Beginnings

I guess I should start with my name and that right? I’ve never done this so I’m gonna try my best. My name is Jayna…I was born at 3-29 a.m in a huge water tub in LA, America, on the 13th of August 1991. I am a Leo and I guess I pretty much fit that description…infact I would probably say if you wanna know me go check out a Leo astrology profile and it would give you a pretty clear picture of my personality. I was born to a half Italian and half Bengali mother and a Nigerian father with some oriental in my blood somewhere. My dad really wanted a child but my mother didn’t want to get pregnant at the time because according to her, it would ruin her life, give her stretch marks and “gratuitous pain”. So she gave him her egg instead and I was a test tube baby from a Filipino friend of my dad’s. When I turned 7 on Friday the 13th in 1998, my dad left his wife and ran away with his Filipino ‘friend’ and that was the last I heard of him. I don’t know if it was planned, a coincidence or bad luck.
Ever since then, mother has been dating like an automatic ball throwing baseball machine thingy…putting it out on a plate for EVERYONE. I always wondered why my dad never took me with him. As far as I’m concerned, I belonged to him and Angara, his Filipino friend, his lover. When I think about it, I don’t even feel like I am part of my mother. We are so disconnected, I don’t even know if my dad used her egg…maybe I was just the product of meaningful love making, not an illegitimate child, no. My dad loved Angara…why didn’t he take me? Didn’t he want me, love me? Did anyone? My father still had feelings for his wife during the time I was conceived. He wouldn’t betray her, he wanted to have a child with her. I was left with my mother…one who didn’t even want me. She never wanted me, even before my birth, why was I left with her? Her figure maintaining was more important to her then her child. I hated her, I hated that she didn’t love me, I hated that I cared. But I did, she was my mother, my own. 
So much has been written, so little has been said. To be perfectly honest, I didn’t think writing journals would help. It was just a stupid homework. But even right now as I write these words, they are giving me some sort of ground. They made me think, made me feel. I’m turning 16 soon, they said I needed clarity, embrace my past, learn from it. I wanted to forget everything but I haven’t been able to erase anything from memory. I remember the day I caught my dad with Angara, I knew what was going on. Why hadn’t I stopped it? Why hadn’t I tried to make him stay? Was it selfish to have these thoughts in my mind? Was it really selfish to want your father to be in your life, was I being selfish wanting to keep my ‘family’ together? I didn’t do anything, I let it happen, let my family get torn apart. I don’t know if it was detest for my mother or the desire to see my dad truly happy, I don’t know what immobilized me. I was storming up inside but the weather was hot and sunny as it always was in LA. Mother was in Paris, Angara was a regular visitor. She was beautiful, loving, connecting. I admired her and had feelings for her that I had never had for my own mother. I suppose it really did matter who gave birth to you. I didn’t think that that raising a child was the same, I and Angara had a biological connection even when I didn’t know I was hers. Then again, I suppose I couldn’t tell which was important. My dad raised me Angara gave birth to me, what was my mother? She was nothing in my life.
Angara tanned so easily, her skin was olive and quite striking, a compliment to her dark green hazel eyes. She got out of our pool, water dripping off her body, she went to my dad. He poured tan oil on her, massaged it in. They embraced each other for a long long time, they were stroking each other, caressing, my father’s hands drifted down slowly, I ran. I was around 5 or 6 but I could still sense the wanting, the desire. I knew somehow what I had seen was wrong. I was confused, I didn’t feel anger or shame, didn’t feel like I was betraying my mother, didn’t feel any different.
My mother rarely spoke to me and I always felt invisible. My dad took care of all my needs and wants, he didn’t want me to be in the hand of strangers, my mother employed a nanny, my father had to work. Angara always came to see me but never when my mother was around. It didn’t really change anything as she was always out and Angara was almost always there. She never told me anything but it was a silent understanding, I just knew. I never told my mother anything about me and Angara, or Angara and my father. I had skills in the art of keeping secrets. At around the same time my dad was preparing to leave, I got closer to our new gardener. He was somewhere from Europe. I remember nothing of him, his name, anything. But I do remember what he used to do to me.
He would be at our home everyday for about two to three hours in the afternoons. He would take care of our garden, he would attain the flowers, plants, bushes, shrubs, the lawn, everything, he would take care of me. I would run to him before lunch and jump into his arms. He was old, 35 or 40, I don’t remember that well but he was old. I would be in his arms and he would take me around the garden, show me the flowers, take me to the back. I don’t know how it started but when it did, I kept going back for more. I would always be wearing summer frocks and his hands would always be stroking my thighs under my skirt. His fingers would reach my intimate parts and gently go up and down. It felt good, it felt nice, a tickly sensation, leaving me smiling afterwards. I didn’t know what was happening, never did it myself but always went to him. I didn’t think it was wrong, it was a game to me, a way of showing that he cared and I let him keep caring. He left when I was 8, we left when I was 8. I missed him. He had abused me.   
