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About this ebook
I Am Not Yvonne Nelson is an explosive and riveting account of a young woman who sets out to discover herself, but finds out that she has been living with a false identity.
The drama and the twists and turns of this moving story have all the markings of a spell-binding movie script, except that the protagonist, who is an actor, is contending with a reality that intermittently soaks her pillow with tears.
Uncharacteristic of an autobiography, the author comes to her audience stark naked. The book opens the door widely into the life of the author and exposes the good, the bad and the ugly sides, not only of her life, but also of the make-believe world of celebrities.
Preview
A Teacher’s Question
What turned out later to be a frantic search and a lifelong fight for my true identity began rather nonchalantly. The trigger was a simple question from a teacher who wanted to cure his casual curiosity. It was a question whose answer I thought I knew without having to scratch my young head, but I ended up racking my adult brain for years, employing scientific methods, and conducting my own investi- gations but without the corresponding reward for the effort. Every now and then, different variations of that question return to haunt me like a horrifying ghost. I grew up with a void in my life, but it really didn’t mean much to me until that fate- ful afternoon when my Primary Five class teacher, Mr. B.B. Grant, summoned me to his desk, in front of the classroom. As I approached his desk, another boy in my
class also scampered toward us. The teacher had called him too. I did not have the faintest hint about why the two of us were Mr. Grant’s subjects of interest and summons, but it would not take forever to find out. Eugene Nelson was one of the neatest and most handsome boys in the class. As young as he was, he had an aura of respectability around him. Apart from his attitude when provoked, which those in his circles had endured a few times in the past, I could not say anything negative about him. We were not friends. We had our different cliques because our personalities—which were polar opposites—could not contain us in the same group. From afar, I liked Eugene, and that was just it. Even if I had any crush on him, I kept it to myself. To be called to our class teacher’s table together, therefore, set me on edge until Mr. Grant spoke. “Are the two of you related?” he asked. >>CONTINUE READING?
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