What is it like?

     What is it like to be homeless?
     I am soon to find out.
     A home: it's a warm, welcoming, familiar place. Memories that have ties to kindergarten years, a room will worn by the aging of a growing child, a food-filled fridge, clothes neatly washed and folded, shoulders to cry on, pockets to take loans from, and brothers to nag on.
     This is a home; my home.
     I depart from this home and move into an apartment. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and six girls. I buy the food that goes in the fridge, I wash the clothes that take home in the basket, the shoulders are dry and the pockets empty. What's more, I know I will move on. This is no home. It is a shelter. I live here to learn.
     And so I'll move on. New apartment next semester. New girls, new foodless cupboards, new empty memories. This is no home. The stains are unnamed, the sounds unfamiliar, the smells, hopefully unheard of.
     And now it is time to return. This year is over.
     So I return to the place that once was home. In a way it still is. The food will be plentiful and the brothers still irritable; but it won't be the same. My memories have taken root in different soil. This isn't my home. However familiar and warm, it's not where I live. This isn't where I will stay.
     I'm not the kind of girl you normally find afraid. In fact, I take pride in my fearlessness. Spiders are revolting, but it's nothing a piece of paper and a Dixie-cup can't handle. Put me on the edge of a cliff and I'll laugh at the flip-flop my stomach makes. At age four my favorite movie was "Jurassic Park." The scene where the T-Rex eats the guy off the toilet sent me into hysterics.
     Today I am scared. Scared doesn't do this feeling justice; I am terrified. I am walking away from this sensation, this feeling of home that has gotten me through 18 years of life, and I'm stepping into a lifestyle completely void of it.
     I feel lost in this sea of people, with no connections and no bow to grasp onto. Somehow I'm expected to embrace this, to dive headfirst with my hands in the air and a smile on my face.
     I am not destitute. I am not alone. I am not an unbathed beggar living beneath the bridge; but I am homeless. And that scares me.

Won't You Join Me?

I carry a heavy weight.

I shoulder the stress and pressure of school. I take on the burden of work and finances. I bear the expectations of parents, teachers, and church leaders. I struggle in the social calls of friends and school events; and finally, I collapse at the expectancy of another sleepless night.

I used to dream. I dreamt of endless time and space, where limits did not exist. Now when I dream, I dream of nothing. My body and mind fall into a coma of fatigue. That's what comes with growing up though, isn't it? It is part of becoming responsible, part of becoming an adult.

If this statement is correct, I have come to a conclusion: I do not want to grow up. Take me to Neverland. Eighteen years has not been enough time; I have grown up too fast. I have taken the moment I have and filled it with tasks I deem beneficial, events I feel important.

My days and weeks are composed in calendar-specific, planner-organized complexity. For what reason? To seem mature, to feel fulfilled?

I work with the children aged one-and-a-half to three years old at church. It is my one time a week to play. I pull out the trains and tot "choo choo" for hours. I sing songs, I dress up dolls, I build extravagant kingdoms of red, yellow, green and blue Duplo blocks.

I miss the simplicity of playing dress-up and house, of making mud pies and taking naps. There was a time when my backyard was home to a major plane crash, residence to a society of native Indians, a place where goblins and fairies hid behind every towering tree and every obscure bush.

Now it is only a lawn; dominion to nothing but a few trivial trees and patches of barkdust. Don't you remember?

Tell me when; when was the switch made?

I was once a girl, just a little girl. I ran through the neighborhood wearing nothing but a swimming suit, singing "Mr. Sun" at the top of my lungs, catching bees from the honeysuckle, searching through the weeds to find the clover with four leaves.

I want to go back, but I can't. If only turning around and walking through the motions could return to me those years of unnecessary stress, f pointless heartache, of concern for matters that would make no difference in my future.

Today, I'll let go of growing up. I've realized I will spend most of my life there. For now, I think I'll lay back and watch the clouds take shape.

Won't you join me?

We Never Imagined

              It began with a silly little argument. A vicious attack ensued. Tears were shed. Little time passed. A meeting was held. A message relayed. A series of broken hearts resulted.  
               My parent’s don’t get along. They haven’t for years. My Dad, well he works a lot. My Mom stays home, and has raised my four siblings and me. My Dad disagrees about the standards by which my Mom teaches us. My Dad isn’t home very much. He doesn’t understand that our home has routine. It works too. It’s hard when my Dad is home. The spirit of love in our home diminishes and one of contention quickly seems to take its place.

There have always been a lot of arguments when it comes to my Mom and Dad. I just thought that’s how it was. I leave within a year. My sister will soon follow suit with my brother only two years behind her. That’s four years. I figured with all of us gone, they would have time to focus on each other; to discover the fervent love they used to share.  

I have found myself tricked. It has all been simply an act. Numerous times succeeding heated disagreements, I would ask my Mom, ‘do you still love Dad?’ I was never denied the answer I desired. The past ten years have been a lie. They’ve cheated me, thinking it was to my benefit.  

