“The main purpose of life is: To have a job in whose purpose you can believe; To have friends whose immediate purposes you can trust; To have some spot on earth to which you can return as home; To be at the same time a citizen of a larger world.”
- James A. Michener 21 months ago

what was/is important to me is to know who’s my father, and to know him. What happened in the past is secondary. So now, I just have to find a fucking way to contact him, for we can talk, simply. 4 years ago

...it would be to choose his side, and to know where he stands, because it moves underneath, all the time, nothing, or no one, is never won in advance or acquired for life. No love, no knowledge, no concept, no truth. Maybe frienship, sometimes, and this is my hope, that kind of love that awaits nothing in return, and that grows with the years, like the roots of an oak.

I remember what my mother told me, which of the two men she named is my father, and why it confused me on the moment.

You know, something strange happened recently. Strange calls, with no one speaking. I don’t know whom it was for sure, but both Fox and I checked on our friends. That’s true really few people have this number then. And yesterday evening I felt weird, so I stayed late alone in the dark listening to music.

Now, I don’t know all my father did, to contact me, know me, all the obstacles he came through, although I still have a rough idea about my family… I don’t know what was told, I don’t have the emotional print of it. Well, I’mnot blind either. And about him and my mother, I don’t know anything, but finally, that’s not what counts the more. It’s the time we still have, the more important.

It can’t end this way. 4 years ago

I’m gonna tell you.

My father fucked my mother, then he didn’t want to take care of me, so he ran away, like the coward he HAS been. Then he thought maybe as I was grown up he could “talk” to me, as a random guy. But he never bothered to tell me anything more. Then he liked to follow me, but not more, I don’t know, in case i’d bite, or something, I don’t know all my talents yet. Who knows, maybe he was also on the net, abusing my trust?
When I wanted some answers because I started realizing, doubting, he just denied. Might have been around after though. Anyways…
I had several opinions on this, afraid, ashamed. But there’s another possibility, peep and disengage.
As he doesn’t want to tell me HIS truth, although I’m ok to hear him, and revise my vision of things! i’ll stay with that.
Thanks for letting me hope and eventually break my heart. Well you broke my heart a bunch of time. I won’t do what I wanted to do, to be treated like shit again. I was enough already by my “family”.

The truth about my family? They started lying, and then they got caught and melted in their own lies. Since then, they’ve been nastily denying. My father, I can understand the fear, but them? I don’t even live with them for now more than 6 years. They certainly didn’t expect that my mother would tell anything. I think it’s the doc, when I was sick, who encouraged her to do so. I’d like to meet that man. I might have found him. Well two guys with the same name. I don’t dare to ask, because I fear again it’ll be a dead end. But I want to. I think from those who know, only one is still alive. And she refuses to tell me anything.

The truth is there won’t be any answer. From any part. From no one. The truth is the only one who ever had a little love for me was my mother, not my “family”, not my father, not my friends who still know what happened on the day of the English exam, they only love themselves.

The truth is I still want to know, and the more institutionally it’ll happen, the worse. 4 years ago

What did use this lookalike meter I found this topic http://www.43things.com/entries/view/2541897#comment2262170 I know that doesn’t give any answer… I’m stupid to do these sort of things. I didn’t take the SOB for the test. I don’t have picture of him, anyways, I odn’t look like him… I took the one I think is my father.
It mostly said I looked equally to both. One more mother 7%. One more 6% father.

I only takes the shape of the face I think. If you take the inside of the face, you quickly see I don’t have a lot of my mother… Not the nose, not the chin, not the bottom lip…

Why does it make me feel depressed? Good question…

For the rest, i did nothing more. I keep thinking about the solutions I’ve got. Maybe that’s actually why gets me depressed in fact.

If only I could tell him all I feel. 4 years ago

I called the townhall again. I had someone else online, and she gave me an inside number… at the police. Well, I wouldn’t mind call them, and even meet them, but I don’t want to track him as a criminal. If only just anything couldn’t reverberate on him like a straw fire.

Or I have contacts, but not to talk to him. I won’t do this anymore. It’s him or nothing. 4 years ago

I believe in justice. The problem is, I don’t know if I believe in the justice of my country. I have the feeling sometimes it leads more to vengence than justice.

I contacted townhalls. I understand very well that they can’t give any info on a simple request, especially by phone. So for a townhall that was far, I wrote to them, giving them my personal details, easy to check. but they refused to help me.
In the townhall of the city where I live, they refused too, and more, they refused to SEE me, meaning I accepted to come for an appointment and explain my request in flesh.

