Mauricio Betancourt

I write when I dream the stories

Mauricio Betancourt

Mauricio Betancourt
Cali, Colombia
February 06
Colombian journalist (37). Gay advocator and social worker. I like people and believe people like me. I am as honest and transparent as I can be and like to meet people around the world. I´ve been away from OS for a while but I intent to keep writing and reading of course as it is the only thing that really awakes my heart... Hugs from Colombia and much love

Mauricio Betancourt's Links

Editor’s Pick
DECEMBER 3, 2010 10:23AM

Little Frail Porcelain Kid VII

Rate: 25 Flag

3rd_painting_by_TolkienmasterToday, facing my mother´s (apparently) poor memory of the past made me feel more frustrated than ever before in my entire lonely pathetic life. Today, I realized that this woman has a dark side that I don´t like. She made me remember those years when I was a little boy under her care. I remembered her cold looks after I left my father´s room when I had to bring him his usual cup of coffee made by her. Today I felt her cold heart... again.

          This morning at 8:00 a.m. my heart got thorned. I felt like I was being left alone with the hate poisoning my insides. But even though I recognize the kind of heart she has. She gets me all confused when she tries to reach out and get close to me. I know she is not a monster. She loves us. But I don´t quite understand her love. 

          I have to grant her the strenght that she had when she  faced my father and saved me from him. I am absolutely convinced that if it hadn´t been for her, he would have killed me in one of his attacks.  But then, when my memory fixes in the past I get confused. Why did she save me then if she wasn´t going to give a shit about me later?

          This small minded woman survived the worst years of her life because she got blessed by The Architect with a basic  animalistic heart.  It´s just that simple. Her simple, basic, uneducated mind was able to avoid the hurt of the past merely because she just didn´t have the tools in her hands to analyze and internalize her anguishing situation. She cried back then, she suffered, but when it was over, she moved on.  Why was it that easy for her? Was that intelligence? Brightness? Fierceness? Just plane negligence or pure and simple lack of self conscience.

Path of EnlightenmentThis unaware-of-the-world woman suffered her first marriage with stoicism, pride and hope for a better future but not because I was there or because my sister came later, no. She was able to endure all that because she had dreams for her future only for herself and that was something no one could take away. She fixed her heart in the future and extracted her body and soul from her painful present those days. She knew all that suffering was going to have an end eventually. But she was thinking only in herself.

            However and despite all what happened, today I look at her and see no damage done to her soul. She can sleep like a baby I´m sure, and she doesn´t have a clue that I can not rest at night. My soul is all screwed up,  torn to pieces and that infuriates me to the bones.

             When I see her eyes and can´t identify a glance of regret, is when the rage comes and takes over my chest and while I give her a dirty look, my mind wonders: What´s wrong with her head? Doesn´t she remember? Did she forget all what happened? Wasn´t she aware of what was being done to me back then? 

Apaisement_by_BenFWhen I see her having a normal life, bragging about her perfect little world I want to yell in her face. I want to shake her and look her in the eye and dare her to deny my past.

             Yeah mother! Tell it to my face. Tell me that nothing happened then. Lie to my face and tell the world that I dreamed it all.

           I need to have peace of mind.  I need for her to acknowledge what happened then. To say I AM SORRY, FORGIVE ME. 

          But no. That is not happening. When I see her smiling I feel like taking my shirt and pants off and demanding her to look at me and see my scars. They are everywhere. 

           "Don´t you remember this one Mom? It happened when I was five. What about this one? Hey! Look at me damn it! this one here happened when I was six. What can you tell me about this  other one here hu? It happened when I was eight. What about this one here?... touch it... can you remember how I got it?...don´t you remember what happened to me? DON´T YOU FUCKING REMEMBER MOM? What about what happened in the back of the store where dad attacked me with his friends? Hu? What about that? Don´t you remember? Don´t you see these marks? Don´t you see my father´s tracks of his abuses?

          But I know what´s her answer...

         "Why should I bother? I don´t remember anything. I can´t remember mi amor, sorry. But I see that you are O.k. now no? Here you are... all handsome and grown up. It doesn´t really matter, what happened in the past, since you turned out good anyway right? You didn´t need any of us... you made your way through life and got everything that you wanted and dreamed to have? Didn´t you mi amor?       

