I have died and been reborn ten times over, yet not many know the whole story. People consider me an optimistic person, the modern happy. Yet not many know the whole story. I have died and been reborn ten times over. Twice in a year I lost my home. A bird without a nest. I was faltering and recovering. Yet no one knows the whole story. Unpacking and unloading became my life. There were no more walls to hang our family pictures. No more trash of our own to take out. No mailman to greet. No more watching my little brother playing basketball in the front yard. No more Littlelion spending the night. No more kissing behind the cubbies. No more secrets. No more home. We were homeless.
EVICTION. I despise seeing that word, knowing the power it holds against the broken. I partly blame my mother’s sickness, just as I blame myself: a few years prior, when I was 14, my mother suffered a mild stroke at age 30. Her health has been going downhill since then and continues to decline. Her main cancer: stress. I was tossed into her care, followed quickly by my brother. Then she became pregnant. That pregnancy was the spark that set our life on fire. Yet not many know the whole story. My mother’s pregnancy dragged her through hell and back. It became a constant pattern: if she wasn’t at the hospital, then she was working one of her two jobs. Yet did she want sympathy?
Okay, we can get through this. We will be fine. It’s just a test from the divine, right?
I am okay.
I repeatedly brainwashed myself, saying I was fine. Deep down, though, I was broken. I thought that when men were broken, they were weak, so the phrase, “I am okay” became my melody.
Did my mother want sympathy?
Soon after our first eviction, we were blessed to find another home. Prior to that, I stayed with my friend, Littelion, for about two weeks. Our new home was a downgrade. We came from a three bedroom, two-and-a-half-bathroom house to one with four tiny bedrooms, one bath, and barely a driveway. Still, all I cared about was us being together. I was grateful to be back “home.” That was my version of sympathy, spoon feeding myself false hope.
A few months passed and life started to get back to normal, as if it had gone to therapy. My mom was working. My brother was watching “Five Nights at Freddy’s” on YouTube 24/7, while I worried about life as usual. But there it was again when I came home from school one day: EVICTION written on a neon green tag. The fire in my heart ignited with rage.
Yet, I am okay. I am okay. I am okay, right?
Okay, but did she want sympathy?
It was around November that reality hit us like a freight train. It was a couple days after Thanksgiving that we were given the warning. My mother told us that we had to leave and start packing. The process was hell, but we survived it. The night we moved some of our things into my grandfather's home, I felt like I had not slept in ages. My body was sore, and my spirit was faltering.
Man, no more of this, my heart whispered.
Then and now, I gave myself false hope and sympathy.
Christmas finally crept its way in, and that day, peace was on our side. That day, there were no arguments—at least not between my mother and grandfather. My favorite memory of that day was helping prepare Christmas dinner. I can still smell the macaroni cooking. Before, I had no memory of cooking with my grandmother. We created one that day.
My family reminds me of the Greek gods. We love and cherish each other, but from a distance. Like the gods, we have brutal wars against our own blood. However, when an enemy interferes with our kin, we always stand beside one another. Yet, not many know the whole story.
On New Year’s Eve, I received an angry text from my mother telling me to block my grandparents’ numbers. I was angry, but I took a deep breath, put my phone down, and headed to my mat. That day I did yoga. New Year's Eve is the last day of the old and the transition into the new. I blame myself because the subject of my mother and grandfather’s argument was me.
I am sorry.
I have died and been reborn ten times over. Yet, not many know the whole story.
Did the Divine look down on me and have pity or disgust? What could I have done to do better? How could I have been a better son?
Many parents do not ask to be parents, but they still try.
I have died and been reborn ten times over. Yet, not many know the whole story. It’s strange to experience how everything you receive can be taken away so quickly.
Please be grateful and kind.
I am considered an optimistic person. The modern happy, however, call me broken.
Mediocre Issue | November 2019