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.

...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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 future

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.

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.