Boy_Thinker_by_XandarX2My face heats up and I feel the anger rush coming. She just doesn´t feel my pain anymore. Doesn´t know that all I want is to rip my heart out of my chest and put it in her hands and make her feel what my heart feels all the time.

           The rage that cuts it in little pieces more and more. The anguish that won´t let it rest. The sadness that won´t let me rest. The regrets of not having the same opportunites other kids had. The frustration of being this bittered grown man that can´t see any future ahead. She just doesn´t have the knowledge nor the intelligence to understand what is happening to me inside. She is just too simple minded. Too small. 

           Facing her incapacity or unwillingness of remembering our lives back then makes me hate my self for hating her so much for so many years and for resenting her actions and her poise at the events. For just playing fool. A son is not supposed to resent or have mean feeling for his own mother. That is not nature´s law. Is just a fucking aberration.


            "Oh! This one is beautiful. Remember this one baby?"

           She shows a big golden reindeers illumination to my youngest half-sister. She smiles as if she is happy and has nothing in her past that can possibly cloud her perfect world.

Freed_or_Condemned_by_QueenOfDespair Mom asked us this morning to go up into the attic and get the Christmas decorations and ornaments. A 6.5 feet green plastic tree. All the dusty boxes with names written in their sides: Santa Claus ornaments, reindeers ornaments, bells, ribbons, crystal balls, figures; the Christian Nativity, hundreds of little figures and decorations and lights. All the cheerful decorations to cheer up the mood for the holydays.

                    When she started handling the decorations to us with such sparkly mood, I lost it. I just couldn´t take any more of her bullshit. I had to say it. I had to get it out of my chest otherwise it was going to chocked me to death. I felt dizzy. My upper lip got all sweaty. My armpits were sweaty. I felt like a pig ready to squeal... and I did. I squealed. This pig bastard that I am got it out of his chest. I threw it all in her face:

                 "I remember 20 years ago when I was 15 years old.. walking the streets of Bogotá. My feet were numbed. Not because it was a freezing Christmas night; no, but because I had been walking all night trying to find a place that could help me forget that it was Christmas and I was alone, dirty, hungry, tired and absolutely buried in sadness and despair"

portrait-of-the-artists-mother-1896The room went mute. They kept silence and looked at each other. My mother, my sisters, my older nephew, my brother-in-law and my stepfather. They didn´t know what to say and I kept talking:

                "I also remember that I had to climb a tree so other homeless people won´t find me and attack me... but you know what happened? hu? Take a guess... come on Mother, take a guess of what happened then.. come on... it was a miracle"

                  My mother looked at me and with a sweet face but with her eyes filled with burning anger replied:

                 "I don´t think this is a good time to bring those kind of topics to our family reunion Mauricio. Calm down and let´s have a good Christmas season. Please"

                "No Mother, I am not allowed to have a good Christmas season. I might have been given the chance when I was young but I didn´t have a family giving me the love and support that I needed to have a good Christmas season.. so... take a guess... what happened that Christmas night?... take a guess Mother"

                She sat down. Dusted off her skirt. Took her white cotton gloves off and looked at me with anger, she put the gloves and the reindeer ornament aside and said:

                     "O.K. Let´s get over this right here and right now. You need to get this out of your chest. All right, let´s hear it. Come on Mauricio. Tell us. What was that miracle that happened that night in Bogotá when you were hiding away from people"

I cleared my throat. Drank the coffee in one sip and continued:

                 "I was trying to rest. I climbed a tree. It was a freezing night. When I was falling asleep I felt something dragging me off the tree. It was the police. They got me and without explaining anything they just started getting me naked in the middle of the street. I don´t remember why but they slapped me several times, I remember the heat in my face. One of them punched me with something hard and all I remember is waking up in the hospital, lay down on a mat in the floor...

marker-drawing-woman-hatIn that moment, my sisters were mute. They looked sad. My stepdad got up from his chair and went to the kitchen. Mom kept looking at me. But there was no love in her eyes. There IS no love in her eyes. They are empty for me now, there is nothing inside her for me now. She doesn´t feel me. I can feel it. She doesn´t feel me anymore. She was hollowed out inside. I continued:

                    "A nurse saw me waking up and walked toward me with a cup of hot coffee and a piece of bread. She wished me a Merry Christmas and I just cried. I cried like there was no tomorrow. I didn´t care if people were hearing me and witnessing my little pathetic scene... all I wanted was to cry until I dry out..."

