Carolina G. Is The Masseuse Part 1-A

Updated: Feb 15

- Carolina G. -


The Masseuse

Part 1


Caroline Garcia


Dedication –

Who Is –

Carolina G. -

The Nice Chola –

Temporary Insanity -

The Way of The Masseuse -

Surrounding Angels -

Did You Know -

The Struggle –

The Masseuse -

The Gangster Within -

Regarding “The Holy Bible” –

Authors note: Names have been changed to protect the identity of loved ones.


To my children. Always. In all things. For whatever reasoning. Because my body helped create yours, and my life dedication of giving starts with you. You are my reasoning. You help me stay close to God, whom is Love and sanity. Because you girls raised your mommy to be a strong woman.

Thank God.

Because, thank God for family.

I also dedicate this book to those in need. Those who feel unable to go on and beaten down by all those who surround you. Remember to hold on tight, don’t let go. I’m here with you and we’re here together in this. Anything I can do; you can do better.


I just wanna explain, where I’m coming from, where I’ve been

Reason fill my lips, holdin back the front, intent on persuading the one within

(The soul within)

So, this is how I live, and this is not a front so here you go just come on in my friend

Since these last few years I’ve just been searching, searching deep within

Trying to gain, enlightenment, I’ve got to win, enlightenment

Holdin on to time, with my heart in hand less for sin,

Renunciate my mind, if I can understand then I can comprehend true affliction

And this is who I am

Since these last few years I’ve just been searching, searching deep within

Trying to gain, enlightenment

I’ve got to win


Chapter: Who Is

As a child I ‘acted out’ and lied a lot and as a result of emotional issues suffered from stomach pains. The distinctly sharp burning pain of taking it all in and holding it inside myself like a ball of energy, carved a crater inside my childhood. Negative energy steamed with sadness, topped with instability and seasoned by fear. A recipe to often experience a sense of longing and wanting. Missing my mom because even though she was mean, I loved her. I wanted her and I wanted her to want me too. Dad would visit but I mostly just wanted my mom. Instead I got to live with my grandma Cecilia, whom fortunately taught me and my sisters, about the Love of God.

Grandma Cecilia went through her own childhood horrors but got through. I loved hearing her amazing stories, especially the one of how she met Jesus in the most weighed down time of her life. She said she was feeling so sad and crying out to God one day when suddenly she felt heavy weights lift off her back and fell to her knees, crying out to the Lord in pain. She described in a beautiful way, opening up the Bible and how the words started lifting off the pages to her amazement and she began to read because she hadn't learned to read before then.

She loved God and it showed in her actions. I knew from the way she described what she’d seen, and there was really no convincing her she was wrong when I decided I was an Atheist that one time. Her experience left her knowing God is real, and that was all she needed… to believe. To know. Childhood trauma seems to be a tradition in our family but so does surrender and healing. Pain and terror have visited us often, but the results can be turned into good, through all of us. All of those of the family of God, have stories to tell. Memories of facts and realizations.

Over the course of writing this book, I realized I have many memories spread out or outright forgotten.

Besides being a difficult child, I also carried much rage waiting to rampage within me, boiling throughout into adult hood. Moved back and forth between many different homes, numerous times. Sometimes with family members who wanted to help but didn’t quite realize the harms of spraying “Raid bug repellant” on our heads whenever we got lice. Which was way often. Childhood was a time of humiliation sprinkled with shame. Yet I have memories of “the good times”, family parties, pictures and having fun playing with cousins.

When I told my sister Regina about this book, she reminded me of some not so good memories being at a foster home together. In this particular home we were left locked in a small back room all day and night. With a bed and a TV to keep us company. I had no recollection of this happening at all. Though I don’t actually remember a lot of bad things she remembers happening back then. Some say I blocked it all out for survival but no matter what happened, it happened and now I’m here. So, I have peace with there, and I know no matter what, we were always safe, overall. Especially compared to some horrific stories I’ve heard from other people about their time in foster homes. It took a lot of growing up to recognize how others may have had it worse. For a long time, all I could see was the "bad" having happened to me.

