When I was twenty, I moved to Melbourne. It seemed like a magical place, full of excitement and beauty. I thought that I would get to know my real mum there, but that’s not the only reason I moved. In reality, I rarely saw her and she always said she was too busy to catch up. We would occasionally meet for dinner. It only happened a few times. I hadn’t understood what she really meant when she told me that my sisters didn’t know about me. I thought that they were only small and that she would tell them soon. As the years went by, she continued to keep me a secret and in fact the only people that knew about me were her husband, her best friend, her brother and her parents. I called her house once and a lady angrily told me never to call again. I guess that was my grandmother. She died a few years later and I never met her. My sisters are about 21 and 26 now and they still don’t know I exist. Reunion might have gone differently if there had been Facebook and mobile phones back then. It was difficult to get in contact and there were years spent wondering and waiting.
When I was twenty, I moved to Melbourne.