MEMORIES OF SAM
Samuel was my best friend.
We rode our bikes through the dead tracks of the old train lines, each day after school.
Her chocolate glittering skin shining along with the reflection of the sun as we both screamed riding in continuous circles, for then we didn’t give a care.
Despite my fading memory, I can still remember the harmonious beats from sticks hitting the metal cans we played and sang along to typical children songs.
Sam was my soul mate.
Her personality varied from mine in a vast characterization but our closeness was a bond, unbreakable.
Her parents were devout Christians who supposedly got the revelation of her gestation to yield a male issue but my Samuel turned out to be female. Her parents refused to rename their baby for they believed she was a male soul brought in a female body.
Samuel was my first love.
I cherished our bond right from when she fought the bullies poking fun at my young frame at that confused age of five.
Her strength, which emancipated from her passion to save the weak, was the first “Sam” I had experienced.
We soared from then together past every hurt, pain, gain, loss; win and our lives became not one of our individual natures but a life joined by pure love.
I became a Sam with Sam.
She was my confidant, a mini god I secretly worshiped even when we were away from ourselves, for our families were different as night and day. Samuel had the blessing of parents who cherished her and I had the curse of riches and what not money could always buy but I had no love.
Her home became mine. Finally, I felt I was accepted. My parents did not think so.
I lost my Sam.
Teenage age struck us hard and proved to be the test for our bond. It ended up so that we failed.
Our perceptions and priorities varied soon, the second we turned sixteen. She wished to roam the world and travel, without being back by my controlling practical strings.
All I wanted was for our love to grow beyond the confinements of our former nativity and childhood games. My wants were not Samuel’s needs.
No more Sam.
My life had become the empty hollow of parent’s expectations and societal values. I had lost my innocence and came face-to-face with the reality of the so-called “life”.
Now, I gave a care. I fell in lust and lost myself for the sweet pleasure of the acceptance of men.
Society called out to me in several terms, according to their perceived perceptions on my actions and decisions.
Soon, I became their “lady”. Furthermore, “unmarried”. A little while after “a wife”. Another four years forward, “barren” until a seed in my womb satisfied their hearts and I was finally called “a mother”. I got engrossed in their expectations and forgot about my Sam.
I want Sam back.
No more than thirty years down the line of our departure, I wanted my Sam back. The girl whose reflection I used to view in the mirror. She was the strong force, which fought the bullies of degrading thoughts. Samuel was the beautiful playful spirit, a companion in my loneliness. The girl who dwelled inside that had died.
My Sam, the alter ego who was a more of a represented character of my being, than a living entity.
The girl I loved, the girl who loved me.
I would fight for my Sam.