The Existentialism of Love

Existentialism is everything. It is who we are; how we live our individual lives. In my story, you will learn the existentialism of love and how my love shaped me as a better person despite the obstacles. I'm just a girl from nothing, nowhere to go but up. My story does not begin with happiness. In fact, my whole story is a whirling mess that ended up with me loving the boy who forgave me despite all the pain I had caused him. My name is Katerina Aardema and here is my entire story.

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1. Chapter 1.

The most painful state of being is remembering the future, particularly one you can never have. 

Søren Kierkegaard

I was only four when my brother was convicted of murder. At the time my brother, whom I loved so dearly despite his wrongdoings, had spiraled down into a state of depression and resentment towards my mother. He would constantly lash out aggressively towards her, threaten her and scare me. Of course, it wasn't his fault. Our mother was crazy: she was abusive, both to us and to the alcohol and drugs that prolonged this abuse. 

My brother had no choice but to do what he did. He did not murder my mother, but another young boy his age. We heard about it the next evening, when the police arrived at our door next day saying that they  had caught the event on tape and were searching for him. Since I was so young, I didn't understand what had happened--I only knew that my brother was gone and from the looks of it, he wasn't coming back. The only thing I do know was that the young boy my brother, Mike, killed was a son of one of the wealthiest family in the country. They ended up having no trial because they couldn't find Mike and rightly so, the family of the victim was furious. During all the chaos the police had a special press release regarding the family and that's when I saw him. The love of my life. Of course back then I didn't know he was going to be the love of my life. When I first saw him, I saw him as a little boy, the same age range as I, but broken, devastated by the loss of his own brother. 

I knew that this was not my fault and yet, I felt guilty all the same. My life, as broken and tattered as it was, would only be getting worse: my mother was laid off later that year and turned to more drugs as a way to escape her misery. 

By the time I had reached the age of seven, my mother began working again as a maid in some of the mansions in Hollywood hills, Los Angeles. I would accompany her to the houses and in return began getting paid as well. As for schooling, I was placed in a poorly funded public school. I was too much of a loner to connect with anyone and was incapable of speaking in front of others. So with no friends and no one to talk to, I lacked in social skills turning me into an introvert. 

It wasn't until a year later, when I was eight years old, that I began working alone. I went around the same neighborhoods my mother went through without her and asked around if they needed chores done or cleaning. Most of them turned me away due to my age but a few of them allowed me to do a chore or two around their house. 

And then, I remember the house. It was the middle of the year, around August or September and I had just finished getting out of school. Mother had sent me to do the cleaning at our regular houses but I wanted a new employer. I had already gone to many of the mansions in the usual neighborhood so I decided to try my luck in a new one. Around I went, looking at all the bit white houses surrounding me until one particular one caught my eye. The house was beautiful. It was grand, majestic, and captivating all at once. A big steel fence kept the property enclosed, letting no one but the owners in as the finely trimmed lawn cascaded on to the hill upon which the house sat on. Four white, marble pillars stood firmly at the front of the house mimicking the style of the White House in Washington D.C. and black cars were parked neatly in front. 

I allowed myself composure before ringing the speaker on the gate. 

"Hello, this is Eastling Manor", a voice answered, "what are you here for?"

"Hello, my name is Katerina Aardema, I'm here-" I began

"We do not want solicitors here, thank you very much", the voice interrupted.

"No please," I began again, "I'm here looking for a job. I eight years old and I need to help my mother with our rent!" I pleaded, rushing my words out. 

There was silence on the speaker and then, "The Eastling family would like to consider your offer, please come in." On cue, the heavy steel gate began to open allowing me to enter the beautiful residence and this was just the beginning of my very complicated story. 

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