2. Social · Creative Writing

the ‘be yourself’ story


275945  from Cris’s diary – all rights reserved

‘be yourself’ said others. I said ‘bullshit’.

I dreamt to do some interesting things, to become someone, to inspire, and the damn list can easily go on. All of this dreams were soaked into my innocent mind by my parents, teachers and a few relatives. Even a friend told me this once ‘just be yourself, man’.

I became a sponge, listening and summing all I’ve heard. I did selections on advices, with no practice on knowing the right from wrong, yet.

One day I was the happiest guy in universe. Eager to express my learned lesson, I barely could talk. They took my stutter as a sign of remorse or fear. My parents choose the best worst words to start that conversation. They said that I should be unique.

That was the last thing they said to me. I’ve become deaf. It wasn’t like I was under water, like in some occasions when I did something that I shouldn’t have done and they lectured me. This time was way more different. I knew I did wrong, I knew it from the second I put my mind on it. I felt it in my bones the moment I start doing it. And, I felt alive and happy, starting with three moments later.

Meanwhile, I felt strong and a little smarter every time I did things that I shouldn’t have done. I became aware. That’s how I learned to distinguish bad from  worse. On my own terms, on my own skin and on my own loss.

They spoke and gestured towards each other,  towards me, then towards the ceiling or the sky – still can’t tell – and after a time they stopped. Their mouths didn’t move, but my deafness was still on. I tried to say something, but I couldn’t. It became too hard to move my lips or to make any sign. A panic started to form and to increase from one millisecond to the next one.

My father shook me so hard that I’ve lost my mind and words. Because of that I was out of the trance and I felt happy, immediately. My bright smile with one front incisor missing was wiped away be his hard and cologned smell of his left hand.

One year before this happened I was sitting on the curb feeling somewhere beyond stupid and ashamed. My father sat next to me, he took my hands, palms out and put his fists on them.

‘see this? this is my left hand’ saying this he gently push his fist in my palm. ‘feel it’ he said while pressing a little hard.

‘see this? this is my right hand’ and he pushed  his fist more harder in my palm. each time more and more pressure and hardness. ‘now tell me about the difference.’

I knew what he meant, so I did not respond. Frustration and shame was off, but something was holding me back. My father raised my chin, looking in his eyes I’ve show power and safety.

‘with my left arm I hit good and with my right hand I hit mortally’. His smile was a cold one. Returning to my current story, being hit with his left hand I knew what my purpose was.

I run from my parents at my grandparents.

Fourteen years fast forward I have my own crew. We create environments, make strategy plans and help the people became better in life.

Dear young people. I was, since birth unique, as you all are.

I already am unique. there’s no one in this planet alive that can be me. Even that I can be replaced at work or a friend avoids my presence, preferring others’, that’s no problem for me. Do things and act for your own good and then for others. love and be free.

And I am saying only one last thing:

be your truly unique self.

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