Now, as an adult I can look even closer and accept what happened. I’ve learned to thank God and not curse him. Appreciating the mild-ness of my experienced neglect knowing so many others weren’t left alone at all. Many have had to and are right NOW at this very moment, living with the terrible memories and desperation of trying to understand why such horrors happened to them. Being tough was who I learned to be. I had a bad attitude but a kind heart. Acquaintances in Elementary and Middle school were nice but I generally stayed to myself, making efforts to be involved in activities and mostly hung around ‘good girls’ but generally felt different from them in some way. It was like if they were loved and I wasn’t. They were cared for, clean, structured and I… wasn’t.

Over time I developed my 'different mind' and found much interest with shows and subjects like unsolved mysteries, UFO’s and Star Trek. Science fiction shows became my absolute favorite. A time travel show called “Quantum Leap”, allowed my mind to be creative.

Back then, in the 90's, fighting in school was expected and quite normal in Long Beach CA. Although I’ve only been in a few fights and those happened in elementary school. Mostly because I didn’t go to High School. During these years my internal dialog was rage and sadness waiting to be unleashed. Paying no particular attention to why I did things, I just did them. No thought about being “reactive” or “contemplative.” I just was. More than anything I was desperate. Desperate for love, affection and attention from anyone. And my behavior showed exactly that.

Grandma Cecilia surrounded us with happy Christian music songs sung by cheerful, happy children and I remember feeling a sense of love for “Charity Church Mouse and Psalty the Singing Song Book.” The level of comfort their music gave me was immeasurable and beautiful. I later shared these songs with my children, but they didn’t quite have as much interest as I did. To me those songs were moving, to them they were meh.

Sunday morning bus rides to Church down the dusty long dirt roads, made me feel light, sustained and happy. Grandma Cecilia was extra cheerful and usually gave us each a piece of her trident spearmint chewing gum. I’d often win the scripture quoting contests and get big candy bars from our kindhearted teenage Sunday school leaders. It was like going on mini adventures every week with people who didn’t get mad at me all the time. More than anything I continued to learn about this loving man named ‘Jesus Christ’ and how much he loved me. Although I’d also be getting a pinch on the leg if I acted up or was disruptive when we had to sit in the big church instead of the youth class.

Grandma’s favorite perfume to wear to church was called "Charlie". It had a strong, distinct scent of heavy soft powder and musk essence. But quite pleasant. When I smell it today I’m taken back to the yellow house we all lived in with her growing up. Her favorite Christian music singer was Candi Staton. I remember the tapes playing on the radio and grandma singing loudly in the living room crying with her hands raised to the ceiling. I’d try to sway with her but more powerfully I remember wondering why she was so sad. Her eyes closed in pain singing a song called “Sin doesn’t live here anymore".

This song still has the power to make me cry today.

Grandma seemed to release heavy levels of sadness and worry as she sang, and I felt it all. The lyrical power moved my little heart. Her singing showed me how she found a sense of relief through “singing to God”. Although I didn’t quite understand why she was so sad, the feeling was undeniably strong and its relieving emotion cleansed the entire house. In those moments, my elementary school aged stomach felt calm and breezy.

Early life memories have proven to teach me some of the most difficult life lessons that continue to guide my steps today. I understand they’ve helped me to respond in Love, or at least not in the rage I’d feel a desire to entertain. I finally understand why it’s an extremely necessary practice and discipline to follow. But that doesn’t mean I won’t suffer the consequences resulting from actions I've failed to curb with love. No. I just get to suffer knowing I knew better and now must do my extra work to make amends. Learning to depend on Love comes in many different forms of life experiences. And maybe we never stop learning until we’re no longer alive on this planet. But we always have the choice to make ‘some’ kind of efforts. Be they great or small, we make that choice daily and all throughout life.

I've learned it’s always good to work a good work but the work to find what work you need to do, is much better. It’s better to learn through experience than it is to repeat the process and learn nothing. So, change when