Another thing. In other countries around mine, you can do a DNA test, paternity test, first, and then see a judge with your evidence, and with the chance to have discussed about family issues.
In my country, you must ask the judge first to authorize a DNA test, on PRESOMPTIONS, that means it can blow up several families in the process, make hope, you often can’t talk the things with the people concerned without lawyers, if you want things to be validated, and it creates more tensions.
It’s really not logic to me. And worse, i think it’s not human.

Ok but it’s not the worse. The worse is asking for that, you act as if you were solving a litigation. However, it’s not always the case. It’s not what I want, ask the judge to make confrontations etc… But if I don’t do that, I don’t have the right ; the right to choose to make it smooth and soft. Maybe it can be helpful for a little child, when there’re problems between two fathers, the mother… but i’ll be 30 in less than 3 years now. I know the SOB isn’t my father. I don’t feel any hate. Why should I want a situation exacerbating negative emotions, or creating negative emotions? What I think would be the better is I and my father can talk, and decide what we want, we’re two adults now. I don’t think we need a judge in between. But even in that special case, it’s not authorized.

So you know what? I’d be an outlaw, but if we came to that, i’ll accept to do a test in a foreign country. Spain for instance.

Only if that result is positive i’d be ok to do it more legally. Not that it’d be the more important. Yet, I admit i would like to. Not about the legal stuff, but emotionally it counts. 4 years ago

Because of people who “can’t talk”, for this or that reason. I think they don’t want their asses waterlogged. To me there’s only one GOOD reason not to talk when it comes to such a point of seriousness, loyalty. Not that I feel I can excuse a total silence. It’s still better to say “I cant’...” than to say … nothing.

I have been thinking about new possibilities, other people to contact, and that’s where it’s getting weird, at the point I’m getting a little worked up because of an hyper-empathic-non-even-asked-non-answer. That’s strong of coffee.

There’s not only an opposition to truth in this fucking story of shit, but more an opposition to communication and sanity. Why you people are alive for?

My truth?

I would kick your ass! Don’t think I’ll lick your bum if I have you in front of me.

Then now it’s said, do I hate my father? But fucking shit! WHO said that anywhere? What an idea of the helling rotten bagpipes was born in a feverish mind after a bloody mary? I never said that! I said I couldn’t stand the SOB. I think I made it clear enough they’re not the same guy. Then yes, my feelings for my father are mixed. What did you all expect? I feel rejected, and I don’t even know why, by somebody who looks to be a good heart. Admit there’re questions running (?)

I think there’s been a big misunderstanding. I’m not against talking, but please CUT the craps, my ears are bleeding.

What I was isn’t what I am. Not because I was abused means I think alike. You get me? And it’s been a fucking long way since then, to come back from where they put me without me even realizing what could be happening, because I heard only one thing for 20 years, their fucking liars’ truth. The fact that I felt things isn’t exactly like if I had had the knowledge, YOUR knowledge, to several of you.

One more thing… you think I LOVED realizing the truth by myself, by blows of migraines, nightmares and bad memories, and other panics? Then you should ring your own bell! Sucker.

XxxxXXxXxXXxXXXXxXx

The name of the person i’m looking forward to contacting is Marchand. She was still alive in Sept. 06. I agree that makes more than a year ago. But that’s all I’ve got. The name of the person who gave me the information will remain confidential.

The period of time my grand-mother is the more willing to leave for her holidays, I suppose, is May-June, because I experienced it in the past, and because three of them were born in may, and she in early June. So they can make a big celebration. That’s the time I could go there to search the documents. Even if I think there’s a great possibilty my grand-father have taken them, and put them in a hideout. I thought first that he could have destroyed them. But he was a fine agent. I don’t think he did so, because a document, with such a thinking of his, is usable in either sense, if you get me. I suppose that it could be in the same more difficult or easier. I explain, more difficult because I think he would’ve hidden them well. Easier because the only place there could be is his room at the time. The thing is, there’s a key. It was always locked down there. There were two keys, one in my grand-mother’wallet, and one she had in her long blouses, right pocket. Of course she couldn’t know what i’m working on, so I think I will have the possibilty to access this key, at best. Then once in the room… well I said he was a fine agent… it could be hidden in the wood of the floor, or the wall.
Now, I know she’ll move for xmas, too. And apparently, she’s not there lately. So I know I could have time to proceed. And friends at whom I could stay for a little while. Although they don’t encourage me in doing that. But anyway, if I can’t live in the truth, with those I love, and be myself, what’s the point.

