Real Me
I was kidnapped from the maternity ward of a hospital after birth. When this appalling
incident happened, to avoid a scandal, the hospital authorities took the unidentified baby in
the next crib whose parents had abandoned him on the street and gave him to my parents.
I am someone else. I could have been a normal baby growing up in a normal family and
became a functional adult, but my destiny was not written this way. Just to add a little flair
to my life, when I was a kid, once my mother told me if it wasn’t for a defective condom, I
would not be born. I don’t know who I really am, but I’m so glad the real me disappeared
otherwise he would have had some serious issues. My life started based on lies,
misunderstandings and deceptions. For all practical purposes and for the sake of clarity,
from this point on, the narrator of this text is referred to as I although I don’t know who or
where the hell he really is.
I was born with two left feet. I always wondered, “How could this simple birth defect affect
my life?” But it did. The first problem was that my father had to buy two pairs of shoes for
me and discard the two brand new right shoes. He was not a happy man when he did so,
but I wish all my dilemmas in life were as simple as this little financial burden on the family.
Having two left feet turned my entire life right to left. As a result of making inappropriate left
turns when the right turns were warranted or advised, I put myself at odds with friends,
family members and eventually with the law. At a very young age, I ended up in prison and
spent many years behind bars.
My youth was in complete disarray until the revolution happened. The country suddenly
plunged into chaos. Up was down and down was up. Left and right switched positions, coins
changed and the emblem on the flag altered. Anarchy governed the country. When the new
leaders came to power they redefined all the revered values. Fortunately during this
widespread turmoil I was doing time. One day as I was resting in my cell, the same prison
guard who used to beat me whimsically told me I was freed. As soon as I walked out to the
yard, I received an astonishingly warm reception by the prison Authorities. During this
ceremony I was welcomed back to society with a wreath of flowers.
”You Sir are a national hero. You were born on the day of the revolution,” said the
prison director.
And that was how I was instantly transformed from a born troublemaker to the very
symbol of liberty. The time I served in prison was officially declared to be the ultimate heroic
price I’d paid for the cause of freedom.
I was now a hero in a right wing political system with two left feet. I knew this unforeseen
honor would not last long. Either the leaders of this regime would discover my lefty secret or
the next upheaval in the country would convert me from the symbol of freedom to icon of
treason just because I was born on a certain day. In either case, I could clearly see my
dead body dangling from a tree with a noose around my neck. The best course of action
was to flee the crime scene-my birthplace.
As eager as I was to escape this death trap of mine, I could not afford the travel
expenses. I decided to bank on my newly acquired nobility. In a private meeting with high
ranking government officials, I demanded reparation for years of heroic sacrifices for cause
of liberty. They offered me a lucrative position in the ministry of culture and an education
with a lofty salary and full benefits including no deductible medical and dental insurance. My
job was to censor all counter-revolutionary ideas in books before they were published. I
was to read the literary works of dissident writers and flush out their harmful thoughts. I
had to read thousands of pages every week just to edit them out of the books. In addition to
the fixed salary, in this position I could earn a hefty commission based on the number of
books I could censor. I was assured that this promising position would enable me to quickly
climb the social ladder and reach the highest offices in the land including the minister of
culture or his cultural attaché in foreign countries.
The censorship didn’t bother me at all, the long reading hours I didn’t care for so I
refused their generous offer and demanded a reward with more liquidity. During one
intense negotiation, I demanded 10,000 frequent flyer miles for every year I was unjustly
imprisoned as a reward for my sacrifices. They counter offered a free vacation to
compensate my patriotism, a round trip ticket to any destination and a passport. I swapped
the return ticket for free in-flight meals of course.
In a short time, I hastily booked an international flight to escape the country before
getting in trouble with the ideals of revolution or before my free ticket expired. The day of
my voluntary exile arrived and I was to leave my homeland in search of a better future. I
had nothing to take with me abroad but my cherished memories of childhood, the very
recollections the new political establishment considered impure, corrupt and therefore
illegal. With great anxiety, I delicately concealed some of my contraband memories in dirty
socks, some I stirred in the shampoo and others I squeezed in a bottle of French cologne.
Memories were all I had to live for. Fortunately my suitcase went through security checks at
the airport with all illicit items undetected. I sighed in relief when I finally settled in my seat in
the plane and fastened my seatbelt.
Two hours later, the plane was cruising at 36,000 feet altitude and I was taking a sweet
nap when I suddenly felt a draft. The exit door that I was leaning against was rattling and I
feared it may ruin my historic flight. So I did what any other concerned passenger would do
in a similar situation. I pushed the button overhead and a few moments later a flight
attendant was looking down on me.
“What is it this time?” She sniped.
“Look! The door is rattling!” I said.
“We’re flying at 500 miles per hour and thousands of feet above ground. What do you
expect me to do? Just don’t pay attention to it.”
I could see her point but sleeping with the hissing noise, the rattling door and sharp
needles of airs poking on my face was impossible.
“May I change seats?” I pleaded.
“Don’t you see we have a full flight?”
“But I’m not comfortable.”
“I don’t care for your attitude. First I offered you a complimentary refreshment of your
choice Coke, water or coffee, and you asked for cranberry juice. Then you insisted on
getting a free headset to watch the movie when there is a two dollars charge for it. And now
you’re complaining about a little draft.” She was pointing her finger at me.