I still cant believe I am fatherless. How can father just leave me? Just like that? I felt no hatred towards him or Angara though, personally I hold my mother responsible for dad leaving me. She drove him away. She never loved him, never loved me. On my 7th birthday, I saw my mother getting drunk with strange company. She didn’t seem particularly happy, more like relieved, she was a caged bird finally being able to fly high and free. I screamed, suffocated myself on my pillow, crying my voice, unable to cry tears. A large boulder was forced onto my chest, pushing into my Adam ’s apple. I tried to scream but only whimpers escaped my mouth. Serafina drove my dad away from me, that was her gift. As I lay on my large baby pink bed, surrounded by hoards of inanimate objects-stuffed animals, dolls, pictures, walls-I could relate to being an orphan, having no one in the whole world, being completely alone. I longed for Angara’s hand to run through my thick, long, dark chocolate tresses, feel her slender silky fingers on my face. Wanted her to cuddle me to sleep. Nature was my mother and I eventually feel asleep to the soft whistling of her winds in my ears and on my hair. Next day, I found out that Angara and dad had made a savings account for me in American Express bank. They had always put money in it for my birthday in secret as well as give me gifts. It had a little more then $10’000. They had bought me away. 
Over the year, I began spending more and more time with Jin Meiyan, a Chinese girl from school. She lived 15 minutes away from my mother’s house and evolved into my best friend. Her mom and dad loved each other and they loved her. They wouldn’t be all over each other unlike Alison’s parents but theirs was a traditional love, expressed in secret, far from the prying eyes of the society. Mei had 2 brothers and she was the middle child. I had a lot of friends but few as close to me as was Mei. We were one soul divided into two bodies and I loved her and she loved me. She loved me. Loved me. Me.
On one of the rare occasions that my mother came to pick me up at school. She had her dog with her, a 2 year old miniature toy, Bayboo was a cross breed, brown white mix of a Pomeranian and a Maltese. Bayboo was quite cute, his fluffy hair carefully groomed by one of the expensive pet places, he had a brilliant black velvet collar, a cute black nose and large black eyes. Even though he was mothers’, he would often race to the attic and jump into my feathery soft bed. My room was quite huge, a large bed, a closet-miniature walk-in wardrobe, three mirrors, two floor length and one with my dressing table, a bed side lamp, three pink and fluffy bean bags, a swing sofa, a somewhat large TV, cable box, DVD, a PS2, two towel storages for my DVDs and games, a mini stereo system with my music CD collection, stored nicely in the secret compartments of the table, a mini fridge, a large table, a decoration cabinet and a storage cabinet. My room was my refuge, I had spent endless days and nights when I had nothing to do. Lying on my bed, I loved looking up at the sky through my sky window. I had my own bathroom, with a big bathtub in the middle, a shower in the corner, two mirrors, the sink and two toilets, a normal one and a weird urinal type thing. I always thought that was a bit weird, my mother hadn’t wanted kids, and during Angara’s pregnancy, everyone knew I was a baby girl. Dad spent a lot of type decorating and creating a room for me. The baby tones of my room, the lime and the pink, the blue and the yellow, I felt very peaceful and relaxed.
As I was getting into my car, Bayboo ran to me and I cuddled him for a bit. Mei was walking behind me and got quite a shock, I never mentioned any dogs. Bayboo started barking at Mei, it really irritated me and I put him down, he jumped at Mei. She was a sensitive soul, scared and weepy, our friendship began. Mei came over to my room quite a lot but most of our time was spent around hers, playing with all her dolls and little baby brother. I was at home, her home, our home. We would laugh and eat and then at night, sleep, cuddle each other and the many cuddly bears spread around her bed.   
My mother ‘dated’ a lot of men since dad left. They would always stay the night, have breakfast and leave, many never coming back. Mei truly made me happy but once again on my 8th birthday, my mother moved to London, UK, taking all her possessions, Bayboo, her monies, jewelleries, designer clothes, most of the furniture, everything, and myself. I was ripped away from Mei, my soul was incomplete, once again I was insignificant, alone, unloved, unhappy. I was almost as sad as I was when I was orphaned. I didn’t think it was possible for me to hate Serafina more then I already did. She made it feasible.
