Dream Thief
El proceso de escritura en Soy Autor ha demostrado ir The allá, writing process in en Soy una Autor evoques an authentic más al convertirse experiencia auténtica de experience of self discovery. The following piece is the auto descubrimiento. La presente obra es el resultado result of the collaborative work between students and del trabajo colaborativo entre estudiantes y docentes, teachers to find the hear t of the story, through the para encontrar el corazón de su historia y reflejarla en publication of their first illustrated Memoir. su primer memoir ilustrado.
With the support of:
En colaboración con:
Embajada de los Estados Unidos El Salvador
Dream Thief
A beautiful family, a loving mother, a chubby and bald father, but loving and playful. Two sisters to play until we get tired.
That was what I thought life must be for a girl.
That was my dream!
But the opposite happened. Ever since I was a little girl I learned that life is though. I learned that not the one who wishes more for a family is the one that gets it, but the one lucky enough to have it.
At six years old I already knew pain, sorrow and anguish that tears the soul apart. I didn’t understood why my mother offered me and gave me away to unknown people. Sometimes, I felt that she hated me or that I wasn’t important enough to her.
When strangers came to the beauty salon she owned, they said: “what a gorgeous girl!” and she just replied: “You like her? Take her!” People were surprised and I scared.
My heart became small as a mustard seed. Anguish took over me.
The thought of not being able to see her again was unbearable. I couldn’t escape, I was too little. I could only cry and cry until I got back home. That made me happy. My heart was pumping as the engine of a train.
The craving of my mother were immense. After all, she was my mother!
And it was always like that. I had a little of everything: sometimes, with little luck, love; other times I was helpful to the housekeeping. Yells, hits and abuses where always there, of course. That made anger and hatred take over me.
That was how I grew up and the more awareness I had, the more I hated my mother, and judge her severely like a relentless judge.
At nine years old, I lived on the streets. Sometimes I slept above a water tank where the wind was strong and it seemed to be enraged with me. The wind chilled me to the bones.
Between the cold and the fear of the dark in the silent night, I had the fearful sensation that someone would reach me and touch my body. That scared me.
If I managed to get some sleep it was a relief to see the sunshine‌ it was like a hug from my mother.
Roaming through the streets of the suburbs, I saw my mother walking with my sisters, Miriam and Ivett, who were happy to see me and I, even more. But I didn’t see that happiness in my mother and inside me I had a war between my heaven and hell.
I was scared of all that hate and envy because I wasn’t the one holding hands with her. The battle between emotions, and my short age, made all the pain go away just for seconds and I went behind them trying to catch their attention.
I was running towards a window just to tell them secretly to tell mother that I wanted to sleep at home. That night I was expecting the answer.
Suddenly I heard my name, my little sister, happy of seeing me, said: “Mom says that you can drop by at nine. That you can stay�. I just had to wander a couple of hours more and the time was to come. I asked for the time constantly.
I got home at 9 sharp. Not a minute after the time! The door opened, and I saw the terrified faces of my siblings. My mother was cold like ice, my step father too. He didn’t care about me, but as he saw me entering the house, his yellings started. That’s what you like, don’t you? The streets. You are so stubborn, so disobedient!
Those words crushed my heart like an arrow. They made me feel guilty, but it was not time to think about that.
My sisters and I talked about everything! We laugh about it all, even farts made us laugh. We didn’t want time passed. Soon enough, my mother told us to be quiet. Some nights, I wished the moon to be quickly replaced by the sun. But that day was different, I wanted the moon to stay with us, because when the sun was going to bring loneliness again. Morning came and I wasn’t wrong.
My mother said to me: Elizabeth, I don’t want you to stay here. leave before i go to work. I begged her to let me stay but it was impossible...
My mother turned into my enemy into the dream thief, the thief of love.
At 11 years old, I already smoked and had taken things that were not mine. I wore eye shadow and put paper on my breasts, so they looked bigger. I also drew a mole near my lips. I really liked smoking, because that made me feel stronger and imposing. I liked that boys flirted with me too. After a while, I had my first boyfriend. It scared me when he kissed me and touched my thin body. It made me sick. But my girlfriends did it, they let the boys touch their breasts, their bodies and the boys fell in love with them.
Some of those girls got lucky and moved with their boyfriends. They ended up having a house and food every day. It was a matter of luck, and of being pretty.
I kept on wandering and meeting friends that became my family. I felt good, they made me forget about everything. I was part of a family that in between drinks, gave one or two hugs to me.
I was willing to give my life for them. One day, they tried to kill me with a machete because I was trying to stand for what I believed. I almost lost an arm that day. But it didn’t matter, it was for my family.
When I was 13 and a half, I got shot. I almost died. A bullet pierced my back very close to my heart. Another bullet went through my neck. - You are crazy! But you just gained respect! And if you take revenge, even more - They said.
But I still felt the pain and the necessity to have my mother with me. I spent two years without hearing about her or my sisters, until one day, I was begging for money on the sidewalk of the city, and there I saw the love of my life with my sisters. An ice cube went through my body. I didn’t know what to do: either show her that I hated her or that I had missed her very much.
She was surprised to see tattoos in my body, but she said somebody had told her that I was on this road. I quickly asked about my little sisters. She told me that she usually stayed at home alone, even if she was only 10. I took them out for food and gave her the 75 colones I had gained that day. That was a lot of money for them.
I felt very happy. I thought that if I helped her, she could love me.
Years later, I met the men of my life. I didn’t wish for a house that much anymore. I liked my life in the streets. I was strong and nobody could tell me what to do.
Then, something changed my life. I didn’t get my period anymore. I was pregnant!
The fear filled my mind. I didn’t want to be the one thing I hated the most. I didn’t know what to do, but I did know that I would do anything to be different from my mother. My belly grew in between drinks, alcohol and beatings. My miracle was born, my girl. Sometimes I wonder if there is a manual about being a mother. I want it to tell me how not to become a monster, a dream thief.
MyMe name is Elizabeth llamo Betty
My family name is Morán
Mi familia es de apellido Hernández Rodríguez I’m hardworking, fearful and full of hope
SoyMyamigable, un poco amable sisters arecuriosa Miriam,yIvett, Esmeralda
de Patricia, by Mirna, Dinora, Delmi, Melissa, IHermana grew up surrounded streets, strangers , laughters Julissa and pain.
In San Salvador city de adobe y amor Crecí entre la naturaleza, entre paredes having sisters, and eating cake En laI like ciudad de La Palma, Chalatenango I love life
Me gusta aprender, divertirme y escribir I feel faithful but fearful at the same time
Me siento contenta y nerviosa I give the world my experience
and al mymundo ability to forgive Le regalo mis ganaseasily. de luchar
I’m afraid of the life I’ve chose and of being a mother
Me da miedo perder lo que más amo I would like to see my mom
gustaría ver aand misI’mpapás y a mi hijo and a I’m DorisMe Elizabeth Morán an author, a mother Soy Betty soy luchadora. happy y human being.