Metamphetamine.

I’d rather go with my friends back when I was fourteen. My old man’s in Honolulu, San Francisco, Tokyo, Dubai, those out-of-the-blue cities I’ve heard from his sermons. Mom would either go to nearby towns and get busy with her rice business – calculating ledger books, cooking food and driving away to her office. My sisters were studying in Manila, going home late, catching up for some sleep. I am the warm little center of life in the house. Blemished with boredom, and always out of place with the females.

My barkada hugged me like a brother.

There goes Marlboro who once soothed my chilling body for minutes. Then it became a habit. Mouth to nostrils. Let that nicotine harm me. The warmth it gives me is exceptional, I just can’t stop it. From two to three sticks, it continues and grows up to a case emptied by my chain-smoking.

Fifteen, I was kicked out in our school for my bloody marks. If it meant disappointment to my family, it became the very start of enjoying life and diving into something real and wild. Burned my book, tore down my notes. I’m sick of studying Theology or Geometry or any school work. I’m tired of dealing with white, veiled women mouth-fed by biblical spoonfuls of beliefs. I’m over with their sanctimonious ways of discussing what is good and bad.

Sixteen was when I dropped all my subjects in another school, thus telling myself that education is shit. Schools are cemeteries for fun. My parents gave up, realizing that their enrollment fees are going down the drain without any benefits for me. For normal students, being incubated in a room full of discussions and writing lectures means an honorary job. But I want to explore out of those walls. I want to break free from rules. I want to have my life with my own rules.

I met San Miguel when I was eighteen. Nineteen, I’m head over heels for Mary Jane. I spend my nights away from home, inhaling this addictive herb that somehow gives me comfort and numbness to pain and depression. Twenty was when my Mom discovered that I’m doing a terrible mistake. Bloodshot eyes surrounded with stress, burned lips. Pierced my left ear. Got a tattoo at my left hand for my nickname. Scars all over my body – bruises, contusions, blackened spots. I was rehabilitated in a rehab center. My family wanted me to be clean; pure from wrongful ideas and addiction, and stop me from abusing freedom. Abundant food, lots of friends whom I could cope up with.

Months after, I went out. Father wanted me to be free.

Twenty-one was when I met Lovely, dated her for some unknown reasons, and had sex with her. Eight months have passed, my parents blamed me for the kid. Minor birth defects, but still a healthy man of dreams. Named after me. Twenty-two, I went to US with my Dad for a nice vacation – leaving my son and my illegal wife. After I went back, wife was pregnant.

Three years after, my kids were four. I’ve experienced another rehab. Then, I was jailed thrice. I fell in-love with Shabu so much, I stole my younger brother’s belongings and sold it to the pawnshop for some money. For three years, the list goes on. The Playstation, the G-Shock, his branded wardrobe, tons of cellphones with different units and SIM cards, two wallets, MP3 player, and all his luxuries.

Here I am now, having my third rehabilitation. Wife went away with two kids and left the other two in our house. Father took charge of it, as he always do with my hearings, with pawnshop deals, with diapers of my kids. The last item I stole from my younger brother was his white-gold bracelet.

The next thing I know, I’m in this place. In a place with electrocuted barbed wire, high walls, and a fake freedom. Today’s our Christmas party. Dad, Brother and my eldest son visited me. For my long stay in this center, conscience knocked me out.

Tears flowed while I saw my brother growing up without me. I hugged him and told him, I’m sorry sa lahat. He hugged back, harder, and sobbed. I felt his anger, he felt my remorse. I want to reconcile. I want him to forgive me for I destroyed our family, I made his life incomplete.

Then, this jolt of brotherly love came in. 

I don’t think he deserve me as a brother. So far, it was one of my biggest mistakes. I let him grow up without a brother who would teach him how to be a young man, how to shoot some hoops, how to love a girl.

Time is over. He said goodbye, I told him to take care. I just hope he knew the right thing to do, and not to follow my footsteps.

~ by utakgago on December 17, 2006.