                  I kept explaining to them what happened to me that Christmas night. I was feeling the solitude I felt that night 20 years ago. This morning I felt the shame of being in the streets and had been treated like garbage. And then I told them something they didn´t know:

                "The nurse took me to the showers and bathed me. She rubbed my back and arms and my legs. I felt her cleaning my crotch and my arm pits. She gave me a Christmas bath. She gave me clean clothes and a pair of shoes that didn´t fit. They were too big for my skinny feet. She took me to another room and asked me to sit and rest. Moments later I heard people singing Christmas carols...

                  ...There were volunteers bringing presents to the people in hospital. There was an old man among them. He saw me. Smiled at me. Came close and started talking to me. I told him my little story. He listened. After a while they just left the hospital but, the old man, gave me something before leaving. He gave me his business card and asked me to call him if I needed any help. He promised to help me find a job...

                  ...When I was ready to leave the hospital the nurse approached me and gave me some money. Asked me to keep my self safe and left. I started walking the streets again.  Then I decided to give the old man a call. He answered. Minutes later he was picking me up in a very elegant car...

            ...Hi stranger... he said with a big smile. Hello! I replied timidly...we went to his house. A very elegant penthouse in a very elegant neighborhood of Bogotá. He was a wealthy single lonely man, I was a miserable teenager in the streets. He offered me a bag. I opened it and there they were. My first pair of shoes...

                    ...Merry Christmas, he said. Thank you, I replied...

                    "You know why I brought you here right?"

               I didn´t know for sure but I might had thought about something like that was going to happen or that he was going to ask for some sex favors in exchange for the shoes. He did ask for sex. I was 15 turning 16 and there I was, Christmas night, getting naked, getting on my knees to give him a blow might be wondering how did I know how to do that being that young. Well mother, being young in the streets is an open call for perverts to hunt you down and when they get you, you just don´t fight back. You don´t fight back.

         "Enough. I can´t hear ....."

portrc3a6t-gammel-copy My mother went mute. She got on her feet and went to the kitchen. My sisters kept looking at me with tears in their eyes. My brother-in-law was holding my hand, he put his arm around and hugged me. No one said anything. Erika, my sister, asked my nephew to go upstairs. We stayed there, in the living room, sorrounded by Christmas ornaments, in silence.

           My mother came back from the kitchen with a mug in her hands. It was chocolate. My stepfather was behind her with bread, marmalade and cheese. They sat next to me and then my mother said:

          "I remember that you liked your chocolate hot and thick. I remember that you liked to spread marmalade on your bread. I remember that you liked to have them in your bed and sleep after you finished them all. Let´s go amor, you need to rest now. Let´s go"

            She grabbed my arm and helped me get on my feet. She took me to the room. Put me in the bed. Stayed there in silence next to me. Waited until I finished my chocolate with marmaladed bread. She tucked me in. Kissed my forehead... and without looking in my eyes, she left the room. I decided to fall asleep. I was tired. Very tired.

Continue to

Little Frail Porcelain Kid VIII

  By Mauricio Betancourt 2010©

 Prior Installments:

Little Frail Porcelain Kid

Little Frail Porcelain Kid II

Little Frail Porcelain Kid III

Little Frail Porcelain Kid IV

Little Frail Porcelain Kid V

 Little Frail Porcelain Kid VI


Your tags:


Enter the amount, and click "Tip" to submit!
Recipient's email address:
Personal message (optional):

Your email address:


Type your comment below:
Sometimes I think parents, ex husbands and friends block memories out because it is horrific to them.
I just wish they would be honest, I really do.. For you adn for me.
rated with hugs
This is absolutely riveting, Mauricio. You've handled the wall of your mother's denial against your crumbling emotions in the setting of a festive background very masterfully. The box of ornaments which is supposed to reveal good memories from the past, instead became a tool for you to release the poison that has been eating at your core. I also find the progression of the mother's images very becoming to your story and your perception of her.

