Let me watch by the fire and remember my days
And it may be a trick of the firelight
But the flickering pages that trouble my sight
Is a book I'm afraid to write
It's the book of my days, it's the book of my life
And it's cut like a fruit on the blade of a knife
And it's all there to see as each section reveals
There's some sorrow in every life
If it reads like a puzzle, a wandering maze
Then I won't understand 'til the end of my days
I'm still forced to remember,
Remember the words of my life
There are promises broken and promises kept
Angry words that were spoken, when I should have wept
There's a chapter of secrets, and words to confess
If I lose everything that I possess
There's a chapter on loss and a ghost who won't die
There's a chapter on love where the ink's never dry
There are sentences served in a prison I built out of lies.
Though the pages are numbered
I can't see where they lead
For the end is a mystery no-one can read
In the book of my life
~ Sting "Book Of My Life"
I have been a lycanthrope for eleven years now. The world has gone through some amazing changes during that time. I have played an instrumental role in some of those changes.
But maybe I've gotten ahead of myself. If I am to tell the story of my life so far, it wouldn't do to give away the ending, now would it? As Frauline Maria said, ?Let's start the very beginning, a very good place to start.?
I was born in August of 1979, in a sleepy, rural suburb of Boston, located about half an hour west of the city. My father, Michael, was (and still is) the preeminent heart surgeon in the state...possibly all of New England. He was educated at Harvard, which is where he met my mother, Keiko Fujiyama. She was born and raised in Kyoto, Japan, and is now a professor of Japanese culture and history at Tufts University.
Since I was their only child, I was spoiled rotten. Indeed, I was Daddy's Girl and enjoyed all the attention, love and devotion my parents could give. My every whim and desire was instantly addressed and I never wanted for anything. Despite this ? or perhaps because of it ? I was a very easy-going child and did not at all display any of the normal behaviours of spoilt children. I was not bossy or demanding; I did not throw fits if I was not afforded my own way. Instead, I was popular with my friends and school mates, friendly, out-going and prone to easy laughter.
This all changed during the autumn of my tenth year. For reasons I'd rather not go into, my entire outlook on life changed. My personality underwent a drastic shift. No more was I outgoing and happy. No more was I trusting and accepting. I became withdrawn, moody and distrusting of everyone, except my parents and my paternal grandfather.
Grampa O'Rourke was a force of nature and my personal saviour. A life-long prosecutor, he had held the position of District Attorney in Boston for twenty-five years and had, during that long reign, put away hundreds of murderers, rapists, drug-dealers, thieves and various other criminals.
I went to one of his trials ? the case of a child rapist ? during the winter school break in 1989. I sat quietly in the gallery and watched as my grandfather, a physically large man standing nearly six-and-a-half-feet tall and commanding in his bespoke-tailored Gieves & Hawkes three-piece suit, masterfully dissected the defence's case, piece by piece. I watched as the jury returned with a unanimous verdict of guilty. I watched as the judge commended my grandfather's case and then sent the rapist to jail for no less than twenty years. I knew my grandfather had, in part, been so single-minded in his pursuit of justice because I was present in the audience. But more than that, he knew that what the rapist had done was worthy of the full impact of the law.
I knew at that moment what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. I wanted to have the same control over those who would buck society's laws and harm the innocent. I wanted to be a lawyer.
And it may be a trick of the firelight
But the flickering pages that trouble my sight
Is a book I'm afraid to write
It's the book of my days, it's the book of my life
And it's cut like a fruit on the blade of a knife
And it's all there to see as each section reveals
There's some sorrow in every life
If it reads like a puzzle, a wandering maze
Then I won't understand 'til the end of my days
I'm still forced to remember,
Remember the words of my life
There are promises broken and promises kept
Angry words that were spoken, when I should have wept
There's a chapter of secrets, and words to confess
If I lose everything that I possess
There's a chapter on loss and a ghost who won't die
There's a chapter on love where the ink's never dry
There are sentences served in a prison I built out of lies.
Though the pages are numbered
I can't see where they lead
For the end is a mystery no-one can read
In the book of my life
~ Sting "Book Of My Life"
I have been a lycanthrope for eleven years now. The world has gone through some amazing changes during that time. I have played an instrumental role in some of those changes.
But maybe I've gotten ahead of myself. If I am to tell the story of my life so far, it wouldn't do to give away the ending, now would it? As Frauline Maria said, ?Let's start the very beginning, a very good place to start.?
I was born in August of 1979, in a sleepy, rural suburb of Boston, located about half an hour west of the city. My father, Michael, was (and still is) the preeminent heart surgeon in the state...possibly all of New England. He was educated at Harvard, which is where he met my mother, Keiko Fujiyama. She was born and raised in Kyoto, Japan, and is now a professor of Japanese culture and history at Tufts University.
Since I was their only child, I was spoiled rotten. Indeed, I was Daddy's Girl and enjoyed all the attention, love and devotion my parents could give. My every whim and desire was instantly addressed and I never wanted for anything. Despite this ? or perhaps because of it ? I was a very easy-going child and did not at all display any of the normal behaviours of spoilt children. I was not bossy or demanding; I did not throw fits if I was not afforded my own way. Instead, I was popular with my friends and school mates, friendly, out-going and prone to easy laughter.
This all changed during the autumn of my tenth year. For reasons I'd rather not go into, my entire outlook on life changed. My personality underwent a drastic shift. No more was I outgoing and happy. No more was I trusting and accepting. I became withdrawn, moody and distrusting of everyone, except my parents and my paternal grandfather.
Grampa O'Rourke was a force of nature and my personal saviour. A life-long prosecutor, he had held the position of District Attorney in Boston for twenty-five years and had, during that long reign, put away hundreds of murderers, rapists, drug-dealers, thieves and various other criminals.
I went to one of his trials ? the case of a child rapist ? during the winter school break in 1989. I sat quietly in the gallery and watched as my grandfather, a physically large man standing nearly six-and-a-half-feet tall and commanding in his bespoke-tailored Gieves & Hawkes three-piece suit, masterfully dissected the defence's case, piece by piece. I watched as the jury returned with a unanimous verdict of guilty. I watched as the judge commended my grandfather's case and then sent the rapist to jail for no less than twenty years. I knew my grandfather had, in part, been so single-minded in his pursuit of justice because I was present in the audience. But more than that, he knew that what the rapist had done was worthy of the full impact of the law.
I knew at that moment what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. I wanted to have the same control over those who would buck society's laws and harm the innocent. I wanted to be a lawyer.