I opened my eyes and everywhere I see emptiness. I stretched my hands and I felt no walls around me, no floors beneath me.

I use to dream of this almost every night. As a kid from a tormented family, I was able to experience how it is to live (perhaps worse than) living in a dark tunnel. If I am going to tell you that I am proud of having such an imperfect family, of course you won’t believe me. Yes, I was ashamed of it. In fact, I used to make up stories to sugar coat the real troubled situation at home.  

But seeing what was happening, that my mother would not be coming back home from abroad, that my father had another family, and that I have at least 3 more half siblings I haven’t met yet, I thought of giving up hope of having light in my dreams. Life was so unfair.

While my classmates had everything more than what they needed, I had nothing. Unlike my friends who got very excited in celebrating their birthdays, I got use to ignore mine and sometimes I just pretended my birthdays were just ordinary days. For them, everything was so exciting – from Christmas, to graduation, to enrolment.

            During Christmas days, I use to stare at the window, listening to the neighbourhoods’ celebration. The happier were there cheers, the more painful they were to my ears.

            During commencement and graduation days, my classmates who were not even honour students, had both their parents holding their arms to the stage. Seeing their smiles was more painful to my eyes, than having borrowed two strangers to escort me to the aisles.

            During enrolment periods, my classmates who were not even passionate about going to schooling were more excited than me. New school year for them, meant new bags, new notebooks, and new shoes. For me, those were the times when I have to beg for my cousins old bags, old notebooks, and old shoes. I even remember having a checkered and a pink bag in high school. Well, my cousin happens to be a girl that’s why. I had no choice. I had no right to complain. Instead, I used my imagination and pretended they’re all new. Technically, they’re still new to me. It worked well sometimes. But deep inside I still hoped that one day, I won’t have to fool myself to be creative to make my cousin’s old bag look new by marking Pentel pen on it.