If Home Is Not Sweet Anymore
I lived in four different houses since I was a kid. I grew up with my paternal grandparents and lived with them for the first 6 years of my life. When they went to the United States, we left the house to one of my uncles and his family.
We transferred then to my mom’s family house. My maternal grandparents and two uncles were also abroad so we took over the house and I lived there until my junior year in high school. When we left, mom’s cousin and his lazy wife lived there. So now its like a wreck, all ready for a haunted house movie.
My home is really in Barani, the house that my dad built for us. Every thing is right there for us. I can sleep there alone and never worry even if my neighborhood is full of drug addicts. When I went to college, I lived with my aunt and cousins in their house. I never actually called it a home.
I never felt really at home in Pasig. I spent sixteen years of my life without anyone giving a damn thing with every move I make, then in one sudden moment I had to study away from home, deal with an obsessive-compulsive aunt and a cousin whom I never had a good conversation with. For a year it felt like hell. I went home to Ilocos almost every month for the first six months and cried every time the aunt notices something she doesn’t want. I’d cry over the dinner table and my cousin couldn’t say a thing. We’d wash the dishes and go upstairs not even bothering to watch the news. I hated that life. The first two years of my college life is the worst ever. I had to deal with what I used to call monsters.
Luckily when I reached my junior, me and brother lived on the third door. Living in the third door is like a breath of fresh air. No more bothering with cleanliness, gas leaks, unlocked doors, lights on at night, etc. It was a relief from hell I should say. And I have my brother with me so it was now heaven. I can go home late at night or at dawn without being scolded. I can watched TV for all I care. I can clean my room when I want to. I don’t get a piece of hotdog, I can have two if I wanted. I can do whatever I want, I can be independent and nobody would care because I’m paying the rent.
The thing is, back when we were young and they built this house they had this verbal agreement that we are gonna do the rent-to-own thing. So we pay every month, even if back in the days we didn’t live there, and we together with Dad’s twin brother will get the land title one day, when everything is paid. I don’t know what was wrong with the twin brothers that they never asked for black and white. Two or three years ago they suddenly told us there is no longer an “agreement”. I pity not my dad, but my uncle who was compliant in paying the dues despite the lower salary compared to my dad. Of course, dad has paid his dues too. I think when they broke off the deal, they already invest almost a million. It was almost a heart break my dad can’t eat and kept thinking about all the other debts he’s bound to pay.
In a few weeks or even days, I’d be leaving for Saudi. Good for me, bad for my brother who’ll be living on his own. Last week they already told mom that we have to look for a new house. We were excited. Leaving this “home” will be heaven. At least if we rent right now, we know for sure that we are just renting the place. We know for sure that we will not spend 10 or 15 years paying our dues and don’t get a land title. Funny. It’s business as they would say.
So as of the moment, I’m looking for two bedroom apartment in Paranaque area or near PATTS with garage where I can park a 4×4 pick up truck. If you know one let me know.
There is no place like home. HOME spells Barani, Batac City, Ilocos Norte.:) I wish I could be here all the time. I miss my dogs.:( I miss mom’s kare-kare. I miss the big room. I miss the car. I miss the fridge and the mangoes. I miss the euphorbia and orchids. I miss watering the plants. I miss home.
Just Me. For Now.