Doors were quietly shut. Emotions would not permit the comfort of sleep. A short trip down the stairs and embracing arms were found. Wandering ears searched out the source of our noiseless peace. In secret solitude, the night was spent in each other’s warm company.  

My younger brother, sister, and I share an irrefutable bond. More loyal, encouraging, and caring, a relationship you will never find. There hasn’t been a serious fight between us for years. We are each other’s best friends. None of us would have it any other way. We have seen, among our friends, a series of broken marriages. Never did we think it would happen here.  

I find myself frightened of the future. How must I choose, and where will I go? Will this someday happen to me? Why take that chance? I bury my face into the back of my sleeping sister. I listen to the steady breathing of my baby brother in the bed just above. An air of tranquility reaches my soul and my weary eyes find solace in sleep.

I Call Him Friend

It's the year 1998. I'm six years old and in kindergarten. I meet a boy and we become friends. We eat lunch together. We swing on the swings and slide on the slides together. We play blocks during free time together. We sit together on the bus home from school. We are good friends, and I love this boy.  

It's the year 2001. I'm nine years old and in third grade. I haven't had this boy in my class since our first year of school. We continue to sit next to each other on the bus. He is still my friend, and I still love this boy.

It's the year 2004. I'm twelve years old and in the sixth grade. I don't take the bus home with this boy anymore. He takes a new bus. I notice something different. My friend isn't the same, but I remember, and I still love this boy. 

It's the year 2007. I'm fifteen years old and a freshman in high school. I see this boy in the hallways. He's never alone; a teacher always at his side. He doesn't take the same classes as the rest of us. People laugh and they sneer. It makes me sad to see my friend this way. This boy doesn't remember me anymore, but I remember. He is still my friend, and I still love this boy.

It's the year 2010. I'm seventeen years old and a senior in high school. I see my friend and wonder what his life will be like after graduation. Will he be able to move away, go to college, drive a car, get a job, have a family? Probably not. I smile at my friend in the hallway, and I remember, and I know I will always love this boy.

I think about my friend, and wonder how I never knew. We played together. We talked together. If only I were still as a child; simple, accepting, and loving unconditionally. He was my friend and he was just like me. Following this year, I may never again see this boy, but I will always remember.

I will remember the way my friend seemed to change, the way he was mocked at by my friends, and the way he eventually forgot my name; but he taught me so much more. He taught me to be accepting. He taught me to understand. He taught me to love and to respect; and that is what I will remember. Those around me may call this sweet boy "stupid" and "retard," but I will call him friend, and I will always love this boy.

Living For Myself

        Me. How egotistical that word feels. I have never been a selfish person. I was born a pacifist. I desire to please others. Herein I find joy. Giving my all to help another has brought balance in my life. In this, my existence has been lived for others; for my friends, for my teachers, for my parents, and for my religion. 
        Me. (I am working on using that arrogantly proud noun more often.) I have a hunch. A hunch can be difficult to explain; but do let me try. The easiest words I can find to clarify my intentions are these: I am wrong. 
        Allow me to enlighten you with a story. I am a Christian. I always have been. A few months ago I realized something: I was in doubt. God was nothing but a story, a tradition and a habit. In lieu of this awareness, I realized something else: I am eighteen years old; nobody is forcing me to practice anything. I am highly averse to hypocrisy; hence, my activation in church was beginning to hinder my peace. A catalyst of doubts began to force their existence into my life.  
        At this point, it hit me. Never have I lived for myself. For my friends, for my teachers, for my parents, for my religion: always. But time changes things. Someday, my friends will no longer be my friends. Someday, a teacher is someone I will be, and not someone I rely on. Someday, I will not live at home, and my dependance on parents will fritter away. Someday, I may realize that there isn't a God, and that living for religion was futile all along. Time changes things; always. And this change was inharmoniously stealing time from beneath my feet.
        Me. It was time; time to think of me. The intuition of a friend inspired him to tell me these words, "I hope what you want in life, is what you need in life; and I hope you find it and take it." During a time of bewilderment and chaos, these words brought a welcomed sense of clarity. I took a seat. I made a list: things I want. I narrowed it down: things I need. I made a new list: how to get there. Goals. It was the first time in my life I’ve made a goal not considering my friends, my teachers, my parents: only me. It was what I wanted, what I needed: and that made all the difference.
        Me. I had to think of me. I had to live for me. I began where I left off. First on my list: God. I had to know. I read the words of the prophets more fiercely than ever I have before. With the personal drive, the words came alive. With a prayer in my heart, I read the scriptures, desiring the wisdom to know whether or not these words were real. Night after night, tears sprang to my eyes as the Holy Ghost whispered to me the truthfulness of the gospel. He testified to me. Me. And now I know. I know for me. This truth is mine.
        I used to feel that by living for others, I was living a good and charitable life. I was wrong. I have learned that I must live for me, and me alone. I want to make decisions, and sometimes mistakes; and I want to be able to look back on my past, and see me in my life. I want the ground I walk upon to be touched by me - not by my friends, my teachers, my parents, or even my religion; just me.
        So there it is - my hunch. And here I go, living for me. Selfish, egotistical, and happy Me.