The idea first came up several years ago, but it really only began to take shape in recent months. And if she were honest, she was exceedingly glad it was actually happening.

Sitting in her office in Kebbran, Doctor Dor Alkia, a long experienced psychiatrist, was reading through the many reports that came to her in her new role as the Director of Physical and Mental Health for the capital region. But her attention was diverted when a personal message came through. As she began to read, Dor began to smile wider and wider. It was hardly professional, but she had to admit that Vora Zorell had probably been one of her most favourite patients. The young woman had worked so hard to build a life for herself away from Tenra that it had been crushing for Vora to realize the path to healing needed to include Tenra as well. Years after her addiction relapse, Vora and her still kept in touch.

Alkia herself had made the suggestion that perhaps Vora needed to share her story more widely as she became more at ease with it. And thus the wonderful thing in front of her: the beginnings of a memoir. They had worked out how to make this work as well, because protecting Vora’s identity was important, and publishing a book meant identifying herself to a group of strangers. That wasn’t going to work. At least this way, the number would stay smaller. There would be some people who figured it out, and that was okay, but the rest? The story was an important one from an anonymous person on Tenra.

The agreement was simple. Alkia would post the pieces of Vora’s memoir with a made up user on a Tenraith forum for those who had experienced addiction and/or mental health challenges. This was where Vora thought her story could be the most useful, and Dor didn’t disagree. Vora asked her to post the pieces one at a time, in sequence as sent, so that over time it would form a full story.

Copying the piece over, as instructed, she exhaled and hit submit and then sent a message back to Vora along with a link to the submitted piece.

Rites and Regrets by Sasso80

Part One
Reflections

My earliest memory is the smell of my mother making sasso cookies. The spices she used wafted through our tiny apartment and when I asked her what she was doing, she pulled over a chair, stood me on the seat and let me watch her make the batter. When it came time to put the cookies in the oven, she would help me roll the dough between my palms and set them out on the tray. It’s the only thing I can vividly remember her ever making.

Back then, memories were fleeting like they are for most people I’ve met. They come and go and are changed by our experiences. Back then, things seemed changeable, but in the best possible way.

There’s a small box that sits on my bedside table. Inside is one of the few possessions of my mother’s I actually have: a ring. It’s beautiful. It’s also a mystery. Clear and yellow stones, it looks really old, and I found out through a bit of research that it was a custom piece. One of a kind. I have no memory of this ring. For the life of me I can’t recall ever seeing it. For me it’s a mystery that seems to be connected to events and people. A mystery I want desperately to unravel and yet at the same time cannot yet touch.

I have what is known as an eidetic memory. For anything going forward to make sense, you must know and understand that. An eidetic memory isn’t perfect, nor is it just images the way it’s colloquially referred to. Any sense that creates near perfect impressions is eidetic. And while sound and sight create very strong memories beyond what is typical for other Tenraith (and other Humanoids as I have discovered), for me touch is everything. Every tiny little sensation across my skin is marked indelibly in my mind, filed away to be recalled on a whim, whether I choose it or not.

It has been a beautiful gift as much as a curse.

My mother died of cardiac arrest caused by a reaction between medications when I was five years old. While there are only a few memories I can recall so vividly (like the sasso cookies) the sight of her lying on the floor to this day makes me stop in my tracks. It doesn’t surface so forcefully anymore though. I made peace with not having her in my life a long time ago, long before I was ready to start to process the many other difficult events in my life.

What I do remember about the woman when she was alive was her smile. It was bright; radiant as the sun off the desert sands. She was quiet though, a thoughtful woman who seemed to often be stuck in her head. Having lived the life I have, I can relate. I sometimes wonder what she’d make of her daughter right now if she could voice an opinion. Other days I think it’s better not to know. A delicate line to tread, but one we all do with one thing or another.

I grew up in Kebbran, with the salt air of the Hah-eo Sea doing its best to dissipate the intense humidity of the city. The hot tropical city with a culture built around its old clan life from the desert. You can see evidence of the old ways all over Kebbran. It’s in the architecture of the old city with its terraced hills and sheltered markets, and in the nighttime gatherings around fire or torch-light. I used to explore bits and pieces of the majestic city, but compared to other residents, most of it was inaccessible to me for one reason and one reason alone: I lived in The District.

The District.

Such an innocuous name for such a small area of the city that amounted to no end of strife for those who lived there and no end of shame for the rest of the city. We who called those blocks home were the scourge of Kebbran, even all of Tenra depending on the day. To be associated with the place was to forever be deemed less than, to be pushed to the side and excluded from all the normal things of an evolving society.

That is unless you had the power, and the money. If you were the ones running The District, well, all the doors were open to you, even at the expense of closing them on others.

I’ve been many things in my life so far: orphan, drug addict, hateesh and now a scientist. I’ve been to so many places, touched the stars, but the truth still remains that I still don’t know where I came from. In recent years I have been offered a door that might hold some of the answers I crave like I used to crave arosh, but opening that particular door is something I haven’t been prepared to do. The fear of what’s behind it brings back too many memories and threatens to drag me back to a place I consciously left behind many years ago.

And yet, it calls to me.

~Dr. Dor Alkia for Vora Zorell