Last week I went back in my mind and I reviewed certain events from my past.
The closest people has hurt me the most
I was an energetic, unruly, mischievous kid. My mother has been beating me for the smallest mistakes since I remember myself. We lived in Serbia and the beating of children is a common thing but, as I see now, if this had happened in Canada I am sure my mother would end up in jail. Now I realized that I was not her problem. My mother was deeply unsatisfied with her life and relationship to my father. I was just paying the price.
And regardless of the beatings I was a mother's son, and my twin sister was a father's daughter. My mother passed away in January 2015, I loved my mother more than my father who was a stranger for me. I was never close to him. He never took me, you know like father and son, anywhere. As a kid I felt he was embarrassed of me because I was so skinny.
In my eyes he was and he still is, a miser, a scrooge, cheap ass. The day I was leaving for Canada in the great unknown, with my 8 months old daughter and with 6,000 $$ of borrowed money and he stood there and told me in some crying tone - "You are leaving, who will take care of me?" He was so selfish, he was 56 years old at that time.
Two days upon arrival in Toronto I started to work as a dishwasher and I was making some money. My father asked for borrowed money to be returned back home, what I did, in full.
Why should I forget it?
In my home town, in the place where I grow up, our first neighbor was my cousin - a brother, a son from my my father's sister. He was 4 years older than me and I liked him so much until the day where my relationship with him ended up. It was the end of summer, I finished primary school and I was about to start the high school and he was supposed to go to university.
At that time I was fighting everyone who called me with a bad name, some nickname I hated. I was so determined to stop the harassment and not to allow anyone to say that nickname again. Whoever called me with that nickname I was fighting with my fists, regardless of who that was.
So... we were playing soccer that day and my brother was with us, someone told him about my fight. When he heard it, just in spite, he called me and teased me with that nick name.
At first I was in shock, feeling so betrayed and disappointed. And then I got angry and hurled a stone towards him. I went back to my house. He went after me and he caught me and he started beating me. I did not fight back, I was so hurt, I lied down on the floor, he was kicking me with his legs...
That was almost 45 years ago. I have never talked to my brother again. I have never visited him in Belgrade or had anything with him until this very day. And I will not forget what happened. He has never apologized so there is no question of forgiveness.
Why should I forgive it?
People say it is so important that we do not hold to the anger towards others who have hurt us, rather we should forgive and move on. It is a kind of wisdom to do that. But, it is so difficult for me. I am not easy forgivable person.
And then I read: "No forgiveness is required, because you don’t forgive a tree and you don’t forgive a river. You know? It’s like lightning strikes your house and you say 'I forgive you.' I mean, who are you forgiving?" ~ Ram Das.
So really, "Who am I forgiving?" It is known paradox - if only people who deserve to be forgiven ought to be forgiven, then forgiveness is pointless.
I have many other stories about how I was hurt in the past. But who cares? It is important that I am fully aware of my psychological wounds. By the awareness I heal them without forgiving. You know, this is a good thing... for the future.
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