Writting your own story must be the one of the most self-centered things that exist, but let's admit it: we all want to be known. I think that is something intrinsic in the human being, nobody wants to go unnoticed, specially us the creatives, the artists. Oh yeah! I identify myself as an artist, but I will go deep on that later, I would like to present myself chronologically.
My name is Ibrahim, it's the same name as my fathers name, my grandparents gave it to him because his great-grandparents were from Turkey and they wanted to preserve some relationship with the culture of the Middle East, but I think they did not achieve it. I was raised in the catholic religion, quite westernly because my dad did not seek to understand his Turkish roots and therefore, their children did not either. My mother, on the other hand, was born in Portugal and I have been very close to that culture and I love it. Portuguese food, music and festivities have been part of my life.
My mother came from Portugal as a child, to Caracas, Venezuela. Soon she would move to Anzoátegui, the state where my dad lived, who was born in Caracas. They met when both were 25 years old. They had a passionate and ruthless young love, and they have, even now that they are 46 years old, a very young spirit. I imagine them with a soundtrack like this:
I believe that the love they had was real and very passionate. When they were still dating, my mom got pregnant with me and that's when they decided to get married and I feel that from that moment things got crazy. I always thought that they should not have done it. They did not know if they wanted to get married but the pregnancy pushed them to do it. If they had had time to get to know each other better and let go of tradition, they would have made the decision, or not, with a real reason. That passionate love became toxic: cheating, screams, insults, verbal and psychological violence of both parties, that was what I always saw about their relationships.
There was not a year in which they did not have one crisis at least. I love them and they were the best parents in spite of everything because the truth is that no one is given a manual on how to raise another human being, but what I had to cope with that situation at first scared me, then tormented me, I suffocated, then it made me indifferent, it taught me to forgive and in the end, to this day, it is part of who I am, for better or for worse.
They have been completely separated for two years now, both are part of my life, both have their own partners and are much happier, and I am too! But as a child, I did not want to go back to my house, I only thought about what drama or tension I was going to find that day, but I did not want to be in school either. I hated primary and high school. In my first school, I was definitely the most hated person in the room, my theory is that a few children who were popular, detested me and were relatives of the owners of the school, convinced others to follow them in a kind of crusade against me.
They never chose me for sports, nor for games, I did not have a group to belong to. I remember that in the second grade, a girl named Andrea invited the whole room to her luxurious birthday party, everyone except me. Obviously during the years in that school they insulted me and made fun of me but being excluded was what hurt most and what I still remember most easily. I changed schools and things were different, but not better. For some reason, in this school there was a real problem with violence, before I arrived, but obviously I got caught in it.
This time I was not the only one who was a victim and among those affected, I got to know those who are today, two of my best friends, and in exchange of meeting them every insult, push, mocking and vandalism that I endured in the second school were worth it. There I saw at first hand what were gangs, groups of people who found a target and attacked it, I saw physical violence and I was afraid of what I could do or say because I did not want to attract the attention of the thugs. I ended up calling their attention and obtaining what they considered was "my due".
At two years old I transferred to my third and last school. I had grown, obviously, and I found grown people. This was the least violent of the environments, but I still faced difficult situations. For example, in my first days, I sat at a table with a group of people I did not know but was making the effort to meet. One of them called me "the fly" and gestured as if frightening me from his table. They asked me to stand up and leave, and I was so frozen by the situation, I did not do anything and they all stood up and left. I emptied a table with my presence.
To this day, I remember the schools where I was not as a study house but as battlefields and I ended up victorious. As of today, none of those ugly things that happened to me made me an ugly person. It is a trauma, but a trauma that I overcame because I do not repeat that behavior of which I was a victim. I am comprehensive, kind, inclusive and an excellent friend. In the last two schools, I got some of my best friends today and about the people who hurt me? Well, I have heard rumors that they are not doing very well.
There is another thing that has represented a struggle for me. I'm gay, friends. I am gay in Venezuela, a South American country with a deeply rooted machismo compared to Europe or North America. That was one of the main reasons why they made fun of me and made me feel bad. There is nothing wrong with being gay, I did not choose it, and yes, it has made things more difficult for me but it is not because I am gay but because of people not understanding it, my family, specifically. They do not know, they are totally homophobic.
Imagine having to listen to comments like "how disgusting those faggots are" or "how abnormal they are" and things like that, from your family and feeling, secretly, that they are referring to you. Growing up, that fact isolated me, in a way, from them because I could never tell them if I started feeling things for someone or I could never tell them what happened to me at school, without going too far, I could not ask anyone the reason why I thought and felt many things that at 13 or 12 years did not understand.
Loneliness is a feeling that I have known for a long time. Surrounded by people in my house and school, I felt alien, strange, ugly, less valuable and abnormal. With that came serious problems of self-esteem which I still struggle with now, to a lesser extent. It is very easy for me to feel as if I do not belong, as if I see the rest of the world from a cage from which I can not leave because I am not like them and I never will be.
With university began the best years of my life so far. I had spent a full year in New York and when I returned I moved to Caracas, to study at the Andrés Bello Catholic University, the best of all and the one that has become my second home. In college people are mature and everyone is new so everyone wants to meet new friends and make themselves known. From the university I have brought out beautiful people who have driven me to grow and believe in myself as I never had.
The confrontation with the most violent city in the world definitely forced me to break my shell, my comfort zone and what has come out is a lot of power, a lot of courage. As the days go by I keep fighting with many demons such as loneliness or low evaluation but at least they are already out, I just have to keep them away. Now that I know who I am and how much I am worth, I can do what I love.
Music is everything to me. I sing since I can remember and my goal in life is to save lives with my music, just as the music of others saved mine so many times. I think this is the best way to end this bio-teaser. You can expect from this Steem It profile, new music, old music and a lot of heart. Here is a sample of when I feel freer. This is me several years ago:
Thank you! Thank you always.