Call me idiot. I’ll spoil my life. It’s only, like, the big attractor. I can’t help it.

My feelings…

I think I wouldn’t like to call my father Dad. I think I prefer Papa, really. I don’t have the same attachment to the first. Maybe only because of the language. But I would like to call him so.

I’m afraid to meet him, now I know, because I fear rejection the more, and also to do, or say, which is my kind, something wrong. I’m less afraid to meet him now I know. I would meet him in spite of my fear. I won’t hide my real feelings in spite of my fear. I’m afraid to cry though. I’m always afraid to break in incontrolable sobs on the street, or with people I’m not very, very close to. But I’ll risk that to see him. To be honest, if I could, I’d go to see him and tell him in the eye, but I can’t.It’s also difficult because I think he knows more about me, my life, what I had to live, what I think, and what I feel, than me about him. I feel disadvantage. Yet, I’m not afraid OF him. But I accept that. Because not everybody takes advantage. I don’t think he’s that kind of guy; to take advantage. In the same time, I think, that, maybe, it would be good to show him how I feel. I’d like to hug him, and he to hug me too. I’m just afraid to dare, but only because this fear of rejection ; nothing else.
I’d be happy that my father is the guy alive, that he’s simply the good person I think he is, and happy in his life ; and that we could get to know each others.

I’m afraid to be wrong. But i’ll take that risk too.

Maybe i’d still feel like kicking your ass but, thanks anyway. 4 years ago

By now, I know something is wrong, and that I was lied. OK. But there’re many things that I still don’t know. Or I’m not still sure of. I’m gonna make in green what I know, in blue what I’m not still sure, and in red what I don’t know, and would need to know to have in the end all elemenrs connected to understand.

I know :

the SOB isn’t my father

what my mother told me, the names of two guys, same family, father and son. One full name I remember (WCC). One of them is my father.

that my mother has been treated like a shit for that by the “family”

The dark, big, tinted-windows car

The beige car

what we all saw, their words

that I was forced to switch hand for another reason I thought

Other people I saw, out of that guy

There’re documents in the basement

what my grand aunt told me

what Le Renard saw

what Flo told me

what sev told me

what Coco saw

that the house (of the beige car) was sold in Sept. 2006, I know the former owner’s name

What I’m not sure of (of course, there’re things I’m nearly sure of, and others it’s more blury):

if my father is dead or alive

where to join the person who owned the house before Sept. 2006

what type of documents I would find in the basement

if my father is left-handed

my real father’s blood type

why he took me for an idiot

The full number of the plate

why she was around

What I don’t know :

what happened before I was born, before I was conceived. This is really the total dark on this all

why my father was booted (I could nearly put that in “not sure of”)

why my parents weren’t together

why the fucking SOB recognized me

why having still kept me away from my true father when the SOB has no rights on me anymore

who out of my father, mother, and the elders know

who owned the house in the early to mid 90’s

how much genetics has been helping me until now, and how much it could help me in the future4 years ago

I mentioned this already, but I remember more now. With all the technics I use, it would be a great shame I don’t come to something. Lol

Anyways, I can remember all the talk we had with my mother. Except some “holes”, when my mother talks to me about my father. I reaiize now it could be because I had lots of things to deal with at this moment. But I’m gonna try once more. It was in February 1991.