Of the series, this is your best, my friend. I hope the porcelain kid is stronger now, because his beauty shines through despite all the hardships and heartaches he has endured. Much love to you.
Sometimes I expect to get nothing out of this life at all. I know that is not true and wrong, but I cannot, not see. I see it all. I see it in the words, I see it in the pain. Some people want something out of this life and to get it, they cannot see pain, they cannot acknowledge any of it. They live in a kind of cartoon world, they leave the pain unspoken. They are the ones who are not real. I do have compassion for them, because I think that they are not even strong enough to confront what has happened. It is something they keep working very hard to hide, even from themselves. I cannot hide, I can only see. I can only try and make change. Your story is very difficult, but you know if someone there offered you compassion, in this place and time, then you know you have been heard, you have been seen and your pain has been let out. Perhaps now, you can put this pain in a different place. Perhaps this latest incident can move more into the dark past, that it can help lay some of this to rest. To go forward in life, we must face the difficult things, we have to feel them to an extent, but we cannot empower them to rule us. We have to live again and to feel again and let them have their place, but make it small do not let it take your soul. I know that life is indeed very short. We live it as we can, but to be happy, we have to acknowledge, process and release the darkness, to be free.
I have no words to offer.
I've now read the entire series, Mauricio . . . and I'm glad you're writing. Despite how hard it is to allow yourself to go back to those memories, it seems like this is a way to air out the dark, damp parts of your life, and by shedding light on them, you may rob them of their power to mess with you in the future. That is my prayer for you . . . that the light will bring you peace and healing . . .
Well told--and I am glad you said it. Your story needs to be told.
Un paso tras otro, como la figura en la primera foto, hay que nadar en los recuerdos para limpiar la cara.
besos, chamo. y un abrazo de esos, vos sabes.
@Linda: I sometimes feel like wanting to feel the way they do inside... nothing! I want to feel nothing... I see them go on with their lives and be happy and all and I go like.... Damn... is that really that easy? but then again I rather have my heart in half than not feeling anything at all... does that make any sense?
I love you Linda
@Fusun: My sweet friend... thank you for your words and your companionship all these months... I feel like I have improved thanks to your help--- you are dear and special in my heart.. thank you very much for your love
@Sheila: "but I cannot, not see. I see it all. I see it in the words, I see it in the pain"... yes.. most people live their lives as if they were perfect. They hide the problems, the troubles, the struggles with life as if they were reasons to be ashamed. I am not ashamed. I live life and I tell about it... thank you for always being here my sweet friend... thank you for having that Colombian scent that you share with me and thank you for being a sweet soul that you are
MB, I have no words. I only hope this helps you, I think it will. Continue writing my man, we will read it!
Mo, you're a good man.
I'm glad I met your here.
You will thrive.
amazing keep these coming, friend r.
Mauricio-This is just stunning. I'm sitting here unable to breathe deeply. My God, it's amazing what people can live through. I think your mother compartmentalizes her life so she can get up in the morning. No excuses for her behavior at all, her narcissism is so obvious. This is the most powerful story I've read in a very long time. You know you are an artist, don't you? Wow.
I came back to read once more. Very powerful indeed - I hope you find comfort in expelling it.
Some people are very closed emotionally and your mother is a locked room. She seems to show her love through food. I hope you get some healing and can accept her severe limitations in the humanity department. So sorry you had to endure this. I don't talk about my childhood to certain members of my family, but I can enjoy them on another level. My parents are died when I was fourteen, so I thankfully, don't have to guard my own children from them.
Rated, for the hot chocolate, bread, cheese and marmalade!! Nummy.

