Identity-Charmed Short Fic
“Hey! What is your name?”
This is what he asked me and I immediately and nervously looked at my reflection on the car, next to which I was standing. Did he know? No, he didnÂ’t. How could he, when it was hard even for me to begin to understand?
“What is your name?”
It was such a common, ordinary question. A seemingly simple question. Simple for those who know exactly who they are? But me? I am not really sure.
All my life I have been living with my parents. At least ithought they were my parents. And I was happy. As happy as any child could be. Because between my mother and father, I felt so safe, so protected and loved. And I nreality this is all that matters. Love. Being around people you love and trust. People who return this love and trust. And I was so lucky. For I have experienced this kind of unconditional love.
I was so happy in this oblivion. This ignorance of mine. My childhood days are perhaps the only days of my life that I can and want to remember fondly. Then, when I was sixteen, when I was in my hardest age, my teens, my world turned upside down. You see at sixteen we all construct our personality. Our identity. This is when we truly begin to evaluate ourselves. WellÂ… This is what I did. I knew my name and I knew my family.
I knew that everyday my mother would wake me up for school and she would be there in the afternoon when I would come back. She would welcome me with a kiss and we would talk and eat together. Then my father would come home from work and as a big happy family we would share our thoughts and love.
With all that naivety even arrogance of my youth, I had believed that this was the way it was always going to be. But I was wrong. And it only took a few seconds to realize that. It only took a few seconds for my parents to die in front of my eyes. In a car accident. I was in the car, too and I have often wished I had died along with them. For some reason, my life was spared. They say everything happens for a reason. IÂ’m still searching for that reason. The reason for which they had to die, whereas I was left behind, among the living.
It was a miracle, everyone said. But I knew better than that. To me it didnÂ’t feel like a miracle. It felt like a mistake. A tragic one. It felt like a nightmare. There I was all alone in the world, with no one to support me or comfort me. And I was only sixteen. ItÂ’s funny, when I think of it now, ten years later. ItÂ’s funny because then I felt so big. I was sixteen; I was on my way to adulthood. I wasnÂ’t a child anymore. And then suddenly after the accident and their terrible deaths, I felt so small. Smaller than ever before. Like a defenseless little girl. I used to feel so strong and powerful and it only took a few days to realize just how weak and fragile I really was. All that strength and self-confidence, that my parents had instilled into me, were suddenly gone.
I just cracked. I couldnÂ’t bear myself, so I started drinking. And it felt good at first. For after drinking enough, I couldnÂ’t remember anything. My life, my past, my identity. They all faded after a few glasses of alcohol. Gradually, I needed the whole bottle, because the numbness I felt inside didnÂ’t last for long. The pain, the misery, the loneliness took its place swiftly. So swiftly that it made me feel so deserted. So stranded and hopeless. Hopeless? Was that what I was? Strangely I was reminded of my mother. How she loved me and the soothing sound of my name spoken by her in my ear as she kissed me. As she said she would always be there in my heart, even if physically she was gone. And it was true. Somehow, throughout this ordeal, I could feel her in my heart. I could sense how her heart was bleeding seeing me waste my life, obscure my existence like that. And I suddenly felt so ashamed. Ashamed of myself for letting her down the way I had done. She ahd taught me how to be strong and faithful and never let go. Never give up. The only thing she hadnÂ’t taught me was how to put all that into practice when she would be gone. She ahd left me to find that out by myself. And cruel though it was, it was also meant to make me stronger. And I should be thankful. Because even though the void and the emptiness I felt inside were still there, they were partly filled with other things, as soon as I gave up alcohol and got my life back on track. I wanted to make a difference. Make my parents proud of me in case they were looking at me from heaven. Sometimes I could really feel their eyes on me and I smiled. I knew that day would be better than the others. So, I took it one day at a time but I still felt empty. Like something was missing. I really had no will to live. How could I? I had no one else in the world. I was alone and my family was gone.
And then I found I was adopted and my world turned upside down once more. Everything I had experienced, everything I had lived till then was a lie. A masquerade. How I wish I hadnÂ’t lived my life in the dark. How I wish I had known that through my hard times, I wasnÂ’t really alone. I had family to lean on. People who were eager to know me, accept me and love me. But though I belonged there, or so they told me it felt like taking the place of my other deceased sister. The one who had died just a little while before I was reunited with them. And for one more time I didnÂ’t know my identity. Who was I?
Was I the little girl with the shattered heart, who lost her family at 16?
Was I the woman, who turned to alcoholism because she just wasnÂ’t strong enough?
Was I the woman who was strong enough to get her life back on track and took it one step at a time?
Was I the woman whose world as she knew it collapsed and at 25 she found out that she ahd two sisters?
Or was I the sister who came to replace the missing one, whose value was irreplaceable and felt like robbing her sister of her importance, her presence, her memory?
I had often wished I could have lived with my sisters. I have wished I was with them right from the start of our lives and share happy childhood memories with them. But I couldnÂ’t. Was that my destiny? Always too little and too late? Too little time with my adoptive parents. Too little courage and faith. Too late to know my deceased sister. Too late to share my childhood with my other sisters.
My sisters have tried to help me feel comfortable with my new place in the family. I have been needing this. A sense of belonging. A sense of completion. The power of three. Was that the only reason? Did all of these have to happen to me to complete the power of three when I was needed?I like to think it isnÂ’t. I like to think I was needed and loved anyways. And most of the times, just looking into my sistersÂ’ eyes and seeing the love and the trust in them, in myself, I get my answer.
So what is my identity? Am I Paige Matthews? Am I Paige Halliwell? Am I an orphan who got lucky? Am I a reformed alcoholic that saw the light and a miracle taking place in her life?
I glanced at the manorÂ’s window. And I saw Piper and Phoebe smiling at me.
And I suddenly felt so completely and utterly understood and loved. Loved for what I really am. Not for what I represent. Loved for the simple reason, I am their sister. And my heart filled with love. No emptiness anymore. And deep inside I knew the answer to my aching question. What is my identity?
I am all the persons I have described and none of them. I am a person that combines all of these qualities and none of these qualities. I am a person restless, changing, improving all the time. And this is what I want to be. Among my sisters I am complete. I am myself. I am confident in my existence and my purpose.
I smile back at him.
“My name is Paige. Matthews or Halliwell. Either of these work for me. You see, I am the same person whichever way you look at me!”
I know I probably confused me, but I am not confused. Inside my head everything makes sense. Everything is clear.
I walk slowly towards the manor and I know IÂ’m finally home.
I have discovered my real identity.
The End
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Page created: November 16th 2004 09:35 PM
Page updated: March 16th 2007 12:10 AM