I’m in my room. I want to go out, and i’m gonna tell my mother. I cross the corridor, push the door of the living-room, and I walk straight to the third room, where my mother is ironing. I’m telling her that I’m going to play outside with my friends. She says ok but she asks me to wait a moment, and she says that the great grand mother said it was a long time since I went to see her at her home (yes, 4 years before, when she insulted my mother of whore, in Spanish… but I didn’t remember that in 1991, not consciously), and that I could come for some holidays. I say nothing, but frankly, i’m not motivated, and I feel my stomach twisted. My mother says it’s soon gonna be spring, and that I could enjoy the beach (spring, April holidays). So I ask if she would be coming, and she says no, that she wasn’t invited. There I feel there’s something very wrong, and in my head, it’s out of question I can even go back there. I say I don’t want to go. She says, cheery, that it can really be fun, and that the GGM thinks I don’t want to see her. I tell my mother that she’s right. She says I shouldn’t say that. I say that it’s what I think though, and that if she’s not invited, I don’t consider myself invited either. She tells me it still could be good for me to change air for a week. I burst into tears and I say that if she wants to get rid of me, it’s not a way to do it. She says it’s not what she wants, only that she thinks it could be good for me, but I don’t have to go, she’s not forcing me to go. So I calm down, and say of course that I’m not going. She says it’s ok, and over. I’m about to go away, but I ask her why she’s not “invited”. It shocked me already, this word, because to me you don’t “invite” family or people close to you, you invite strangers. She asks if I really want to know, so I say yes. And then she says “your father…” and I say “yes..” but I feel bizarre, because I wonder why it’s about him at this point (I hadn’t seen him “anymore” lol for a year and a half, and in the life of a ten-years-old, it’s a HUGE among of time of the death), and then she says “his name is…(can’t remember the firstname) then the name that I remember very well. And here I don’t know what’s going on. It’s out of control. I feel strange, my stomach is sore. What she’s saying while I wonder is very clear,but I don’t understand though, or don’t want to? It’s a bit in between these two. And so she goes on talking, and she says “his father is…” and then she says THAT full name, which I remember pretty well, still. (Ok, I’m not saying the names here, not that I don’t want to… with that really rich memory, I would say my father is alive). I feel like I received a blow on the head, my hands are numbed and I ask “Dad changed name?” She watches me a moment and then she says “no, he didn’t change his name, his name is till (mother fucker, she didn’t say that, it’s me). I say “but you just told me..;” she cuts me “give it up, go play.” I say “ok.” But I felt really different.

It’s still not enough to me. I want to remember the firstname she said, in spite of all I’ve seen, and lived, and heard from her even, and HIM, maybe. I think I met him. How terrible. But if he’s alive, maybe it’s not too late. First I settle down. I’ll think of something right? I don’t want to hope too much, but it’s difficult not to hope too. One thing I’m sure, whatever happened, my mother wasn’t a whore, like they said. She took care of me in spite of ALL she had to bear, and she told me the truth. That’s pretty classy I’d say. And their behaviro only made me think the contrary, and that she didn’t love me, which wasn’t true. Then it makes me think too that my father wasn’t seen well by my “family”. Maybe not enough standing? Not enough rich? Whether he was a good man didn’t interest them. But me yes. It changes a lot to me, that she my mother was so, and that my father isn’t what they would like me to believe (now I know). But it’s not true. And actually, it changes everything. 4 years ago

What the hell happened?

I was contacted by an old friend of mine, whom I’ve known since I was 3/4, too, and whom I hadn’t had news from since a long time, years. And weirdly, when I thought about her, about the watch stuff, she contacted me. Usually I remember things that people don’t even have a breeze of. But she perfectly reminded it so. She was even surprised I did, too. She and her parents, knew/know a part of my family. My Godmother and her husband moved to a foreign country very recently, one or two months ago. And I learnt that she still meets, sometimes, my cousins. Well, one of them apparently. She came across her last month ; and they talked about me. Since when are they the slightest interested in me? Now, that’s why I’ve had myears bleeding. I know this cousin isn’t responsible for anything, but so far, I have no reason to trust her. I want to stay away from them all, and I know that if I contacted her, everybody would know about it, and now I want some peace. They drained me, really. And until that story with my father, and what to know what really happened, and what’s their role in my father to stay away, I won’t talk to anybody.
She doesn’t know about another father. Well after all she’s as young as I am, there’re few chances she heard anything from this. Anyway, I don’t think it’s something the family bragged about.
But maybe I learnt things about the SOB. he actually would have been to jail. She couldn’t tell me more, but that’s what she heard, and to be always wary of him. Interesting when you know him like I knew him. I know where he lives, where he runs, what he eats, his blood type, the names of his friends, whom in his family still sees him. I think these are information not impossible to find. I remember at the time, that they were “things” in the archive of the police ; where my mother worked.

Besides, some time ago, I was directed on a page with pictures of a man who has got resemblance with my guy with the white hair. yet, that’s not nice to try to abuse me, because it’s not him, I recognize his face when I see him. However, some points of resemblance, precise points on the face are troubling. The hair/forehead/hair color, chin, at least. I’m positive it’s NOT the same man. But it’s weird. I don’t know why exactly I was “given” these. But the more I go on with my searches, the more I find it weird. I kept them. In case.
Now, when I think about it, I have something other in mind. The couple I saw in that park in the moutains, long years ago. Ok, then I didn’t speak English like nowadays, but I could hear some fluent language. If the dark-haired lady looked preoccupied, maybe by my grand-father’s attitude, he didn’t look to care at all lol (i like that), and he said somehitng like “it’s crazy”, ok this I’m pretty sure, then not so sure “she looks so much like…”, and then, the end is kind of loose you know, but maybe, maybe I heard ”...like Dad.” Ok, then that doesn’t mean at all, “Dad” is Dad to me. It’s just another weird thing on the list. 4 years ago

put your gun down and your fucking hands on your head!

