I never thought my story was one worth to tell and I also never believed that anyone would be willing to listen, until I told it in secrecy for the first time. At that point, I realised that one’s story is much more than what is known and the things one chooses to remember. And yes, I say choose to. It is almost as if as the years go by, we develop a sort of selective memory of things that we like to bring back or that we don’t mind experiencing again. This can be convenient, at times, but it can also hide important events at its bottom of the memory box. Well, my story fits with the latter.
When my first words began to be spoken I didn’t realise that I could remember that much about myself. Not just that I didn’t think I had done and lived that much, but it felt like I was telling a story about someone else, another person’s life. It was a weird feeling, to say the least, to come back to myself in a sense of “that was really me!”. I think everyone has a few parts of life which don’t bring much happiness or that perhaps would like to erase. Yet, as much as a piece of me wishes that a lot of those things have gone differently, I get into the cliché that everything that happened brought me where I am today. And that’s certainly the nicest part of the whole thing.
So, as every story begins with an introduction, let me go first: My name is Layla. I am a part of her, she is a part of me. Perhaps this doesn’t make much sense now, but it will soon, I promise. There’s not much I remember of a happy childhood, like most kids I know. The memories I have are in some ways happy, but mostly filled with agony, fear and anxiety. Stick around and you will learn much about us. I take here the chance to warn you to expect things that you cannot believe to be true and to leave all your judgements out of this reading. Be open minded to whatever comes next.
This story is real. I am real.
For you out there who got the hint or the curiosity of what this is all about, I must confess that I am also not sure of the reasons why I decided to tell you this piece. I guess I figured that my endless search for understanding of the world should begin with making myself clear, as well as the reasons of my existence and those that justify why did I come to life. I realised that there’s much to tell and that the more I talk about things, the easier it becomes to remember who I really am. Or, in this case, who we really are. So many details have come clear in my head right alongside all I kept in the box for such a time. It feels like it belonged to Pandora, but either way, it has been opened and everything is now out. Most importantly, these chapters are our digging together through its contents.
Maybe you know me a little or a lot, maybe you think you know me, but perhaps you’ve got absolutely no idea of who I am or of my existence at all. The only thing I can tell you is that when the final chapter arrives you might look at yourself differently, but the picture you have of me will change. And you will remember me.
Once you join me through the tunnels of this box you will become a part of it. In some cases, you might even find yourself in a corner or two. If you ever heard me saying my name, you may have an idea of who I am. But if you haven’t, then it is my sole pleasure to twist the knob, open the door and welcome you with open arms to our story.
