Secret of a Seminarian , livre ebook

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd - Jandira Kapapelo

Découvre YouScribe en t'inscrivant gratuitement

Je m'inscris

Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne
En savoir plus

82 pages

English

Vous pourrez modifier la taille du texte de cet ouvrage

Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne
En savoir plus

A propos
Informations
Extrait

Description

Sergio was born into a traditional Christian family in the '80s. His mother, a devout Catholic, was always his protection; she always loved and protected him, and his father was the man he always wanted to become in the future and his inspiration. However, as he grew older, his mother began to see something different in him, and this became more evident as he passed puberty; she saw his sadness and his way of being, and felt more ashamed of her own son. Little by little, the love that his mother had for him was changing; Sergio noticed his mother was more distant and the sweet words of affection that she had said before turned into frightened looks. All the while his father harassed him more and more, reaching the point of several times attacking him in the heat of emotion. In the hope of being able to change him, his family decided to take him to a seminary so that any demon he had inside him could be removed, but when he arrived at the seminary, Sergio found two very different men who completely change his life and his vision of seeing the world.

Sujets

Catholicisme

Fantasy

Fantasy (canción de Mariah Carey)

Informations

Publié par	Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
Date de parution	06 janvier 2023
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781398476646
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	1 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0000€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

The Secret of a Seminarian
Jandira Kapapelo
Austin Macauley Publishers
2023-01-06
The Secret of a Seminarian About the Author Dedication Copyright Information © Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27
About the Author
My name is Jandira, I was born and raised in Angola and I moved to London in 2020. I have a degree in management, and two master’s degrees, one in marketing and one in accounting.
Dedication
My friends.
Copyright Information ©
Jandira Kapapelo 2023
The right of Jandira Kapapelo to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781398476639 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781398476646 (ePub e-book)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published 2023
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd ® 1 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5AA
Chapter 1
June 17, 1993
I have always been a different child. My family has always tried to hide my existence. It was only different when I was a baby; my mother always took me with her wherever she went. They always pampered me and considered me an angel on earth; my fine features made her friends fall in love with me.
However, when I turned nine, I noticed that my parents started to be stricter with me. My physical appearance no longer seemed to impress them. Especially my father, who, every night, used his belt to educate me. For a child, it was very difficult to understand what he meant when he shouted that I needed to be a man, and to do that, I needed to act like one. For me, I already acted like a man; I couldn’t figure out what else needed to be done. Or how I should act in order to get his approval, so that he could smile when he saw me and not roll his eyes, as if he were looking at an imposter and not at his son.
My friends at school called me a little girl, but I didn’t have long hair, nor did I find myself physically attractive. Why, then, did they give me that label? The reasons eluded me, and I was not able to understand what was happening.
When I entered puberty, things became clearer, little by little. My face was the problem, my body was the problem; even though my father, forcibly, shaved my hair every month, my fine features remain the problem; as well as my big blue eyes, my long lashes, my full pink lips and even my thin frame. It all contributed to my being different. To soften it, I tried to wear baggy clothes, keep my face serious, maybe if I tried to look dangerous and mean, people would be afraid of me? Unfortunately, my thin voice and gait were relentless, and they were enough for people to continue insulting me. Going to school every day was a difficult task, since my classmates did not stop provoking me and attacking me, not even for a day. Still, being at home could be even worse; after all, in addition to the posture of denial my parents took, I still lived in fear of being attacked, being punched, or being beaten by a belt, as in childhood. So, being at school was still better than being at home.
My mother was always very religious; she always said that the only way to heal the sin that was in me was to be in the house of the Lord. She always loved and protected me; she was always by my side. But when she started looking at me and treating me like a freak, I felt like I had lost my mother. That change had been one of the worst things that ever happened to me. She would always pick my sister up from school, but she said that I needed to walk more slowly than she did, since she didn’t want to be associated with me. I knew it was my family’s shame.