A few minutes later, the door was shaking violently but no other passenger was alarmed.
How could I possibly rest like that? I wondered. I had a legitimate concern about a faulty
door. Was I not entitled to a hassle-free flight? As much as I was annoyed by the rude
stewardess, I kept quiet to avoid further complications. She had already threatened me.
“One more peep out of you and I report you to the captain as a potential security risk and
you’ll be in a lot of trouble when we land Mister.”
I could not jeopardize my future for such insignificant travel discomforts so I ignored the
nuisance draft and closed my eyes to see beautiful dreams, but the exit door kept shaking,
and the noise became excruciating and the wind pressure intolerable. In a matter of
seconds and before I could react to the situation I heard an ear piercing noise and saw the
door being ripped out of the plane before I was sucked out into the sky. Aha, I said to
myself, now I’m going to file a formal complaint against the airline, demand an apology for
their poor customer service and a full ticket refund. As I was tumbling in sky, I realized I’d
left my passport and travel documents in the overheard compartment and all my memories
were going to a wrong destination. Before I got a chance to grief for my losses, I
thunderously crashed into the ground. At least I was rid of the unpleasant flight and its rude
stewardess.
In a split second, when I rammed into the ground at such accelerated velocity, the
enormous force of impact wedged me deep inside the earth. When I regained my
consciousness, I found myself buried in a very uncomfortable tight spot. The jet lag, the
free fall and the crash caused a little headache but this was not the time to be wimpy. I had
to be tough, get out of the hole immediately and start my new life. The good news was that
I could see the light of day from where I was stuck. It took me a long time and lots of hard
work to crawl my way out of that hole and resurface.
When I came out, I was completely dazed. Everything around me was so different from
where I came from. I was now in a foreign land with no money, no identity and no memory
of the past. As I was wandering in crowded streets in my ragged clothes, mussed hair and
untidy appearance contemplating my next course of action, I was hit by a passing
automobile. Once again, I found myself vaulting in the air before I collapsed on the hood of
a speeding car. A few frightened pedestrians came to help me off the ground asking
questions I didn’t understand. I was completely disoriented and uttering words more
incomprehensible to myself than to others.
Then I found myself surrounded by a police patrol car, an ambulance, a sanatorium
vehicle and a black unmarked car filled with government security agents. All these
authorities stormed toward me and tackled me down to the ground. Since I could not
communicate with them in any way, they were all confused on how to proceed. The first
order of business for them was to figure out who was or what I was before they could
determine what to do with me and where to take me. I was the center point of an intense
altercation. Two paramedics grabbed my hand and dragged me to the ambulance while a
huge police officer seized one of my left feet and pulled me to his cruiser. My other left foot
was clutched in the hands of secret service agents and my free hand was being forcefully
put into a straight jacket by the mental hospital staff. As I was fighting for my life with my
teeth and claws to escape these maniacs, I was zapped by a TASER gun and collapsed.
The next time I opened my eyes, I was in a cage. Since then, I’ve been analyzed by
experts of various fields to determine who or what I am. I’ve lost my speech capabilities in
the recent crashes. My hands are deformed so I cannot write although I can manage
holding a pen to scribble on paper. Everything I doodle is being carefully analyzed by
scientists. I’m being treated cordially and listened to attentively. I’m being washed and fed
properly every day. I must admit I like the attention I receive. On Wednesdays, a group of
researchers connect wires to my body and my head and study every reaction of mine to
heat, cold and various sound frequencies. One day they held a mirror to my face. I was
unrecognizable. My hands and feet have shrunk and my body is swollen to four time its
original size. At first I was so frightened to see myself in the mirror then I realized this very
repugnant disfigurement was my allure. If they discovered I was a human being then I’d be
facing all kinds of legal challenges including jail and deportation and the consequences
would be disastrous.
During my stay here, I managed to learn my captor’s language but I pretend otherwise. I’
ve carefully contemplated my strategy. I don’t act too dumb to be mistaken for an animal of
some sort yet I don’t reveal my intelligence capabilities to the fullest extent, otherwise they
may lose interest in me.
There are a host of agencies, university professors and researchers interested in me but
I enjoy spending time with a voluptuous female anthropologist who visits me every week.
Over time, I’ve built good rapport with her but she still doesn’t feel safe to come inside my
cage. After every session we have together, she slides a piece of meat into my cell before
she leaves to reward my cooperation. This lifestyle of mine has its own restrictions.
Since I cannot verbally communicate, occasionally I draw bizarre shapes on the paper to
have a little fun in captivity. One day I drew an abstract middle finger just to enjoy watching
the puzzled looks on the art experts. Based on what I gathered, they’re still baffled about
how to proceed. If I’m declared an extra-terrestrial creature, then the top secret
government agencies would take my custody and only God knows what they would do with
me. If I’m a human being therefore an illegal alien then according to the law, I’d promptly be
deported to where no one knows. On the way back to wherever the destination is, in the
ship, they’d make me peel potatoes to pay for my travel expenses. None of these are
desirable outcomes. Freedom is not an option, captivity is. As long as I exist in this state of
limbo, I can play the system and survive.