**huge hug** You're a survivor. And that's what matters.
Your voice in this piece is so haunting, especially your child voice.
The images are placed perfectly and build the intensity of the tale.
Very beautiful piece of writing.
rated with love
@Littlewillie: Thank you for being here and for always commenting...
@Owl: I sometimes think writing this helps... but most of the time I get burned out after writing another chapter... but I know I have to keep on doing it... Thanks for being here... hugs
@Sophieh: Thank you very much... you are always welcome here
@Catch-22: Gracias ... por tu cariño y por tus palabras... sos especial vos... lo sabés... sos especial
@Kateasley: Thank you very much for saying that... I am actually studying hard.. I want to learn how to write in the proper way... I will see you around....
@ScanMan: My friend... you are always here... I love it when I see you around thank you ... thank you very much
@XJS: Im glad I met you here too... OS has brought great interesting people to my life... remember.. we have a cup of coffee waiting
@Jon: Thank you ... coming from you this is an honor... thank you very much
@Janice Wood: I don´t know if I´m an artist... I can´t think of my self to be that good... all I know is that I am doing what I love to do.. to write.. this is what I was born to do... and I am following my heart on it
Thank you for being here
@Lucy Simpson: Thank you for your comment... for being here... and for the gentle heart... thank you
@TINK TINK: I love you man... thanks... huge hugs for you too
@RomanticPoetess: Thank you for saying those kind words...I´m glad you find me good in some level.... thank you...
Mauricio, it's so very hard to find and speak the words of comfort that I would like to speak. I am just so distressed inside of me right now. I am sorry.

That you were denied your childhood and the love and care that every child deserves upsets me no end. I am so very sorry this happened to you.

Your writing here is compelling ... undeniable. Your voice grows stronger and stronger in your writing.

My love to you, Mauricio. Much, much love.
@LittleKate: Thank you very much for your lovely words... I take them to my heart... thank you thank you very very much ....

Tu es un hombre muy fuerte, bravo, con la compasion, y humanidad que miembres de tu familia no han tenido.
Cual las cosas que ocurrado en tu pasado fueran muy horrible, ( y por algunos, criminal) tu tienes un corazon y una alma especial.
Aprendes al pasado pero no lo permites a te controllar y uses las cosas que tu escribes para mejorar tu vida- en el presente y tambien en el futuro.

Con admiracion y abrazos.
Your stories are well told and reveal so much about you. I hope that writing them releases your pain. If that is not enough, maybe you need to seek help from other sources. -R-
Mijo, your rage comes through loud and clear in this one. It is hard for me to understand your mother's seeming indifference, but I truly believe it has something to do with her guilt over not being able to protect you when you were little. Lo siento mucho, Mauro. Estás rompiendo mi corazón.