I was 16 when she decided that I would become a seminarian. Always accompanying her to church and seeing that the priests were respected, knowing that I would become one was a great happiness. At that moment, I knew that when I was a priest, I would finally be a good person in the eyes of others; finally, my parents would like me, and my school friends would never again disrespect or offend me. I counted the days until the moment of departure, ‘the best day of my life’. I made a small calendar on the wall of my room, and after each day that came to an end, I cut another day.
I would stay at the seminary for the entire school year and would only return home on vacation. However, I didn’t want to go back. My mother treated me like a real demon, my father beat me every other day, and my sister was afraid to be around me, especially in public and how could I judge her since she grew up hearing that I was really a demon? The seminary symbolised my freedom. I could be close to God, I would be healed, and finally, I would be respected. It was everything I had ever dreamed of.
I remember that day very clearly. I sat across from my mother on the bus while she just stared at the horizon, never looking into my eyes. She had her Bible in her arms; she wore a long brown skirt, down to her ankles, a white T-shirt printed with Maria’s face and a black coat. Her hair was always tied up. I looked at this pale, tired face, which prayed for me every day, as if I were the true reincarnation of Lucifer on earth. Your blue eyes were the same as mine, and at times, they appeared to be greyish.
I remembered when I was a child and we travelled together; she loved to pamper me, kiss my face, play with me. I was never as happy as I was then. Looking at my mother’s tired face, I saw that we were very similar. My lips, my eyes, my pale skin, my lashes and even my thin frame; none of this had come from my father. Perhaps that is why that tall man, almost two metres tall and bearded, who spent days without taking a shower, judged me so much; he couldn’t deal with the face of an effeminate child.
When we got off the bus, she started walking fast, and I knew that all she wanted to do was keep her distance from me. Previously, I hadn’t realised it, and I tried to keep up with her crazy pace. But, little by little, I realised that her real intention was not to be associated with me. Well, that was quite a difficult task, since we were practically twins, and anyone who passed could tell that we had some blood connection.
When we arrived, she went directly to speak with a parish priest. It was the first time that I entered a seminary. The lights were off, but I could still see all the images of Jesus around me. I sat down and felt that, from that moment on, I would begin a new healing process; finally, I would be accepted. When I’d leave, I would be part of society, and no one else would call me a woman, or effeminate, or any other offense of that kind. I would prove to everyone that they were wrong.
The benefits I would have from that experience spoke loudly, but at the same time, there was a feeling of anguish, it was like I didn’t really want to be in that place. I shuddered to think that I would live there for the next few years, with total strangers.
I saw a man approaching me and his black clothes indicated that he was a priest. He was tall, like me, approximately 1.80 metres. His beard was meticulously groomed and on his neck hung a crucifix. He wore glasses and his eyes were the colour of honey, which was highlighted in the context of his matured face, one of someone in his fifties. It was already possible to see some strands of white hair. But even though he smiled, his eyes were cold. I looked back, searching for my mother, hoping she would come back to say goodbye to me.
“Are you looking for your mother?”
He sat next to me. I remained silent and just nodded, confirming. He gave off a strong smell of coffee; it could have come from the essence of his cologne, or he could have been some kind of caffeine addict, who drank several cups a day.
“She left, but she’ll be back.”
I felt droplets of sweat forming on my forehead, and my breath started to falter. My mother had left me without even saying goodbye. That was a strong indication of how desperate my family was to get rid of me. My father had not even bothered to accompany me, and even my mother had left without so much as saying goodbye. I felt lost, helpless. In my mind, having agreed to come to the seminary was a way to make her happy. I believed that this could guarantee me at least a hug. Hug…I couldn’t even remember the last time it had happened.
“I am Father Arthur, and I will take you to your room.”
Arthur stood up, made a sign of the cross and turned around. Still with shaking hands, I picked up my bags and followed him. We walked through a large corridor with several doors. We stopped in front of one, then he took a bulky ring of keys from his pocket and opened it. The room was small, but the bed looked perfect to me. There was also a large image of Jesus hanging on the wall and a desk for studying. The atmosphere was stuffy and dusty; it seemed to have been closed for a long time.
“I hope you feel comfortable here. I still have more students to receive…at 6 pm; you should go to the common room. You will hear the doors opening, and just follow the rest of the stud