Gebemicael 1

Menbere Gebrmicael
Ella Voltz
UWRT 1101-008
April 29/2016
Lost my love; looking The lost one

It was good Friday and a long weekend. I still remember every single detail of what
happened 14 years ago. I was out of school for Easter Holiday and was home for three days with
my family. In my family there is me, my mom, our two dogs, our housemaid and a security
guard. Just because we have a security guy and a housemaid, it doesn't mean we are wealthy. In
fact, most middle class citizens in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia have a housemaid and a security guard.
Also the labor force is cheaper compared to any developed country, for example, America
(U.S.A), England, and South Africa or for that matter any wealthy nation so it is affordable to
have a housemaid and/or a security guard.
I'm Jewish. Since the day we celebrate Easter is based off of the Julian calendar it is at an
entirely different date from the Western calendar. Hence, I have three whole days free from
school which gives me a break from homework, quizzes, other assignments and my daily
running practice.
I live on other side of the town which is 50 minutes away from my school which is
located in the center of the city. I have a lot of friends, though all of them live nearby the school.
I was raised alone without any siblings. More or less, I'm lonely during the weekend and from
time to time when the school is closed for some occasion.

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I developed a new habit to avoid the loneliness feeling that I'm facing. For example, I
start drawing without having any skills to sketch, not even a single line.
I start running in the morning, two to three miles for five times a week without preparing
how to deal with shortness of breath, cramps, and minor injury. In gain, I start reading books that
become translated into our language(Amharic). From China, France, Greek, Israel, Iran, Iraq,
and Rome, Mostly Im interested in philosophy and religion books. Why are those books? No
particular reason that I can give explanation for it; might be those are the only types of books,
that I have access to it.
The outcome of doing these three kinds of activities are pretty amazing; it has changed
the foundation of my life. I have become more aware of what I'm doing. Asking questions why
things are going the way the are going right now. Who am I? Why could I not meet my dad?
Where is he? Why he didn't come home, is he dead? Where are my grandparents? All
that kind of stuff.
In is my spare time, I decided to do something different, the thing most important to me,
in the entire universe. Which is to find my father. A mysteries man. Nobody is able to tell me
about him and no one knows anything about him.
Rather than doing the typical things that I do in my free time; like reading books, watch
cartoon movies, take a long walk with my dogs and drawing un describable paraphernalia, I
contemplate this a perfect time for me to ask my mom about my dad. In a different technique, by
using the graphic expression by portrait my daddy, rather than having a conversation.
I never met my dad in my life and never heard, people or not a single person talk about
him. Up until this age havent heard nothing ether good or bad. Who is he, doesnt have a story?
Everyone in this universe has a story at the same point in life. Is he dead right after he was born?

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He still should has a story, nevertheless it will be short though. Like he was born and died right
after his mom give birth to a child from a complicated birth or related problems. And thats the
story of it.
But then again my dad is not like that, he has me. Therefore, where is my papa? Even if
he passed away or not alive in this instant, would have same kind of story. Where does the story
line begin?

Who and where is my dad? Usually, this is the type of question I ask my mom.
However, the answer I get is not relevant to what I ask, she answers; ''He loves you so much.
That is it, there is no detail followed by that statement.
She always tells me he loves me so much, and then gets upset. The fact I ask the question
about my father and goes to her room, and crying. I hate to see her like that! because I love her
so much. Ironically, the reaction that I exposes to lead to grow my attention .I more interested
than ever on the issue. I want to know the story so badly about this unknown man in my life.
What makes her be like this? What is the secret behind the whole thing, knowing who my father
is?
I just cant stop thinking about it. I believed, she is the only person who can give me the
answer in the entire world. Obviously, time pass by I feel there is something bigger than my
considerations, making her secretive. She never mention stuffs thats have potential to include
my dad, not even single day. As I gain knowledge from books that I read ,my point of view are
changed the way I see about myself and there is some part of me seeking the truth and asking
the same question over and over again.

