This post will be
about the most turbulent and in certain ways shittiest part of my
life so far.
It takes place when
a rather different, young me is 15. This summer, before starting 10th
grade, I fell in love for the first time. It was young and adorable.
I had just left a very hard time adjusting to new school, new friends
and all the shit you know about (that I will probably write more
about at some point), and so it came at the perfect time. I was a
young lost soul, and I was fortunate enough to meet a person with
enough character to choose to get to know me rather than leave it be,
due to my somewhat damaged reputation. So we started our
relationship, but it turns out, maybe a little too early and too
fast.
This young girl (MY)
had a few months previously entered a relationship with another dude.
This dude («A» from now on) was an «underage» (claiming to be)
asylum seeker, and he was a part of a larger group of asylum seekers
that lived together in an institution for youths in the same
situation. These asylum seekers would receive education in special
classes at my new school, and they usually hung out by themselves. MY
was in a small group of people who made friends with a click of the
oldest of these asylum seekers. A develops feelings for MY, and they
enter a relationship during that spring. He tells her the truth, that
he is actually not underage, but 19, and that he was a child soldier
in Chechnya, and about the horrors that he has seen and done (these
details are unclear). This relationship drifts apart without any sort
of definitive verbal ending, and it is here that she meets me.
We go about our
ways, we're young and in love and life is sweet, but then hell breaks
loose. A and his psycho friends discover that MY has entered a new
relationship. First I receive threatening messages, for example
«We're going to get you», «We're going to kill you». Then I tried
to respond to these messages and to reason with them, but with no
results. I start getting phone calls from unknown numbers that hang
up. By this point I am so scared and paranoid that I don't leave the
house unless I absolutely have to, and I don't go to the local town
centre where they usually patrol around looking for people they have
a beef with. One day I get a call from a friend, who overheard that
they are getting lots of people together to find me and kill me,
although nothing happens. I barricade myself in my home with the
weapons I can find and hope for the best, considering whether I
should call the police or not. I end up not calling. I know those
guys out there looking for me carry whatever weapons they can hide
from their teachers. During this time, I never left my home without a
knife. All through this, MY and her friends, who knows them, try to
reason with them and calm the situation.
One night, feeling
safe enough, I go the festival in the town centre to enjoy myself
with friends. They're there, and after trying to find a way out
avoiding them, I end up getting beat up by two of them. No bad
injuries, but I remember. Actually, A tried to stop them, being the
most sympathetic person in the group.
The memories are so
foggy. Lots of shit went down, and there were other encounters, but I
think I've captured the essence of it. Some more time passed, and I
eventually received their forgiveness, I think. Or so they said, and
I never talked to them again. The gang was sent to different parts of
the country and disbanded, and I went back to a more relaxed life
then the hell I had spent the past six months in.
In retrospect I'm
surprised but happy that these events have not shaped my views on
immigration and other cultures in any way.
I saw A when I was
driving home yesterday, I think that was what made me think of these
events.
0 comments:
Post a Comment