I never knew the idea of a home until I left my house to stay over at a friend's place (Raph & Carlos, love you guys). Back when I was in primary school, I felt friendless. That wasn't very surprising since as a child I was already exhibiting signs of introversion. Not until that day when I met Raph in tutor (it's a place where kids go to study right after school. Something like daycare except for students) did I start to feel like I had a sibling.
Our tireless quotations of the various Allied and Soviet units from Red Alert 2 started our little friendship, which would bloom into bonds thick as blood. Along the way I met Carlos, Raph's brother, and many more whom I am proud to call family: the CIMG (which means Cult I Mean Group; other times we tease our friend Matthew Calibo and call it Calibo Is My God; love you Matt).
Staying over at a friend's house was a concept totally unknown to me at the time. I remember waiting outside their giant green gate (which isn't so gigantic or green anymore) feeling apprehensive after Raph invited me to come over. I wasn't sure what to be like in another person's house since I was so used to sitting around in mine playing with Lego or with my dog Raven.
Lo and behold their house wasn't at all that different. They had a dalmatian (which I still currently fear after Oreo tried to nip at my fingers) AND they had Lego. Not to mention game consoles that I never dreamed I could own (I grew up with pencils and paper and a desktop that's as good as a low-end USB and said desktop doesn't even exist anymore). But other than these, I had brothers in Raph and Carlos, and a family under the roof of the Valdes'.
As a child I didn't know that I was yearning for such an environment - a place where I can just be myself and have fun with the people in it. To be honest, their house was the opposite of my house. I know it is unfair to compare one household to another, but this is how I felt about it.
My house, in my eyes today, was a hellhole where children were treated as responsibilities, without a semblance of love. I say this because I grew up under a roof of fear (which is a sick excuse for love). The slightest mistake would mean a beating. Leaving a pencil at home could spell peril for my already bruised legs. A failing mark would mean days of physical and verbal abuse. A passing mark would mean days of verbal abuse and haunting disappointment. A high mark wouldn't even make an impact. All I could do to feel happy was to be with friends.
It came to a point where I would go to the Valdes' place to run away from mine just for a moment of respite. This has not changed, but the worst of it has passed (since my mother adopted a new boy to torment).
After the death of my father, things started going downhill. My sister ran away from home to escape the heavy-handedness of our darling mother. I was left alone in a house full of hate to fend for myself and survive physically and emotionally.
It is true that I grew up alone. Despite the existence of my brothers-at-heart, I could never deny that they would not be there to hold me up all my life. Come seventh grade I began asking questions. The most important of which is "why?". Why is my mother so full of hate? Why did my sister leave me in that empty house? Why did my father die? Why do I have a life such as this? Why?
I remember leaving the house in the wee hours of the morning to stroll around a sleeping city and contemplate on what I would turn out to be. This continued throughout secondary school where I slowly deadened my senses. All I had was a fix which I called friends and the love the had for me. As much as I hate to say it (because it's too damned cheesy), I was empty - a zombie, so to speak.
Home. It never could be where I went after school. It could never be in that house where all my belongings were. It was always in other people and this persists until this day.
I am not so bitter (as much as I'd like to think). My mother and I quarrel less (mostly because I barely sleep under her roof anymore). I feel less unwanted after life slapped me in the face. Not so long ago last year, a part of me died. I am my afterlife. The past may haunt me, yes. But it is the present where I live and the future which I am excited for. There are countless problems burdening me, but I have found strength in myself that a me from ages ago would never have a taste of.
I thank my father for leaving in me a part of him. Zhuang Xiong Yu was the name he gave me and I think would be the memory that I would cherish the most. I am the great temple of man. It's foundations hewn from the stones of love and hate. In myself and others I find sanctuary.
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