The Railed Home

I looked at the wall clock which was just a few feet away from my satin-covered bed.

It's too early and yet I'm bored. I mumbled as I looked at the wall clock again.

What to do? What to do? What to do?

I was there, lying, doing practically nothing but breathe in oxygen and breathe out carbon dioxide. This is not my definition of being productive.  

Being the OC that I constantly am, I got up, made a few ideas on what to do in my head and then went downstairs.

My mom who I immediately saw along our spiral staircase gave me a look of intimidation, she sensed as if I'm up to no good again.

Me: Mom, I'm not going anywhere. I swear. And with that statement I raised my right hand and looked her in the eye to connote my sincerity.

Mom: You ought to stay in the house, you've been gone in and out of this house as if you were a boarder or a bed spacer add to that that your room is messier than of a juvenile delinquent teenager.

Me: Mom, I'm not a teenager anymore, I'm not a juvy, I know my responsibilities, I know how to take care of things, I will clean my room just not now, OK. 

Mom: You told me that a million times but still, you haven't even swept your room in what, two weeks? It's a complete signification how lax and irresponsible you still are. Your room is what you are as a person.

Me: Who said that mom?

Mom: Most of the people, psychological researches and experiences.

Me: They're full of baloney.

Mom: Don't talk to me like that mister.

Me: It's just a hearsay mom, how gullible can you be to actually believe that idea. I'm sorry but that idea is really pathetic. I'm not someone to be judged just because my room is untidy or unkempt.

Mom: But it shows how you take care of yourself.

Me: Silence.

Mom: You see, I was right. Is something going on that I don't know?

Me: My life doesn't revolve in this house mom, my life is my life and what I do with it is up to me and not yours to decide.

Mom: How dare you say that in front of me!

Me: I'm sorry, I'll be just at the living room, I'll be browsing the net. I'm fine mom, I'm fine.

She hissed at me while I tried to bow my head and pass along our narrow staircase.

Truth is a lot has been going on but she's my mom, she's not that old but, I am, in terms of dealing with things. I ought to know what should or should not be done.

I was nearly, nearly the computer table when my dad chanced upon me. Being the ever police interrogator that he is, he didn't let this chance of seeing me go to waste.

Dad: Where were you last night?

Me: Uh, at a friend's house dad, we just hanged-out, typical stuff.

Dad: What time were you able to go home?

Me: About 5am, I kinda lost track of the time, I was so sleepy then.

Dad: What typical stuff are you talking about? Liquor, drugs, sex? Those typical stuff?

Not again!

In my most patient mode.

Me: Dad, what I'm talking about are watching DVD's and just eating. Having a great conversation, catching up on good ol' times. None of those you mentioned. None at all.

Dad: I see, I see. This friend of yours, where does he live?

Me: Just nearby dad, a stone's throw away.

Dad: Have I seen him before?

Me: You haven't, he hasn't come to our house yet.

Dad: Why don't you invite him here?

Me: What for?

Dad: I wanna meet this friend of yours. Is there something wrong with that?

I'm feeling hostile now.

Me: None at all dad, I will try to invite him here.

Dad: Is he working or studying?

Me: He's still studying dad.

Dad: What course and where?

Me: I have no idea, I will try to ask him soon.

Dad: Since when have you known this guy?

Me: About a month now. Friend of my friends here. Look dad, I'll be doing something else. Do you have any more questions?

Knowing my dad he usually has more questions up his sleeve.

Dad: Oh sure, go ahead.

I went to the computer table wondering, what just happened? My parents are so weird.

I switched on the power button.

But even before I saw the monitor lit up in black background for the processor to kick in, my older sister went to the living room area to blab about her demise.

Older Sister: You haven't cleaned the litterbox for the longest time, you're always out of the house and worse, you don't buy any cat food anymore!

Me: Wait, wait, wait, I don't clean the litterbox? Let me just remind you that I do the cleaning most of the time and it's as if I do it on purpose, I'm sure you know as much as I do that I have plans as well and I go to clubs, enjoy my life.

OS: That's BS! I don't care, the truth is, you don't clean it anymore and I'm stuck here taking care of these cats.

Me: Who wanted these cats in the first place?

Silence. She immediately left without glancing back at me.

Now that that's taken cared of let me just go back to my seat and have some quality time with me and the computer and just for once, I don't want any thing or anyone disturbing the hell out of my solitude. But as I sat down on the chair for that much needed peace, here comes my younger sister and her high-pitched reasoning.

Younger Sister: Why do you always have to go somewhere?

Me: Because I want to...

YS: And do you know who takes care of Misha? Who cleans her poop? Who mops her pee? Who bathes her? Who takes care of her?

Me: You do.

YS: Yes! And I get stuck in here while I take care of this stupid dog while mom orders around and then nags me for things.

Me: Then why don't you go out too?!

YS: Because I don't want to.

