Monday, April 25, 2005
Home Or Something Like It
I've heard them or have read of them and they all say the same thing.
Manuel's status has been saying this for a couple of days now, "I wanna go to a place where I can say that I'm home" How much simpler is it than that? Manuel is my best friend and neighbor for a long time and when he moved to Canada, we both hated it so much. He's always been quiet and a true neutral person and maybe that was how we became friends really. He was friend who put everything in place somehow, like perfect stability. My other friends regarded Manuel as the equalizer in fact.
Around the last week before he left for Canada, that was the time I found out something that changed my view of him. The image of Neutrality and Stability was thrown away because I found out what his problem was. Little did I know, we would have the same problems. I found it hard to believe Manuel would be leaving. I guess it is nearing the first anniversary of his leaving and I just find myself writing about it. Go figure. In any case, Manuel always stayed over my house for most of the summer. It's like we're brothers really so we didn't mind at all. Our parents didn't either but thing is, it's always my house. It has always been my house. The question of why always eluded me at times but I kind of found out along the way.
There was this phone conversation that summer. Probably, the only phone conversation I had with Manuel not involving video games. That time, the enigma has been cracked. Manuel, I think didn't really like staying at home. We called it the Middle Child Curse. Where the middle child is often neglected and yet they grow to be strong and independent in the long run. He told me this once and everything attached to it. Finally, I knew, what was the equalizer's spite. That was the reason why he was always "allowed" to stay over. I guess he wasn't very happy staying at a home where he isn't as acknowledged and like me, we sought our friends. In a way, we were both alike, very much alike. Maybe even more than Richmond and I; that surpasses the psychic link I had with the guy for eight years.
Bringing him to Canada I guess changed him. For the first few weeks, he still stayed in touch but as time moves on, and school makes its demands, the distance has finally made its presence. There would be no more summers with Manuel around but at least, I got to know him fully before he left. Really, I didn't know Manuel and I were living (almost) similiar lives. We are both wanderers somehow, who became friends on the way... then parted a few years after. Both looking for home. And I thought I was at it all along but really, I wasn't. I am yet to find it just as he is.
Actually, it's kind of ironic that it was Manuel who helped me start GHOSTS all over again. Back in the first version, James was the one who helped. The first version was filled with the fantasy of adventure, intrigue and childhood epics, very much like who James is and what I learned from him. But then things have changed me and all that seemed to be small compared to the harsh realities. So was it coincidental that I asked Manuel first, of all people, to help me?
My own perception of home has been crippled more and more everyday. I hated a lot of things but I what I hated most was staying home with the family, in a room where you all have to be together and you can just feel that something is going to go on. Dad will barrate you or your brother may have no respect for you whatsoever, I don't know anymore. It's just sad. You try to be the nice guy, do all you're asked to and all they want to do is pick you apart. When you do take a stand, you end up the bad guy and that's worse. I swear one day, I might beat my brother into a bloody pulp or even go off suddenly in the night... to be alone... without telling anyone. All I wanted was a room of my own and they still paired me off with my brother and my parents spend some nights in the room also and they start taking control.
I... HAVE... NOTHING.
I can't write when I want to because someone might use the PC. I can't relax in bed because someone left his dirty clothes on the floor and let loose the fatherly fury upon us. Someone takes MY BED and I have to sleep some place else. If something goes wrong, it's MY fault even if they're the ones who made the mistake. When I try to study, SOMEONE shouts, SOMEONE watches the TV, SOMEONE orders me to go downstairs and take care of some god-forsaken errant they should have done earlier. I want to be left alone... for one frickin day where they don't come in and remind that I'm a brother or a son, that's all I'm asking for.
How different are we really Manuel, I wonder. We share the torments of every discontented teenager in the world. We are homeless in a sense that we do not have that place of warmth and comfort anymore. You have Canada, I have my own house. I guess, we're alike in a way we didn't really understand when you were still here. We, all of you who can relate to my stories, we are ghosts. Ghosts who cry their silent cry and wander in the darkness to find a place where they can rest in peace. A place called Home...
or something like it
Riding the Lightning
7:04 PM
