THE UNWANTED CHILDREN BY FIONA CUMMINGS

Talking about our street before, people watching through the words of my neighbour. She also told me whilst talking about the transsexual and the amount of Chinese people who are living in our street doing odd things to their houses, that our lovely neighbours who had the chanting session not too long ago, did such a cute gesture the last time there was a street BBQ

Harry next door is proudly growing vegetables in his back garden. He took parcels of runner beans for each of the neighbours who went to the party. We didn’t go, it was an ice cold night and I just really couldn’t face it at the time as Hub had not long been home and we had a lot of catching up to do.

Talking and watching TV shows we recorded, you naughty Bloggets.

Then the other night she said that the couple from the Cheque republic had a huge barrel of apples from their trees and told the neighbours to help themselves.

Kind or what and so none English.

The one person, who kindly cuts our grass, is Indian origin too, though to hear his voice, he is as broad London as you can get.

I wonder if these people are just so grateful to be in the UK or another reason which is really sad, trying all their lives to be accepted in society.

Staying on people watching, my toothless painter came the other day; he had a job to finish from when we got the living room done. I mean, we have only been waiting three months for a five minute job, but never mind bless him, he always tells me of his latest life stories. Poor thing has not had a good year, but that a side, this was his latest story.

He at the age of five was adopted. He tried to trace his Mother when he was nineteen. He found her and met her. He of course had questions for her I won’t go into those, but when he asked her, she would not answer him. He flipped as he felt like that was the least she could do for him.

Anyway, he has not seen her for seventeen years.

Then, he hears from his brother, she wants to see him again.

She is re doing her marriage vows before she dies, as she has advanced cancer.

Well, he has the invite to be heard from his Mother yet, as so far, it’s been his Brother who has told him of the event.

He thinks bless him, the Mother has not asked to see him, and it is the Brother wanting a lift from my painter as the brother doesn’t drive.

I mean, to even think like that is horrendous. Lacking in self a steam or what? The brother could want him there because he feels like my painter is part of the family, or he may be telling the truth, the Mother wants him there. But as my painter said, when you are adopted, you always and forever feel unwanted and unloved.

Worthless and useless. He said words which echoed mine too

“I always feel like I have to do anything which is expected of me whenever, just to fit in.

Yep, I can so get every word he said.

His heart was hurting. He was like a scared kitten. I really hate Mothers who adopt their, yes, their. Children.

For those Mothers out there, do you know what you do to us?

A new born baby needs the love of the warmth where they have come from. Not a cold hard bare cot.

We need to look into our Mothers eyes and know we are home. Not be confused by the amount of different people who peer at us from a far and feed us out of duty.

Leave us to cry as so what if we do? What difference does it make to our temporary carers how we turn out?

Leave us in soiled clothes as no one will look at us and complement our Mothers, as we are in a orphanage

 Like even puppies need their Mothers for six weeks, we need our Mothers too. Do you know you leave us on our own and people would not even do that to animals?

We are given to a family who want us so much, but we had to wait until we were so called matched. So to find a box for us to fit into. A shape for us to fill.

Left with the new family to wonder when that day will come, the day when we no longer fit in that shape, in the box.

We wait for that knock on the door. The knock from our Mother, who will come and take us away from our loving adopted parents.

The insecurity of never knowing when that day will come.

Do you know we hold out our hand before our eyes and wonder whose hand we have?

We look in the mirror and see whose eyes?

Our Mother, Father, Grand parents or cousins? Who smiles like us?

We have allergies; we are the only ones in the family who are allergic to pollen. So we spend the summer perhaps sneezing and rubbing our eyes, unlike our adopted siblings.

So, we are even different to our adopted brothers and sisters.

We are reminded that our so called talents are so different to anyone else in our new family.

Our bad habits must be from our Mother and Father who we have possibly never seen.

Do you know that when our adopted family shout at us, we wait for our cases to be packed?

We feel so unloved though our adopted parents do everything to prove they love us. But there is a hole. A hold so painful that cannot be operated on. It can’t be fixed by time. That hole gets bigger and bigger.

We try so hard to get people to except us, to like us and when they do, we don’t believe them, because our Mother has rejected us. Thrown us away like unwanted litter.

Do you know that our friends are “Normal?

We are the freeks. Our parents didn’t want us. We were and will forever be, the unwanted children.