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I cant escape from that meatal scream nor can I deal with it. I concluded this is the
moment to ask my mom again. Even though this woman gives me a warning not to ask her ever
again. However, I choose to accept the consequence.
The plans are that I used before didnt work. I decided to paint my fathers portrait and
show it to her and think it is a good idea and hoping didnt make her angry.in top of that Im
one hundred percent confident, I will find my missing dad on my old used canvas.
One thing I know for sure, I have a father and she knows him. On the other hand, is he
alive or not I have no knowledge of it? I'm hoping he will be alive and healthy, as every kid
wishes for their parents. I also hope he is real because I consider myself a real person and my
mom too, there are no doubts in my mind he's remarkable person.
Ever since, I was six, I went to drawing class every summer for two-months. They taught
me how to use the canvas, brush, colors, charcoal and how to create an angle. Also which colors
are needed to depict the different situations or imply emotions.
It is not my first depiction, but I decided to let someone to see it. Yes, my first exhibition.
I start sketching a male figure in his late thirties, I picked his age thinking he is the same age as
my mom. I give him my characteristics like skin tone, eye color, facial structure and hair texture.
I dont look like my mom; we look entirely different so thats makes me think I look like him I
give him my feature.
You can imagine the painting it looks like the Greek philosopher Plato, with my
complexion. By the way, Plato is one of favorite scholar of all time. Sometimes I wish I lived in
his era because he gives us the fundamental way to live life. For example, among other
philosophys he designs for us democracy under the law and how it works without conflict.

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Back to my dad painting, It's took me all most one day to complete the artwork. As
quickly as I finished, I run the house to show my portrait to my mom. I explain it to her, hoping a
positive response, to achieve success once for all in this challenging issue also she is going to
say, Yes he is your dad. and to be happy. For the first time seeing a complete family me, mom
and dad.
But that didnt happen, instead she said, No! That is not your father. Go back to your
room and study. I am kind of disappointed of the fact there is no encouragement and no
appreciations for all of the work I put in. Hence Im not giving up!

The next day I wake up earlier than usual with a new idea, of what my day might look
like. I did my routine run in the park, the one next to our house for 30 min. I come home and my
mom is still sleeping. Take a shower I eat, my breakfast is a cup of milk and toasted pita bread
with Thepath. Thepath is mendterinaen herbs and spice mix with olive oil, I spread it on toasted
pita bread it tastes delicious, I eat all of it. My two hands are full carrying a canvas in the other
hand, a glass of water on the way to my mini studio. It is not quite a studio but I use it as my
painting studio. It is messy, pencils, canvas, drawing papers, new, and old panting are all over the
place.
I'm in good mood start mixing my watercolor and begin draught, thinking about the
Confucius himself, and the co-founder of Confucianism religion. Who lived in China during the
six century. You can imagine the painting what it looks like? The Chinese philosopher Confucius,
with my complexion.
I'm showing and explain the art piece to my mom, hoping the best in the meantime
preparing the worst because I learned that from the previous. This time, she is not mad or happy,

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and she said kindly: "be seated next to me." Im in mixed feeling, happy and confused at the
same time. Why she look is came and collected? Talking to myself, really did I get my father
thought out my brushing? I sit next to her, and she said "listen carefully, I can't tell you who is
your daddy is. I said why? She is continue speaking I never met him. I said what?
I can see her eye covered with full of tears. She said I'm not your biological mother. she
cant hold her tears any more I adopted you.
I don't know what to do and what to she say, I feel like the whole world collapse on me.
All I can remember is; she give me a big hug and tell me Im your mother, you are my daughter
and I love you more than anything in the world, nothing change that.
I was looking my dad and lost my mom. Who should I blame? Myself, my adopted
mother, or my biological parent brought me in this world and left me. Or the society that make
me to believe and accept .cannot be happy without two parents mom and dad.
I was happy with my mom, didnt really register dad code in my innocent mind until
one day, one of my friend father came and ask me about what my parent do for living? I told him
my mom is a lawyer and I told him, I never met my father; from that day, Im not good enough
to play with his daughter because I have a single parent.
Look at me know I don't even have a single parent now! Is it fair? How is the judge?
What have I done to lost both my parent? Why me?