Have I ever said that institutions suck? Strangely, after having had a good contact, I was suddenly told that they couldn’t tell me more. So I’ve got the name of a woman I’ll probably never find. I wonder why it changed so quickly. I have someone here who could maybe help me, if I had a real lead. For now it’s really too blury. I’m not Frank Black. I need material things to proceed on logic, a slow and tiring process, while it would be so easy to have visions on command, but what the hell am I think about?

Seriously, I’ve been thinking about doing very stupid things, in order to get back documents that I’m not sure would be where I’d like to come in. Of course, it should be prepared with months of advance, in terms of timing. And if get I caught, of course, it’s square jail. My mother told me the truth, a part of it, the identity of my father, or grand-father. She held books of notes, some were accounts, some were about her mediumny and visions (freaky thinged happened). I think there’s a high probability for she kept something, a letter, notes, for me, about my father,what happened. It’s unfortunately only based on my judgement and what I knew of her. Then, even if I consider such notes exist, I’ll have to find them in the middle of lots of boxes full of different stuff, disks, clothes…etc I already spent lots of time looking inside of them. So I know there were books and papers there. The good news is that if I was left to search inside, no one thought there was anything in the kind. Or maybe not these in which I searched. Or that someone has taken them already. I hope nothing was destroyed. I remember my grand-mother was very nostalgic to the point of morbidity. She certainly kept all these boxes at the millimetre short as there were when I left the house. I was well inspired, so I kept the keys. Skinflint like she was, and as she still is, as the neighborhood lets wander, I don’t think she changed the lock. Nor that she felt she had to. I’m not sure she knows I had the keys. I think it’s still the same lock. But here it’s a bet. I know she goes once a year, one month, maybe two, in holidays. Far. I could have sources to know when. Very reliable one. That would give me time. Of course I wouldn’t intend to stay a lot, only some hours to drag the papers. Then I thought it would be easier to do it by night, not to be seen. but I would need light, it’s half in a cave, and a lamp isn’t enough, and still, risky. Possible only day time. Of course, I could come early in the morning, when it’s night, hide, and wait it’s the morning to check. And then wait it’s night to go. I’ve never known of any alarm there. Anyway on that door, that would be useless. Unless there’s something more sophisticated. I don’t think so, but I must think about it.
Of course, there’s one very disavantage, distance. I would leave traces, even if not in the house. Seen accidentally in the area, a train ticket would be an annoying coincidence. It could also work. I know it’s a crazy, and very risky idea. But I do think about it as a possibiltity. I know I’m wrong, very wrong, but I do.

When you think it could be so easy to answer me by phone.

I’ve always known that my grand-mother wasn’t there when I was born. She ALWAYS had been there, for any child before, and was for all after. And that she never would. Except for me. But for me she said, it was different.Didn’t I tell anyone here that I was crossed with aliens? (and if what, then, whatever). When I asked why, she told me she was in a thermal cure, with my grand-father. I asked if she couldn’t have come before. It’s not like a due date can’t be predicted like, let me count, after you know… 8 months before the birth. Ok, 7 for these who react a bit slowly. And she made the mistake to tell me that I had come earlier. I asked my mother when I got back from holidays, without telling my grand-mother’s words to her. She said I was perfectly on time, like a Swiss clock. It’s unclear to me why, but there’s definitely something there too. I remember my grand-father saying he wasn’t there, at the thermal cure, and my grand-mother to say “of course you were there,” with eyes. “Was I?” he said. At least he had humor…

