So the last time our "Me" time got cut short, so here is the longer version. This is me...
I was born in Beirut, Lebanon and my parents moved to Atlanta when I was two. My dad had been here (in America) way before and served in Vietnam, but that was before my time and before he ever met my mother.
I was born during Lebanon’s civil war. Being brought into a violent world in a violent way, I had to be pushed and pushed out forced against my will to join the festive bullets zipping through the air, like shattered birds flying to escape reality and to be doomed to failure as they flock together. The year was 1979; the civil war broke out in 1976, coincidentally, the year that my brother was born — but that’s besides the point.
Between the war and my Dad's business, he didn’t want to stay in Beirut. We moved to the states, to Houston, Texas (to my knowledge). We lived as a happy family for about four days until my father lost his temper again and beat my mother in front of us, calling her stupid and telling how she would never amount to anything, and that if she ever wanted to make a living the only thing that she would be qualified to do was sell her body, all in front of us kids. I know it sounds harsh, but such is life and we have grown past it.
I won’t talk about Houston that much; all I remember from that city was having a birthday party for my sister when we rented out the pool-club-house, and had all her friends over and all that good stuff. Then, we got a beating for having too much of a good time. And I have faint memories of plates being broken on my brother's head in the kitchen, because he left some grime on the plate before he put it in the dishwasher. And just a more violence.
So that's a general sense of what we went through. Shortly thereafter, my parents got divorced and mom, myself, and my three siblings moved to Atlanta, GA. My eldest brother joined the Marines to get away from my dad, as dad would pay us visits every now and again. With my brother gone, all that was left was me, my sister and my other brother. We lived in a house, with mom working 3 jobs to keep us comfortable. And we were, for a time. Fast forward a few years, mom shipped us back to Beirut to live with Dad, and that is were the second part of my life began.
I was an American in Beirut, in a time of war. We went to an American school for a time, but then dad took us out because my sister had to repeat the 10th grade three times, and he didn't want to pay that much anymore. So where did we end up? In a religious school. So through these ins and outs and growing up, my dad's behavior never changed. We just got used to it, made the best of the situation and moved on. My outlet during those days was writing poetry, which helped me get the edge off.
Fast forward a bunch of years, I came back to the states, and lived in Gaithersburg, Maryland for a short time. I slummed it a bit, working odd jobs in the food industry, got bored and moved to Chicago, failed and then came back. With nothing left to do, I joined the Army. I deployed to Saudi and Kuwait for a few months. After that, we returned and then I was honorably discharged. I did my commitment and it just wasn't for me.
I moved on again...
I went to school, and got a job as a barista at Starbucks, then another job as a desktop publisher, then on to the IT field and haven't looked back. In those years, I have grown as a person, got my desired degrees (BS and MS) and continued to truck forward, as there is nothing for us left in the dust of the past.
During those years, I met my wife (Stephanie). My everything and my all. She has been my rock in my darkest times and in my brightest of times. We have a daughter (Kai) and I couldn't have asked for anything better than this in my life. Even though I am happy, my depression continues to linger and with it all Stephanie has stuck with me even when I wouldn't have stuck with myself. I know it’s hard dealing with a person with depression, I see that in me when I am in those phases.
I have kept up with my writing as an adult, though obviously the topics have changed. Being diagnosed with manic depression, writing has been my best coping mechanism. I enjoy writing because it lifts the weight of the world off my shoulders, even for just a few days or minutes, and I cherish those times. It helps me channel my frustrations, and anger and depression or whatever other emotion that I cannot otherwise control.
That brings me here, to today, to Steemit. Another great outlet of expression, of ideas, of people being people without judgement and preconceived notions. I like it. I will share this part of me in hopes that others will share, enjoy and relate and do that same. I encourage everyone to write, the more you write, the better you get, but not just the writing but yourself identity grows with you. I want to thank my friend for suggesting Steemit and hopefully she will read this and know that I appreciate her.
Thank you for your time and I hope you have enjoyed this longer introduction of Me.
