They say that being a teenager  begins at 13, I say it begun at ten when I fell in love with Davy Jones of the Monkees, my female homeroom teacher and the most beautiful girl in school named Marian. Let me state for the record -- in years my grand kids may be reading this and I wouldn't want them to get the wrong idea-- that when I say "in love" I mean I was extremely fond of Marian. She looked as sweet as the Virgin Mary and she held my hand when we walked together in the campus. It wasn't anything "carnal ". Now.. where did I get that word "carnal"? Probably in my psyche, the nuns used to talk that way and used those eerie sounding words -- they can't say the word "sex" so they come up with the most complex vocabulary that kids are not meant to understand. Marian.. by the way.. became a TOP RATED actress.

My teen years were chaotic. Well, first I had this wild ambition to get into the classiest school called Maryknoll College which was the WORST decision I made in my life. After all, I was relatively happy at the College of the Holy Spirit except that it was just classy. I wanted to be in the "classiest" school, which was incredibly stupid of me. I took the test and naturally passed the test and started my high school at Maryknoll College which was less an academic bootcamp. I did have to deal with extremely bipolar and/or freakish characters--most of who acted like they were members of some dysfunctional Royal Family all because they owned some tannery or sugar mill. Maryknoll was surreal, like a time tunnel back to the times of the Divine Right of Kings. I mean, it wasn't as if the school deserved its repute then. These were freakish characters I was constrained to deal with who knew NOTHING but make-up, parties, hair-styles and talking with their common imaginary friends -- probably someone like Marie Antoinette. They were utterly shallow, even now, the thought of one of them makes me want to puke. They were also incredibly dumb. In fact they were so hilarious idiots that made me want to laugh most of the time. They would often  asked if I was a "lesbian" because I had short hair. Of course I passed my freshmen year and swore that I would NEVER AGAIN get into the "chic and classy thingies". I wanted an OUT -- was desperate to go back to my old friends at the College of the Holy Spirit -- but was politely informed that sophomores do not get the chance to go back, even when they pass the test.

Thus, passed another entrance test and had a grand time at St. Mary's College. Now, that was what I call the time of MY LIFE! My classmates were mostly sane; the lessons were light and I loved them. I still had no "soul connection" with the nuns (and never had) and found them to be a pain my the arse.Perhaps it was the memory of Nazi Sister Basildis that made me uncomfortable with these hooded fruitcakes, but I REALLY didn't believe in everything they taught. They didn't know, of course, lest they expel me. I learned to keep my thoughts to myself and found out that a peaceful life means keeping off debating with irrational religious people.

The one person I fondly remember with utmost affection is my Literature teacher Mrs. Gruenberg. She didn't say much but she recognized that there were thoughts I kept to myself. She gave me a copy of Antoine de Saint Exupery's "The Little Prince". I read that book more than a dozen times and still re-read it years after.. She also gave me a copy of Ayn Rand's "The Fountainhead" which made sense to me then. Reading something written by Ayn Rand was like my REVENGE against the fascist clergy who just had to interfere into everyone's private lives. That wasn't right. I thought that people who were steep into these madness called religion should keep off my life and that of my friends.

I didn't believe in clergy anymore. I believed in God -- I always did. My God however was that of a Father who is/was/always Almighty and not that kind who would want to roast me forever to "hell" because I partied or let some guy hold my hand. I knew I was spiritual but NOT religious -- even then.

Days at St. Mary's ended with me leading a bonfire on the last day of my sophomore year. I guess after my days at St. Mary's -- I started to become a teenager and that was when my hormones begun to run wild... Of course, this happens to  all teens.

I woke up after surgery feeling those tubes hurting my throat. I felt suffocated. Thus, I did the crazies t thing : pulled them off tried to go down three flights of stairs, hailed a cab and went home. I know, it was one of the most insane things I've done in my life so it must have been the anesthesia or the fact that I woke up without anyone beside me. This was a time in my life when I was rebelling and ANGRY -- I felt betrayed that no one believed that I was hurting for more than a year and it wasn't "ordinary pain". Again, I decided that if I were to die -- I may as well die alone. I was high with a sense of complete independence and I had nary a care in the world (or maybe I was still high). I hailed a cab, made up a story (I forgot what it was but it was surely mighty convincing) and surprised everyone by making it to the house. My grandmother (aka also my mother) was shocked because the doctor had just called saying that I was gone from my room. I do not remember how my husband reacted.. all I know was that he was as helpful as he could be. He was also the last person I wanted to see, but I didn't tell him that. My grandmother and Edward drove me back to the hospital but not after making a deal with me that I refuse to stay there. My doctor was great and told me it was alright... after adding something that looked like toothpaste over the sutures.

While recovering at home, I was watching a comedy and suddenly laughed so hard and felt something "pop". The next thing I recall was that my stomach was bleeding but I felt no pain. Edward was visibly stressed as he drove me back to the hospital where my doctor again out some "white skin paste" over the suture assuring us that the would was starting to naturally heal.

I lost about 50 lbs that year.That made me look 18 again . I also continued College at Trinity which was "my world". I didn't NEED a husband in "my world" -- only friends, brilliant teachers and my books. I was honest and never denied that I was married. I was also proud of my kid who was more like a brother to me than my own child. Vincent was the younger brother I wanted to have, more than I thought of him as a son. That did not mean I didn't love him- because I did. However, I wanted to play with him ore than nurture him.. I had no idea was parenting was, but I saw to it that he was never abused and did not like the fact that he has a father who secretly would pinch him when no one was looking. I was always pretty liberal and I wasn't a "spanking" believer. But Edward and I belonged to two different cultures, lifestyles and social upbringing. WE were each others  enemy. He was the poor man who never got over it and I was the rich girl who also never got over it. He was traditional, I was unconventional. He was conservative, I was liberal. He loved those yucky 60's ballads while I was into Bohemian Rhapsody. I knew my liberation was near!