There are two memories that I’ve had in mind regularly this last week. I knew about them before, for some months now. I don’t know why I have them so much in mind now. And it goes with the migraine.
The first is my green snake memory. I was 7. The one I stopped by while I was on my bike, as the sun was setting. He had had his head cut off. I don’t like snakes, I fear them to death. And yet I felt pity for this animal. I stayed to watch him on the floor, and then I looked up ; to a reasonable distance, maybe 40-50 yards, I saw that man, standing motionless. He was watching me. I kept watching him for a little while I think, he wasn’t aggressive at all, he didn’t make any move. I couldn’t say what he looked like, too far. I rushed on my bike without turning round.
The second happened after. I was 8. I had spent xmas in my (SOB)father’s family, so certainly February’s with my mother. So or it was April’s holidays, or it was a WE. The weather wasn’t cold. I think it was between April and the summer’s holidays, so June. The SOB brought me to a playground, that unusual playground, up, and all in lenght, where there was small wooden huts, slides and sand, and it was kind of fun actually. He often brought me to parks, and stuff like these. No really, if he hadn’t beaten and drugged my mother, or built an incestuous climate with me, he would’ve been a great father.
So we were there, I saw him freak out, keeping his distance. And I turned round. There was a man, some feet from me. I know he was taller than him (who was like 5’7” I believe, and he had fair hair. He was so close, and still today I can’t remember his face. but maybe it’ll come back now. I know the man watched him, and I saw the fear in the eyes of the SOB. Then he watched me, and I didn’t know him, but I wasn’t afraid of him, certainly far less than of the SOB. I can’t see his face, but I know he didn’t smile. He looked at me deep and straight in the eye. And so did I. The SOB told me to back off, to come, and I asked why, and he said we were leaving. I asked whom it was. He didn’t answer me. he looked SO afraid. I tried again a “who was it?”. He said it was no one, not to bother him. So I said nothing, because I had learnt how to shut up since I was very little. All I know is he was very preoccupied and nervous in the car for a long while then. Who was that man? I’m pressing my memory. 4 years ago

I’ve got more and more memories going on in the sense of that secret, another father. This, I had been feeling unconsciously for long years before the actual conscious and brutal awareness that happened some months ago only (December).

I wrote one another memory two entries former to that one, but I’ve got others. Little things that my mother said. Now I realized that she’s been trying more than I thought she actually did. The first other I remembered happened when I was 7-8. I disguised myself with a xmas garland, and lipstick. And I wanted her to take pics. So did she, and I grinned, and she said that I looked more and more like my father. I think I looked disappoointed somehow, and she said “not the one you think”. She didn’t want to give any explanation on these words when I asked.

The second happened when I was barely 11. I had been sick when I was 10, I don’t know to what point, something in the blood. I had a treatment that lasted two months I think. Three months after I started it, the doc had come for a blood test. And six months after again. When I had the memory. I remeber the doctor asked my mother if she had told me, and she said she had, but that I seemed to recall nothing. Once again I asked, but was replied the very common and easy “nothing”; now try to understand why I say it regularly. Anyways, it would just match the February holidays date when she told me the name(s)... So there’s a doctor who knows. lol. Said like this… I only have his answer burnt “it will make its way”.

I remember something else that is strange. When my cousin was born, just before xmas 91, we went there, for that last xmas all together, and I came to hold the baby, and I was asked by the mother if I was right or left handed, for she knows how to give me the baby the better, and I said I was right-handed, and my mother said I was left-handed, and I said no, and she didn’t say anything but “give him to her this way”. The mother of the baby, she was left-handed too, and grew up in the same family I did, with the difference she was never bothered by anyone. I wonder if when my mother said that I looked more and more like my father, she thought only of the smile, like she had it suggested, or also the side choice. That could explain lots of things. Well, I had thought about that before, as I remind of my mother, not keeping me from using my left hand, but who looked upset, yet I didn’t realize it, because I realized very late I used my left hand a lot…

I don’t remember my (non)father was left-handed. I always saw him write, or do anything with his right hand. But I would like to check. I don’t know how yet. Have his DNA would be more simple, heh. But each piece of information can be important.

I wonder to what extend my mother tried to get to my conscious that my father was somebody else. The doc was right, it’s been there unconsciously long years before nowadays ; it certainly lacks frankness. Now it’s better than nothing, thinking analytical…
I wonder also, ah, I can’t avoid what my mother said that I “looked more and more like him”, and I remember my grand-mother saying the same 4 years after, very embarrassed. How much do I look like him? What do I have of him? Is he left-handed like I tend to feel it, however struggling and following my reason? 4 years ago

to be helped with some laws issues. I thought I could not unfather my (non)father after the age of 25, and I was wrong, it is 10 years after you’re major. So 28. Which means I still have more than 11 months to do so. But it can wrok with me only if my true father has some feelings on his side ; not even to meet me. If not, it’ll stay like it is, and I’ll forget about them both. End of August 2008. 4 years ago

I really don’t want to raise my kids Catholic. It’s just that other people are just free to search and look for the truth, but I just feel so GUILTY about it all the time because I was raised so Catholic and it sucks.