My heart goes out to you, I felt like I was in the room watching the ornaments and the rage and the hot chocolate. I don't know what else to say, except your writing is jaw dropping... and I hope you find some healing as you express the truth of your life. And I agree with the others who said that people who don't remember or don't seem to feel are just surviving the only way they know how. But no matter where we've been, there is more to life than just surviving.
What a great story and wonderful illustrations. You should try to get published in a magazine!
Best Wishes,
My mother is just like yours--she remembers nothing because she was also drunk. I was sober and so I know the truth. You are a good son and still trying. I gave up and am much happier.
@Enemy: How nice of you in saying those things in Spanish.. thank you very much for the effort, I apreciate it. Thank you. You are a kind heart I can tell. HUGS
@Christine: I´m glad to see you here again... thank you for your words. I´ve been thinking about getting some professional advise on how to cope with this situation ... I will let you know .. I´m sure that if I decide to go to a shrink I will write about that first appointment.. I will let you know...
@Lezlie: Your love does not have frontiers .... thank you for being such a lovely sweet heart to me... I love you too ...
I told my mother that all I needed was for her to talk to me about what happened and help me get over it... she just won´t do it... but it´s O.K. I think I found my way out of pain... OS...
@Grace: Thank you for being here.. and yes, you are right, there is more to life than just surviving .. that is what I am trying to make my mother to understand... but she is too used to be like this .. it´s been too many years being like this... I can understand.. but I just sometimes can´t take it...thank you again for being here and welcome anytime you want to come back
@Veronica: Two years ago, I had a huge fight with her and we said that we were not going to the other´s funeral if one of us should die eventually. Two years after that fight she called me for my B-day and we started talking again this year. I don´t know Veronica... it is hard to let go for me... I sometimes take things too seriously and I get burnt...
Thank you for being here... I love your stories....your writing is amazing... thank you
@Blittie: There you are my sweet friend... and yes I´ve thought about it... but I´m still researching the way to any magazine.. I haven´t found any yet. I will let you know. HUGS
@Maryway: Like I said to Veronica... I´ve tried to give up on her.. but she always finds her way back into my life... I want to love her so much.. even though it is this hard to like her ... imagine how hard it is to love her and have some respect for her... anyway.. thank you for being here... I apreciate it... thank you very much
It is cyclical, Mauricio. But this time I really mean it! My mother is a short little Spanish lady like yours who has many likeable traits and is even a successful writer in two languages. She has always been jealous of my sisters' (and mine) youth and beauty so she has a pathological hatred for her children. I am over twenty years older than you and she is still tormenting me. Just sayin' as they say.
@Maryway: Sometimes I´ve reached the point to believe that my relationship with her is just impossible. Not viable. Not affordable. Just not ment to be. When I try to see us in the past I can see us in the future and you know what? I can´t see us together... I thank my mother for taking me in her house and helping me while I overcome this hard time in my life... but I am sure I will leave as soon as I find the way out... I can´t take it .. I just can´t...
Everday is hard.... today for instance.. I found photos and portraits of my half-younger-sister... the one my mother had in this her second marriage (she is already separated from my stepdad, he cheatted with a younger woman) all over the house and not a single one of my sister Erika or mine... we were the ones having a hard time and surviving with her and she doesn´t honor our existence showing people that we exist... she only takes pride from her younger daugther... I don´t know... Everyday I get more poisoned... this is killing me... and finding a job here in Colombia is close to impossible... ahhhgggg! This is sooooo exhausting
...a stunningly perfect post, Mauricio! So exceptional! r
@Persistent: Thank you my muse.. thank you very very much. Is good to see you around..
Maurecio, I read this immediately but waited to comment. To let this sad and striking story just sink in. Of course she cannot face herself and continue to live. To know this as a mother is akin to dying. I hope you have found a life far away from these people. They can never validate this and continue to live. Surround yourself with those that can love and bring you peace. I wish you that.
@Rita: Thank you sunshine.... those days are long gone... that happened when I was 16 years old.. today I´m 35 turning 36... hiaik!
The thing is.. tha old man in the story?.... he turned out to be the most important person in my whole life... my partner for eleven years... but that is part of another story I will tell you *wink*
Glad to know this Mauricio.. I struggle with the knowledge that this person whom you were with so long took advantage of a young boy but I will await your next chapter.
@Rita: yes... is somewhat disturbing... but... young boys dating or having sex for money or things with older or old men is a regular reality here in Colombia you know... sad? Yes... but it is out there and not going to change dear...
@Larry: I could take some comfort convincing my self that she is in fact an archetype of millions of mothers that are just like that ... women who had no desire of getting their womb leased to another human being that is actually going to take most of their lives and that can be seen as natural behavior due to their nature... but, sometimes is just too much to take... she is too much to take...seriously... too much
Mauricio, I am glad you have a place where you share this. I for one receive your story openly, with sadness but with love.
I agree with Linda: many people stop feeling because it it too much to bear - parents, sibling, doctors, men in war. The list goes on.
I don't agree that you have to forgive. Not until you feel right about it, if ever. First, try to find a space in your soul when you are more free from the consuming pain. Let it go, so it does not control you.R
Memory is that impulse which regrets its own existence.
Life is so sad, so hard - and people seem not to take the effort to alleviate it, instead just *pretend*. It's particularly cruel when it's mothers vis a vis their children. And now, so many years later, to have to return and still live in that place of refusal...
This is what I like most about the site. You adventure off, with a mind full of innocence, into both the bright and the dark side of humanity. Sometimes wandering into a cul-de-sac, only to make a hasty retreat. Then, without warning you are off running, reading faster and faster. In the print world, I would call this a brilliant page turner, but sitting at my computer I can only say this is one hell of a scroll-er. I will be back for the earlier parts. R
@Gardenia: Thank you very much for always being here ... I like to see you around....hugs
@Dr William Lee: I had the best time last night reading your post... great story Dr
@Myriad: Hey you blue fish... thank you for your words...
@OutonsLimb: Welcome... is always good to see new avatars around... now I´m off to surf your blog.... ;)