Stories for the Living

Imagine you  had a secret so great that even you didn't know it existed. That was the case between Yarden and his father. He had no idea who Yarden really was. Yarden had know idea who he was really either. All he knew is that his father hated him and he wanted more than anything to be loved by him. So Yarden would help him in his shop but he would barely even notice him except when he needed something. Yarden couldn't hate his father because it was his father so instead he hated himself.

This is how he become spiritual. He felt loved by god if not by anyone else and if his father had any idea that he wrote this he would be banned to hell forever.


Yarden's father had terrible arthritis. He would scream and swear at his work from the pain it caused him. Yarden took care of him as best as possible.


I should have gotten the "Athena" award says mom. It was an award for athletics at my school for women. I said. "ya, I got screwed". " was surprised you weren't nominated."
" I wasn't even nominated?" I asked. That was horrible. It made no sense. I had national titles and the recipient was known in a low division in the state.
"you should have gotten into Harvard." says mom. I was really surprised by that. We had a legacy there. They had changed things that year so that there was not place to report it."
- I am thinking "because i couldn't have gotten into Harvard of my own merit."
"I should have gotten into Princeton." I repeated. I got screwed. "I was wait-listed at Harvard."
"No you weren't. You were just dropped in the general admission like everyone else."
"Oh, really? I don't remember that I said earnestly". Pause "Princeton they had lost my application and I had to redo it.What are the chances of that? I got screwed."
"You were running around with Carlos. You were too busy visiting Carlos in Argentina. I remember you sent in a really sloppy in the essay you handed in. It was written by hand you wrote theater wrong."
 I was shocked. " I don't remember it like that. First of all there is no way I could have been in Argentina. I wasn't 18 yet. Second, I remember the coach calling me and saying that something had been lost in the file and asking me if I would send it again. I bet the college counselors set that one up like they arranged the Athena award. They didn't like Carlos.What is the chance of your application getting lost? I wouldn't have just sent in something sloppy. I really wanted to go to Princeton. I had been working for that my whole life."
"No, it was that you did a really sloppy job turning in the paper.You were just being lazy. That is why you didn't get into Princeton".
"Mom, if that were the case, why would you let me do that? Why wouldn't you make sure that I had spelled theater correctly? "
"You are not putting that one on me!". "You were lazy and sloppy and that is why you didn't get into Princeton. It wasn't my fault. No, no. I am not taking the blame."
"Not even a little? I was still in high school and very busy. How hard is it to make sure I wrote theater correctly? Why would you let me do that? Why not help me a bit?"
"I will get out of the car right now and walk home!" screams mom.
"Acting like an adult again?" I sigh under my breath.
but I knew I had won.
and more significantly, I knew that this was a competition. And it always had been and it still was.
It took me 35 years to understand that she had been competing with me all along. She never wanted me to do better than she had. She didn't want me to be a doctor because I might have been better than her. She never wanted me to go to Princeton or Harvard because she couldn't have bullied me anymore with her "all-knowing"  heir  of altruism that smelt worse than shit upon lies.

The reason I didn't go to Harvard or Princeton or any other bullshit IV blood bath University was because I was her biggest rival. She dressed me up pretty for competition. She braided my hair till it hurt but she wanted to keep me tightly beneath her grip. She couldn't even the handle the littlest bit of criticism let alone the gigantic task of being a mother.

Hell she was never a mother. She was a performer. Always had and always will be and I gave her just the props she needed to disguise her evil intentions which I honestly believe were as much undercover to her as they were to me.

She was just trying to be loved and if she didn't have the right uniform on she wouldn't get the part. How much would I have done to be loved by her as she continued to search for that love from her dead mother in fake smiles and the only way out of this nightmare was to confront the fact that I never really had been loved and to realize that what was missing most of my life was a parent but even more so a mother who protected and showered upon me unconditional love.

I think the kindest thing she did for me was give me windows of chance like lightning to discover the truth.I realized that I had been living my life in order to not overshadow her and the ultimate defeat was to prove her wrong. She wouldn't live forever and she wasn't going to lock me in her shadow anymore and tell me lies about much dumber I was that she but still smart enough to carry on her bullshit legacy.

Every single day from the way I wore my hair, the clothes I dressed in were all to please her. All existed as to not be tormented by her because I wouldn't want her to see me shine. Truly shine not because she polished me up but because the overwhelming light that existed from me within would shine so bright that it could expose her vulnerability. She had been sucking the light up from me my whole life as to make up for her inadequacy and I thought that giving her my light would heal her. She failed me.

And you know what at looking how bogus that was. I found this.
Theatre is by far the preferred spelling in British English in all senses of the word, plays, buildings, the art form, etc. The graph below illustrates just how deep the preference is for theatre in British English.
WHO THE FUCK CARES