I’m taking a lot of “life” type classes at the moment- issues, psychology, and humanities. I’m also reading abook called Ishmael. Learning about these things is making me begin to think that all religions are just sort of part of a culture. 4 years ago

with my aunt (non father). She gave her opinion on the situation, and said she would answer any questions I would have, so I did, but for now I had more questions than answers, and frankly, I don’t think she knows a lot. Always less than what I lived. It’s nice to think about my BD, but I quit counting at 22. It’s not what I ask for.

I possibly found my (non) half-sister. I don’t know what I can tell her when I’m 100% sure I have her address. Maybe nothing in fact. I know where her mother lives, but it’s not to her I want to talk. I know where her father lives too. LOL. This old skin of bullocks is still healthily alive.

For my other search, I’m on the lead, but it’s long. I talk to the townhall, and I’ve new people to contact. It’ll come to an end… One day I’ll see a name on a paper, and I’ll learn which man this way. There’s a mystery about that house yet. The neighborhood doesn’t remember that car. But I saw it, C so it too, and so did le renard. There’s a sort of embarrassment. Now I think the information was right. In 1993-94 was this car. And this man, one of the two. Right after/on the year of the tinted car. And then nothing.

I think I remember the full name my mother told me. I think I know why it was so difficult to accept that it can be this man since I gathered knowledge on the man who “follows” me. I think I understand now why it can have been so difficult for that man “following” me to come closer. Maybe the age of my (non) half-sister makes me sense that my father is the older. Yet, my mother told me 2 firstnames, so I can’t be sure, in spite of this terrible feeling.
I know I’ve had memories very recently, last week, older memories, when I was 4 I think, maybe 3, and one was when my mother had come to search me at school with another woman, I don’t remember who, and we were walking on the street, and they stopped because there was a man with fair hair, on the opposite sidewalk, and I can’t remember his face like I would like to, but he watched us in a sort of awe? and my mother she knew him; he watched her, watched me, and watched her again, and it’s strange because I didn’t go to people, but I wanted to go to him, and hold out my hand to him. I know my mother dragged me, but I turned rounf another moment more. I know for anyone it wouldn’t look to be a traumatic event, but it’s very violent to me.

Why has it been taking so long to come back to me? I know one, one who told me 9.51 pm, has been spending time and patience for it came to my awareness. I want to talk to that one, and in conscience of what’s happening, this time.

I suppose for you readers there won’t be an answer, because when I know, I’ll only won’t write at all. 4 years ago

write more. I had even prepared it, something I never do when I make an entry. But this would not be fair, especially because I don’t hate my father. So I just can say that I progress. 4 years ago

I contacted people I was looking forward to contacting for a long time. After long hours in days of investigation, I finally found them. I don’t know how many people don’t want me to find out what happened, but anyway, I didn’t use real names, and I didn’t contact them directly, so they don’t risk any pressure. 4 years ago

my aunt, on the side of my (non)father, so she may not be my biological aunt… but she always was a kind person with a good and clear communication, and I was always welcome very well at her (and her husband’s) house. I wrote a letter, that I tried not to be too long. I don’t know if I really expect her to know any truth, and I don’t really mind. Maybe just have a more broadly vision to understand, see what can be fixed, and what cannot. I wrote on an intuition. I hope I’ll see soon it was a good one. 4 years ago

“it is alright to doubt- to doubt is to seek, and to seek is to hope, and to hope urgently, insistently, with certainity, is to have all the faith we need to survive whatever we may face.”

-patty kirk, confessions of an amateur believer.

that’s become my mantra lately. 4 years ago

I phoned my grand-mother. First I didn’t tell her whom I was, because I wanted to see what she had to say to my request. I asked her ‘who’s my father?’ and at first she didnt want to answer, she said she didn’t know whom it was… I asked ‘Rosette?’ and she said ‘but you’re father died a long time ago’(meaning she still might be alive?). I said it was her grand-daughter (ha, laughs), and I asked again who my father was. First she said she didn’t understand, didn’t know who was on the phone. I kept on asking, not just a little, and she said ‘I don’t know who’s your father.’ I kept on asking, she said that again. So I said ‘that’s prick, because my mother told me.’ And then, silence. I asked again. She said she didn’t know. I said she was a liar, that she had always lied. Silence. I said ‘you wondered why I left? Now you know why I left.’ And I hung up. And I don’t regret it. Fox asked me when I would call again. Why would I call again? I think it’s pretty clear. I just hope to talk to my father, or somebody close to him. 4 years ago

wish wish I knew what’s true.
I’ve been very hardcore Catholic for a long time, and suddenly it just stopped seeming real to me.
I feel confused.
My family is all pretty intensely Catholic. My boyfriend is Atheist.
There’s kind of a lot of pressure from all sides. 4 years ago

