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~Told from the EGO perspective of Yibo~

My life was always an up and down, no matter in which aspects. I was lucky once and immediately followed by misfortune. Or also, laughed today and cried tomorrow.

Oh you are surely wondering now who I am. My name is Wang Yibo and I am 28 years old. I want to take you a little bit into my past and show you who I am, how I grew up and of course how I became the person I am today.

How did I grow up? Well, in my memories my parents and I were the perfect family. Yes OK, my father was unfortunately alternately at home for a week and away for a week, but I grew up like that and didn't know any other way. But he was always a good father who took a lot of time for me.

My mother was a passionate housewife. She always got up very early in the morning and conjured up a super delicious healthy breakfast, prepared my school lunches and always woke me up lovingly. And whenever I came home, the apartment was clean and there was something delicious freshly cooked to eat. Funny that the thing I remember most is that the apartment always smelled like freshly washed laundry.

She always used a fabric softener with the scent of spring breeze and this scent was always present in the apartment. In every single room. At some point I asked her how she managed that. She stroked me over the head and said: "Very simple, I put a little of the fabric softener in a spray bottle, add water and then spray it in the apartment on the sofa, the curtains or in the shoes.

I also know that we never had much money, even though my father always worked a lot. And because my mother insisted on spending the housekeeping money on a healthy and balanced diet, I unfortunately never got presents for Christmas or my birthday. My friends at school always thought that we were Jehovah's Witnesses, which was really annoying.

Until I was about seven years old, I kept asking for birthday or Christmas presents, even if it was just something small. But the answer was and remained the same from my mother: "We can't afford it, or do you want to starve? When I turned eight years old, I stopped asking. My mother always baked a cake, but I was so disappointed that I told her that she didn't need to bake a cake for me anymore if we weren't going to celebrate my birthday anyway.

I think that day was the first time I got a slap from my mother. She still baked a cake, but even so I did not eat it. My father yelled at me, but I told him the same thing as my mother: "I don't see why I should eat cake if we don't celebrate my birthday anyway! Besides, that's a waste of money too, isn't it?"

My father got so mad, he punched my ass for minutes. I couldn't sit for three days. After that there was never again cake for my birthday, no congratulations, nothing. It was a day like any other. And yet I always thought, apart from that, I have a good and loving family.

After all, we lived in a safe area. Yes well, the apartment was not very big, which means there was only one room I got and my parents always slept on the sofa in the living room. But the apartment belonged to my parents and some of my classmates didn't even have their own room.

We never went on vacation, instead I always spent my vacations with relatives. In that case, with my uncle, my aunt and their five children. Unfortunately they always drank a lot of alcohol and my uncle didn't tolerate it very well. His moods had always been unpredictable and I was mostly afraid of him.

I remember one night that I will probably never forget. My parents, my uncle, my aunt and another uncle and aunt were drinking together. Not only beer, but also hard stuff. I was already asleep when suddenly the door to the room of the five children opened, my uncle yelled at us all and we had to get up and stand next to each other in the kitchen.

One of my cousins had wet his pants in fear, we all trembled. And suddenly my uncle grabbed his youngest son and hit him several times. His two other sons also got a beating. He hit his daughters in the face and I stood next to them crying and frightened and trembling.

Without touching me, we were sent back to bed. Everyone cried bitterly. Until today I did not understand it. But the peace did not last long. Because suddenly a tumult broke out in the apartment. Because my uncle was beating his wife. My mother and my other aunt tried to stop him, after all he is their brother. But he only pushed them aside.

I stood there, screaming when I saw all the blood. My aunt's face was swollen and full of blood, my other aunt was bleeding from her nose and my mother was bleeding from her arm. My father was too drunk to intervene. My other uncle tried to help, but my uncle hit him on the head with a bottle.

My oldest cousin grabbed us younger ones and ran with us from the apartment to the neighbors, my one cousin even slipped in his panic and hit his head. Now he was bleeding, too. The two neighbors got us into their apartment, went into my uncle's apartment and we heard the noise in every room. We sat huddled together in the hallway of the neighbor's apartment and waited.

I remember that my cousin suddenly turned blue because she was holding her breath. She had a severe asthma attack. And I had to go over to my uncle's apartment to get the inhaler because everyone was sure my uncle wouldn't touch me.

Carefully I crept back into the apartment. In the hallway, in the kitchen, just everywhere was smeared blood. It looked as if a massacre had taken place. I crept into the room, got the inhaler and on my way back, I saw everyone sitting in the living room. They kept laughing and drinking.

When I got back to the others, I told them what I saw. The three neighbors' children then also snuck into my uncle's apartment and saw for themselves. We were really stunned.

And I still thought that when my parents sobered up and remembered what happened, they would take me home with them. But that was not the case. I had to spend the rest of the vacations with my uncle and aunt. And I had several nights like this one night. Since then I can't sleep in the dark anymore and I always need a little night light.

In the following vacations I did not have to go back to my uncle and aunt. But to another uncle and his wife and their two daughters. The oldest daughter went to the summer camp and so only the youngest one remained.

We got up very early, helped my aunt to deliver newspapers and mail and were allowed to go and play afterwards. My uncle worked on assembly and was only at home on weekends. Everything was good so far. Only one thing really bothered me a lot. My aunt loved watching porn. Unfortunately she also had the bad habit of not wanting to watch it alone. And so she forced me to watch porn with her more than once.

When my father picked me up again, I was really disturbed about it. And then my father and my aunt also watched a porno together and I had to stay with my face to the door in the living room. I hated my aunt.

Oh you think that's already the worst? No, not by a long shot. During the summer vacations, I was 8 years old, my parents drove me to other relatives in a big city. I was happy to see my big cousin again. Unfortunately, he was only there for one more day when I went to the summer camp.

My little cousin had unfortunately already passed away at that time. He was driven over by a drunk driver on his way to school at the age of six. All the many operations he had to undergo extended his agonizing life by six months before he died.

I remember the day I came home from school and my mother said: "I have to tell you something bad, your cousin died yesterday." That was the first time I was confronted with this subject and I didn't really understand it. And because I didn't understand it and just said "aha", I got a slap in the face from my mother.

But back to my big cousin. He was a few years older than me and he told me about his experiences at the summer camp. Honestly, I had no idea what he was talking about. But I thought he was great and so I listened to his stories with pleasure.

He lay in bed next to me and told me that they practiced kissing with others at the summer camp last year. I asked him if it was fun and he told me he could show me. He kissed me and started playing on me. God I was 8 years old and didn't know what was going on.

At some point he pulled down my sleeping pants and asked me: "With or without putting it in?" Without knowing what he even meant, I said "with" and immediately regretted it when he tried to, well I think you know what I mean. In panic I pushed him away from me and hid in the bathroom all night. I never spoke to him again after that. And I was also way too embarrassed and uncomfortable to tell anyone.

Whenever I saw him again, I pretended not to remember that night. But I did not talk to him and did not look at him. Most of the time I retreated to my room or went outside to play.

It continues in the next chapter...