Wordsley, Stourbridge, England: 13 degrees warm for England, overcast, grey and trying to rain.
It’s Christmas Eve, and usually, I’m in Brazil, where it’s hot. However, this Christmas, after more than 20 years, I’m in England, and it’s cold.
I won’t be celebrating on the 24th with my family in Brazil, but on the 25th with my mother, because I’m in England. In England, it is customary to have a drink or gather with friends on Christmas Eve, serving as an unofficial warm-up to Christmas Day.
When I left home at about 11:00 a.m., I had already decided to go to at least one pub, or preferably two, before heading home.
I found myself walking up Belle Vue, where we lived after we had lived for so long in Wollaston. For me, it felt like a markdown from where we had once lived, following the messy and complicated separation and divorce. I believe the ones who benefited the most from this situation were the lawyers, who took advantage of the emotional immaturity of both my parents.
The house in Belle Vue was a small, three-bedroom townhouse with a charming little back garden. The front of the house is positioned directly on the street, with the front door opening onto the pavement. It was at this front door, 40 years ago, that I arrived home from work on a Friday, with my suitcase waiting for me in the street.
My mother and I had argued that morning about my future. She insisted that I would have to make a decision at that moment, and I wasn’t yet ready to do so. Perhaps both of us were being stubborn, and I was feeling rebellious.
After taking six or seven years of mental and psychological abuse from her, my patience had long been exhausted, my patience tank was empty; not a drop left. Before I left for work that morning, my mother warned me that if I didn’t decide now, she would kick me out.
It was a Friday, and my mind was already on other things, where I would go that night and whom I would meet. I was not ready to make the decision that my mother had pressured me into, and yes, at the same time, I was probably not taking her threat and ultimatum seriously.
Then in the afternoon, early evening, arriving home, approaching the house, my suitcase and bags were already outside the front door on the pavement in the street. Obviously, I was a little surprised, so I knocked on the door. My mother opened it, and I naturally asked her exactly what this was. She told me that she was kicking me out and that I had to find another place to live.
What I didn’t realise at the time was that this would mark the beginning of my life’s adventure, which is still ongoing. It has involved a great deal of suffering and some misery, but it remains a journey, and I’m still here to experience it, and I’m not dead yet.
When my mother told me that she was kicking me out, I listened, thought, and processed the situation and the circumstances for a couple of seconds, paused, and finally said.
“You are an adult, you vote, you pay taxes, etc., you know exactly what you’re doing. I will not come back, if you want to see me again in the future, you will have to look for me, I will not look for you”!
I then left and took my suitcase and bags to my grandparents’ home, where I stayed for three or four months. One day, I woke up feeling guilty for imposing on my grandparents, so I packed a small bag with clothes and bought a ticket to go to London on the same day, and later, to Brazil.
Later, I discovered that my mother had expelled my brother from her house many times, and every time he returned. I am not like him; you do it once, or even twice, but never more than that; I prefer to walk away. I’ve had this characteristic my entire life: if someone lets me down or does something against me, there may be a second chance, but never a third or a fourth. I also think that in relationships, even if I still like or have feelings for an ex-girlfriend, for example, whom I would like to reconnect with or continue with, I just can’t and don’t do it anymore.
It is if the image of that person is broken for me and can’t be fixed.
So, this Christmas Eve, I went on my own to two pubs near my mother’s home. The Lawnswood, a large, profit-driven pub with high prices, serving subpar food and offering a less-than-welcoming service. The second was a more traditional, simple pub with a lot of older people, where everybody knows everybody, offering reasonable prices, a more homely atmosphere, and better service.
After having a couple of drinks at each, I arrived home, and it was already dark. I then opened a bottle of Malbec and drank half the bottle before.
Happy Christmas!!!
In bed by 11.00 p.m.
Thank you.
Thanks for reading this blog post. Please explore my other posts and share your thoughts in the comments section.
Richard
