

Some moments, you work, really hard, to forget, but just can’t, those, are the moments, that imprinted themselves, onto your GUILTY conscience, and, your guilty conscience will, ALWAYS, keep these moments for you, even IF, you worked, your ASSES off, to block it all out.