The Point is...
In a few hours, I will celebrate my birth. My mother did not have to push me out, she was assisted by a team of doctors and they cut her open and took me out. I didn’t have to struggle through the cervix to get here I was lifted elevated out of the womb and my mother was asleep as I cried; afterall that was thirty four years ago. I know I am not imagining this because my mother tells a story of having woken up asking the nurse for her daughter. She knew I was a girl. The nurses knew I was pink and dubbed me that Pinky; I had a pink teddy bear to commemorate that, but as I got older I named him Johnaton and soon killed him after. But there is also Louise, my grandmother, who said I was Chinese. My Grandmother was the woman who would sit in the house from 9 am till 5 pm to get me to drink porridge, or who would run into the room when my mother would forget about the baby sleeping on her chest and roll in the bed tossing the child on the wooden floor. My Grandmother I sometimes dream a...