An Empty House Across the Street


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Whenever I open my window I could not help but catch a glimpse of the house across the street. It is a mirror image of the house I am in. I can’t call this house my own because I just live here. It was actually more of, the house owns me. This has been my recluse for five years. The only difference between the two houses is me.

This morning I saw someone opened the gate. I heard the creaking sound of the metal gate and I scampered to open my window to see who it was. It was the first time I saw someone enter the once empty house.

Downstairs it seemed that someone is entering the house I’m in but my mind plays with me all the time so I ignored the noise.

My attention was fixed at the activities in the house across the street. I could see from my room what was happening inside that house. The windows have always been open as if inviting an audience. I wondered how the house survives during the rain when the wind is heavy and frightening. I never looked at that house during the storm.

The person who opened the gate was now on the second floor knocking at a room’s door. The room is actually facing my own. Two parallel worlds that never met. I could make out that he the man dressed in a suit complete with a bow-tie. I could tell his haste from afar by the way his knuckles were pounding the door.

Outside of my room I heard a loud banging noise. I stepped away from the window and walked to the door of my room.

But I turned around and back to the window when I heard the person on the other house scream aloud as if calling someone from behind that door. He seemed to believe that someone was inside that room. I thought of shouting and telling him there is no one in there but he might not hear me. No one ever did.

I went back and sat by the window, and observed as the scream go louder and louder.

This was my poor attempt at story telling which will never be my forte. I wrote this because I felt empty and wanted a parallel universe where I could feel the opposite. Just a part of a day, I get sad, I write my thoughts down and sleep. Lather, rinse, repeat. 

By the way, the drawing is mine.  There is a five year old inside of me whenever I attempt to draw. 

Why I went to Law School


Yes. I am in Law School now along with arrogant rich kids who want to validate their status in the elite world. There is nothing to brag about, it was pretty easy to get in. I paid 500 pesos for a five question exam that I finished in 30 minutes, most of the fields need to be filled out is about your background. I had a hard time filling out “sports”. During the interview they ask you what your parents jobs are and who will be supporting your studies. I don’t want to jump into conclusions because I am not in the position to do that, just yet.

During the first week, if I was given a dollar every time someone asked me why I went to Law School , I could already gather funds for my books which by the way are very expensive and I have not bought yet, although I did have funds for it. I am one of the people who want to use and abuse the internet. And besides I was just trying to adjust and test if I really needed those books or not. It turned out yes, you can’t survive Law School without them. It is impliedly mandatory. So yeah, everyone just seemed to want justification as to why am I sitting along with 50 other people who think they’re way smarter than each other.

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My honest answer would be, I am on the dead end. I have come to a point where I just can’t risk floating on the edge anymore. Corporate world is exhausting with its culture of bullying and putting people down. What you are does not matter, what you do is another story. There is a complete distinction of what the company does and what you can do. I am not fit for a job that drags me into dark corners of mental disorder and cigarette related allergies. I had to quit, because it was the only choice.

And what do you do when you reach the dead end carrying what you have believed the potential to do great things? You sign up for another heavy burden that is Law School.

Before wanting to be a writer my parents have brainwashed me into becoming a lawyer, because little me was reasonable beyond what they could handle. I was a small rebellious punk way before I encountered Green Day. My grandfather also concurred this idea. Last year when he died, I started to contemplate on going to Law School, to honor his memory. I also got out of touch with writing as evident on this blog. I was left with one choice, a sacrificial step of turning back to the starting line in pursuit of a greater trophy.

My friends would say had I met some guy I would have not made this decision. Maybe they’re right. No matter how superficial that reason is, I would have not needed to suddenly change my life. My sole motivation is self improvement because it seemed that no one could appreciate myself not even me and I felt like I needed to achieve something big in order to reach that goal I have set for myself. Most of the time this is also the reason why I am frustrated.

Admittedly, this is not a drastic move but still was an action based on impulse. I quit my job, now I’m a broke student trying to juggle a part time work and studying and living off of my parents meager money. And not to mention the lack of social life. I am still on the edge.

With regard to writing, I feel like a dried up well. My creativity has seeped underground into some reserve I could not touch. My friends and I still manage a magazine about the culture in the city but it is on temporary hiatus and under restoration. I also planned on making an online zine for writers in the area. And I have written a few flash fiction that I plan on collecting.

Life right now is like treading on a rope, from a desert and into a paradise. I am keeping my balance. But maybe one day I might just jump and see how the fall feels.

WHERE DO YOU WANT TO GO?


When I shut this door, another year of my life is gone, thrown back into a box, locked forever waiting for the day I find the Doctor. Life is much like a sci-fi series, it moves forward, each episode closer to the end. You come across heroes, villains, aliens, friends and the just about the weirdest possible situation that Russell T. Davies could think of. The loud bang from the door brought me back to the present.

I stepped forward and head to the stairs. This steps had been witness to how I fail, three times, butt flat on the first floor. How am I going places when I keep on making clumsy moves? I am going nowhere, but right now I am going to take a shower and wash the 24 years of immaturity off of me.

Or no.

I passed by the kitchen and saw my room mates cooking. I suddenly felt hungry. Life is full of distractions, good and bad. Food is lying flat and tempting on the border. If I give in I have to face days of tripping on guilt. If I refuse, I’m going straight to the nearby clinic. I put a lot of thought into a lot of things. I mentally argue with myself whether I need to eat or not. This happens every four hours, every day.

But I decided to showcase my egg beating skill that I have learned when I was nine and announced I’m going to cook dinner for everyone. But in my head it sounded as “look at me growing up, cooking dinner for four people and all”. It was all a cry of affirmation no one heard but they all acknowledged. It was all good, except for the food.

The thing about turning 25 is the excuse “I will outgrow this” expires. Well, all excuses should expire as the clock shouts twelve. It is a special day to mourn about years that are lost. Every other day in the year you fail and ignore it but on your birthday you succeed at cooking dinner and you feel like a complete failure. I laid on my bed, stomach full, heart heavy and tried to sleep through the turn of a tumultous year.

I hoped to wake up on a beach in Sweden, staring at marshmallow pink afternoon sky, David Tennant smiling next to me asking “where do you want to go?”.

-05/07/2014