Stratosphere

I don’t remember when it happened. Was it when I was told by my mother that I have to eat all the food from my plate when I was seven years old… or else? No. That wasn’t so bad.Was it the day when my father finally left after many years of fear and violence? When we finally escaped his rage? No. I felt happy. Was it when I understood, at 14, that there had been a thing called “World War 2” and that 70 million people were killed in it? And that even small children were killed in it just because they happened to be of a certain race. No, not that either. It made me think. Was it when my father, on one winter morning, decided to cut both of his arms with a fillet knife in a bath tub that had no water in it, and then jumped down to death from the fourth floor of his apartment? No. That’s when I started to run for my life. And I continued running for 32 years. It was none of these things. It was me. When I lost faith in myself. That is when it happened. I lost faith. In me. And that is the worst thing that can happen.