BY now I think I more or less know the truth, the great lines, I’d just need a confirmation of the part to check this, for good. 4 years ago

If I find it it’s ok, if not, then I’ll know I was right… 4 years ago

It started some years ago, when I found some things happening in my life very strange, like that man who will recognize himself, who has been following me.
I was 23-24 when I realized something had been very wrong for a long time in fact. I just turned 26 in September, and since I have been searching I have lots of things coming back to my memory. Nobody has ever wanted to tell me the truth, they all hid everything to me, or shut every little peace of things that could have made me think something was wrong. And when I realized it, people who could have told me the truth had died.

Recently, honestly two days ago, I remembered a moment of my life, when I was 11, and when it all started. It was at my grand aunt, the half-sister of my grand father on my mother’s side. She said something that I had forgotten and came back to my mind like a slap in the face. She was my last chance, and I cannot find her anywhere. I don’t even know if she is alive, or if she moved to a sunny place like she wanted. But at the time she had wanted to talk to me. I could never be grateful enough for her honesty. My grand parents just forbade her to talk.

To situate a bit, and understand better, we had been at my grand aunt to hide from my father, who wanted to take me, or kidnap me, after my mother’s death (and he was a dangerous man, I can tell) before the judgment was made, to know where I will go, and logically, I should have been going with my father (or supposed father…). So she left us her appartment and would cover for us if anyone asked if she had seen me, or my grand parents. She was a literature teacher, and she left us there early July. We stayed there nearly all July, before heading for the very south of France, at the Spanish barrier, to pack our things, my mother’s and mine, where we would live. So all these events happened or very late June, or very early July in 1992, in the city of Autun. My grand aunt was like 59 years, I think, or around.

Here is how it happened. I was in the bathroom with my grand mother, and I was very happy because my grand parents had allowed me to dye my hair, no ammoniac, in red, because I have been fond of that color forever. I think I had been killing them for it, but my grand father said yes because of my mother for sure. She said it was a scandal a true blonde dyed her hair (actually I am dark blonde-light brown, where is the limit?). She said I was blonde with blue eyes just like my father. I said my father had dark brown hair. My grand mother supported me. And so my grand aunt watched her bizarre, she marked a pause. She said that maybe it should be right to tell me. So I felt very weird suddenly and ask tell me why, and my grand mother said no, my grand father arrived and said no, and my grand aunt said that I would know it one day or the other, but they said no, so she said that it was their business after all, they were in charge. And she said to me she was sorry. They said something else also, that he was around, there in Autun ; but talking about who? And that was all.

But that was not all. I remember on that morning, I escaped their surveillance a moment, and went out of the house for a walk, on a street not very far, but still too far from them. It was early in July. And I crossed him, you, that same man I have been seeing for all my life. And I smiled to him. And he looked surprised and smiled to me. And we passed on our ways.
I thought my first memory of you was in mid-August. But this is my very first memory of you. Did you stop in Béziers, too? If I searched, would I find memories older than these ones in July and August 1992? Who are you to me?Are you a father, an uncle, a brother, an investigator, or are you just following for another reason?

I do not have any anger after anyone like when I was 12. I can understand why my grand father wanted to protect me from my father or ‘father’ or whatever, he will never be my father anyway. It was the only legal way to protect me from him. Because that man still is today, my legal father. I can understand why you don’t want to talk, that you’re afraid I react bad. But know the only thing that hurts me is you passing by and saying nothing, not the contrary. I can understand why people didn’t talk, anywho, but my grand aunt was right, it would have been good to do so.
I have been through, and seen, very hard stuff in my life, and I am stronger than some would think. I know it is not necessary to fuss when somebody is finally telling the truth, I am ready to accept any truth, as it is the truth for the one who tells it, as it is what factually happened.

I need to know. 5 years ago

lately i think i know the secret to the universe. that is, i don’t know it in the sense that i could tell you, but i know it in the sense that I’m happy and smiling because it all makes sense. thinking about it makes it go away, though. there must be some secret merits to daoism. 5 years ago

Find the truth about life, about nature, and about me. 5 years ago