Me: Then that's not my problem anymore, if you wanna stay at home, it's your choice and don't even blame Misha, it's just the way it is, she's still a puppy, if you want, give her to the rightful owner!

YS: Crap! She doesn't even clean the litterbox!

Me: She just told me she does....

YS: I do all the work here! I do it by myself without getting help from you guys! I'm like a slave here!

Me: You're barking at the wrong tree here. Tell that to mom, she's the one who gives orders to you.

YS: But that's it! No matter how I try to decline, she always has a way of making me do it.

Me: Tell it to her, not me. 

YS: When will you clean her poop?

Me: Once I'm done with this. Pointing to the open window of my blog.

YS: You take such a long time at the computer, the electricity's gonna be soaring high again.

Getting a little wee bit pissed off.

Me: Look, it's as if you're the one paying for the bills, you don't, heck, you're still in high school, scram! You know me how I get mad, you don't wanna see me mad, or, do you?

YS: Fine, But I'm telling mom about you.

Me: Fine, fine, tell her everything you know about me.

I sat down, recollected myself, breathed in and out as if doing a Lamaze technique for birthing and finally focused my attention on the open window in the computer.

What am I gonna blog?

What about experiences? Nope, too cliche.

What about insights? Nope, too many already.

What about songs that you listen to? Nope, that's way passe.

What about quotes from authors? Nope, too witty-sounding.

What about heartbreaks? Nope, I've moved on.

What about current social situation? Nope, the media covers that already.

What about my viewpoint in the upcoming National Elections? Duh.

What about the fashion trends? Nope, I have a separate blog for that. And I can't think of anything to write anyway.

What about why you blogged in the first place? It's too early for that, Dammit!

What about people you love? Uh, mushy. I hate mushy stuff.

What about people you hate? Nope, I have my friends to tell those.

What about random things in your life? Like what? Like how people always want to make you admit that you are gay? Nope, maybe sometime if I feel like blogging that.

Then what are you gonna do with that open window waiting for your entry?

I opened some tech blogs and hopefully get something inspirational but alas, they provided me nothing more than envy and a lot of drooling.

I went to the cabinet nearby. Maybe I could look at photos of the chunky old me and blog about how I battled a lot on accepting who I am today?

That's a good idea! I said to myself.

I opened the cabinet which was collecting dust from all corners of the space. It was like scavenging to your past, skeletons you thought you could just throw in your closet, I mean, in the farthest reaches of your closet and just stay there, never to be touched, never to be opened, never to be seen.

And so I was wrong.

I looked at a family portrait taken more than a decade ago, we were all there, almost. Me, my mom, my dad and my older sister, my younger sister wasn't born that time yet... I scrutinized the photo more closely, I realized, I was smiling, not that smile you show when somebody takes a photo of you but it was more of candid, spontaneous, the old me. Just by looking at the photo for a mere minute, I noticed that something trickled down my left eye. It was a tear.

Whaaa? What is this? Why am I crying? Was it something in the picture that made me shed a tear? I honestly have no idea. Maybe, maybe yes, maybe no, maybe not.

Nevertheless, at that simple moment with myself and the portrait, I thought of something, a brilliant one, one that will showcase my masterpiece, one that will define who I am, one that will let go of my negativities and ruminations!

Yes! A blog post worth entering, a blog post worth posting, a blog post worth reviewing! I can feel the rush of the adrenaline in my heart, the much needed sugar rush flowing from my body. It's exhilirating! And at the same time completely out of the blue, but what the heck, I am a blogger, the world wide web is my oyster!

(Insert evil laugh here)

I returned the portrait back where it belongs: in the murky, dark, lonely place of our cabinet. I closed the cabinet, sealed it completely with my vow never to open it again and went to the computer again.

I stretched my hands as if I'm Mozart doing the most wonderful masterpiece in the world, a symphony worth hearing by billions of people.

And as I neared my hands on the keyboard, my euphoric state decreased, the monitor seems to be blurring for no apparent reason, everything seems to be blurring for no apparent reason.

I went screaming with fear but no voice came out of my mouth, I tried calling someone for help but no one was at home, I tried going out of the house but it seemed to be locked from outside, I tried going up to check if I can go out the window but I can't open it up.

My eyes went from blur to haze to darkness in a matter of minutes. My body in total disconnect with my actions, I don't know what to do! I don't know what to do! I keep screaming but all I hear is my voice, nothing else.

Then, I heard a voice, a resonating and calm voice. 

Wake up... Wake up... Wake up...

I woke up, with a woman in front of me, she looks decent, clean to say the least.

Were you having that dream again? She asked.

What dream? I replied. 

Still with a bit of terror in my heart I placed my right hand on my chest, it's thumping, I'm palpitating.

The same dream, the dream that you've been having for more than six years. You, a family, a home, a portrait. She placed her hand on my shoulder. She said.

It's going to be OK. She then added.

I looked around, everything is different.

Then I realized that, I have no identity. All was a delusion. 

All was a delusion.