My first ever memory is of my parents arguing. My father, a Ugandan native and my mother of Antiguan blood, so culturally worlds apart. I could not make out what they were saying. As a one/two-year-old, there was little I could verbally comprehend but I could feel the energy. I stood up in my cot bawling tears on my white baby grow as my older brother towered over me. His intensive glare was coupled with fear. This was a part of his trauma too.
I grew up in foster care. Not the Tracy Beaker kind. I was not dropped into a children’s home until I was a teenager. I lived with nine different families from the ages of three to fourteen. Some that I liked, some that I loathed. So, imagine having dreams and flashbacks of this occurrence as a ten-year-old but not knowing if it was real? My dreams would include me flying out of my body, watching myself sleep and then travelling to that exact moment repeatedly. Sometimes as a ghostly observer and other times, through my baby self. Believers call this phenomenon Astral Projection. Where your physical body is in a fixed location, but your ethereal body and consciousness go out to explore the realms, and my case, that memory. As a ten-year-old, I had no knowledge of these terms, and though I was thrilled about being able to secretly “fly” I was highly confused by what I saw. It was not until I met my older brother five years later that this and other recollections were confirmed.
How did it feel when I met my brother? Like I had finally found my way back home.
Photo credit: nappy