Most of my time in London is a blur. We still had our LA home and mother had another one in a place called Hampstead. London was nothing like LA, it was very quiet in comparison, with a gloomy weather, unfriendly people, a quiet nightlife. Living in north London, it was still like living in the suburban residential area. The houses were huge and made of wood. Mothers house was quite huge and very very nice, we had a fairly big garden, though it small compared to LA, we had flower beds, house sheds, a Jacuzzi, one large tree in the middle, garden swings, a barbeque area and a plastic garden table, with two huge umbrellas coming out of two sides and chairs all around. It had no pool, no hammock, no gardener that took care. London didn’t have Mei. The sun was almost never out, it was constantly raining, or as they say, “spitting”. Our house had five rooms and three bathrooms, one toilet upstairs, one downstairs. We had a kitchen, a family dining room, a formal dining room, a living room and a TV room. The attic was also converted into a playroom, with a large TV, computer, all the toys, a piano, a treadmill, an exercising cycle and a shower toilet. I never knew why we needed so many rooms, I had soon found out.
Mother had a lot of ‘friends’ in London. You could say she was very beautiful and she was, if you could get past the narcissism. She was 5’6, had a slender but curvy body, it was kind of yellowish tan but more white then Angara’s. She was nice and toned with shapely breasts and buttocks, long toned legs, flat stomach. Her hips were wider than the rest of her body and gave her an extremely feminine, hourglass body. Mother had long, thick, dark brown hair with red undertones that reached up to her butt. Her face was very defined, with almond shaped hazel brown eyes, thick arched eyebrows, a sharp nose, small shapely teeth and a beautiful mouth. Her ears were just right and the looked perfect, a beautiful glowing goddess. Her appearance deceived all and gave an illusion of a perfect life. I guess I could see what my dad fell for, what attracted him to her. But how can you love based only on physical attraction? He fell into her spell, didn’t see the real her. 
I looked in the mirror. Stared hard. I couldn’t find any similarities between me or my mother. I was quite dark, not totally ebony, more like beige. I had long hair like my mother but unlike hers and Angara’s, mine was African. Millions of little curls nested on my head, they looked like chocolate noodles. My eyes were oriental. Not purely, but when I smiled. They resembled toasted almonds, hazel browny green-a mix of Serafina, Angara and dad. My eyebrows were of no shape, hairy caterpillars on top of my eyes, moving only with my emotions. I had a rather wide nose, compared to my mother’s nice sharp one. They are a slightly exaggerated version of a button nose and reflected my oriental and African backgrounds. My lips, generous, as were my buttocks. My stomach was a bit muscly but very toned, hips were wide, breasts an adequate size, I didn’t like my arms though my hands were very very soft. I hated feet, not only mine but everyone’s. My legs weren’t as long or toned as Angara’s or my mothers, they weren’t fat but chubby. I only liked my abdomen and head.
Serafina dated many men, her bedroom far from my sanctuary but I could still hear noises. I missed my attic, missed LA. I go to a school in central London near Oxford Street. First few weeks, it would take forever for Stefan to drive me to school. Stefan is our driver, he’s originally Polish but moved to London when he was 12. He was 31 years old now, married with one child, a boy. His English was still broken. I quickly learned that taking the tube, British equivalent of the subway but way way cleaner and nicer, saved me a lot of time, and a lot of detentions. School was really strict, we had to wear uniforms and weren’t allowed necklaces, bracelets, anything other then studs for ears, no sneakers, none of that. We had to be well behaved with the teachers and not curse in lessons. We couldn’t use mobiles or ipods in lessons, weren’t allowed Mac books. It was like being in the military.
In English language, our teacher gave us an assignment, creative writing. We had to write in these journals and creatively make each day interesting and amusing. “It wasn’t downright lying, it was exaggerating the truth”, that’s what she said anyway. I didn’t need to ‘exaggerate the truth’, my home was like a 24/7 centre stage with all the drama going on all the time. I loved English but didn’t think much of the work. But as I began writing, the pen was on auto pilot, I kept pouring the words out of my fountain of ink and now, 2 years later and I am still going on. I ended up getting an A in the assignment, though if it was reward for my hard work or pity, I don’t know. After reading some of my entries, my English teacher, Ms Sierra, made me go have some words with the counselor. I went to her for a few days, didn’t open up and eventually stopped going, but my pen kept on. Two weeks ago, I couldn’t find my older diary and panicked. It was then that I decided to publish a blog, my step cousin Sharmaine suggested it and got her geek brother to help me out. So here I am, trying to update every day while publishing all my old posts. I don’t know how it helps but it does. And this marks the end of ‘Beginnings’, little tid bits that I believe would help the reader to understand my situation. I realized it is quite long but I’ve had to summarize 13 years into one post. I am going to try and update everyday and date my older posts accordingly. Enjoy your stay.