Collider World | Peter's Log

2013 | Alisha Tate

My name’s Alisha Tate, I’m 24 years old and I’m a British citizen. 

I grew up in a council estate in Hackney, commonly known as one of the worst areas in London. Let’s say it wasn’t exactly a good place to raise kids. Murders seemed to happen there on a regular basis. The streets, grimy and rundown, belonged to a small group of drug dealers, who didn’t even bother hiding their shitty trade. There wasn’t much around to keep you entertained, nothing except for filthy pavements, decrepit buildings, graffiti and vandalism everywhere. Rat-faced, aggressive-looking youths peered at you with piercing eyes anytime you passed by - and you were lucky if they had a go at you. 

The situation didn’t get any better when I got back home. My mother worked in a chemicals factory; she had worked there her entire life, since she moved to London with her family as a young woman. She met my father there, at the factory; he was a truck driver, and they decided to get married quite soon - not that they had much choice with a baby on the way. But at that time my father used to be a rather different person. He used to care for things like family and his job; and he used to care for my mother. It was only with time that he became more and more quick-tempered, more aggressive, especially when he drank – and he drank a lot. I was glad that he travelled so much, so he spent less time with us at home.

We weren’t rich. Somehow we always struggled for money, even during the “best” periods. My parents soon gave in to the idea of perpetual poverty, but my brother Jamie and I grew up believing that one day we would be rich and we would finally buy a big house with white walls, wooden floors, working heating and a large backyard. Like the houses we saw on TV, the houses of rich people. My mother shook her head every time we talked about it telling us we shouldn’t watch those programs, coz they’d fill our heads with stupid ideas. She used to say that only stupid people have big fancy houses, so that they can have stupid parties, and eat caviar and lobster and boast to their stupid rich friends. She had never been rich, my mother, and she probably never wanted more than she had. But I kept watching those houses on TV and didn’t find them so stupid after all. 

Every little girl dreams of becoming a princess, but I actually dreamt about it every night. In my dream I saw myself wearing a gorgeous silk dress, walking through the halls of a huge palace, following the sound of a cheerful music. Finally, I reached the ballroom where all the other guests were gathered, they all looked so beautiful in their elegant clothes. I looked on at the couples dancing and hoped that eventually some gentleman would take my hand and lead me to the dance floor, where we would dance closely all night long. But I always woke up before I could see the face of my Prince, which annoyed me.

My brother Jamie had always been a very restless kid. He was always pushed by a secret need to explore, to know, to see more. And when we were children he used to bring me with him - not before having made me swear never to say a word to mum and dad. Almost everyday we set off to explore the hidden places of our neighbourhood, and we collected all the strange objects we could find on our way – and we found many. We were like little elves in a world of adults, we could go anywhere unseen, as long as we were careful enough not to tread on somebody’s toes. Those were our best adventures and at that time we were completely unaware of the dangers they brought about. Despite being 4 years younger than Jamie, he never treated me like a burden. I could go with him wherever he went and I was happy to share these secret adventures with him.

Until one day, Jamie told me I couldn’t go with him anymore.

I didn’t know what Jamie was up to but I could sense that it was something far more risky and far more exciting than anything we had done before. And he didn’t want me to join. I cried and screamed and threatened to tell everything to mum, but he didn’t seem bothered. He knew me well and he knew I wouldn’t tell, no matter how mad I was. And he was right. He emptied his rucksack, getting rid of all the items we collected during our explorations: stones, keys, nails, chewing gums, coins, cigarettes. He took just a little penknife, the one he used to dissect lizards and rats - when we were lucky enough to find some. I watched him in silence, holding my tears. He gave me one long look, then grabbed his stuff and headed off. Through the window, I saw him walking away, for the first time without me and couldn’t help feeling dejected ‘cause I knew that things would never be the same. Jamie had decided to grow up.