Date Published: April 8, 2022
Time Published: 9:10 PM
Category: Prose
Theme: Peter Pan Syndrome
Synopsis: Who doesn’t dread growing old?
6 AM
In a seemingly fogged limbo, you struggled to clutch the remaining bits of your unconscious mind. Of course, you would always prefer the comforting mirage, no matter how “illusory”, over that of your waking reality. At least the fuzzy images of what looked like your childhood felt more home than the decrepit tenement you’re currently residing in.
But news flash – the alarm had been ringing for two minutes now. Time to wake up.
Exerting a languorous stretch, you let out a small yawn. There you smelled the fetid breath that made you storm to your bathroom. And for God’s sake, inside was even more fetid. You forgot the bowl had been clogged since the evening and so there floated long brown excrement from your midnight binge. Thanks to your brother who threw a fit because you ate his salad, there was no lid to cover the stench. Perhaps your mind was still clouded that without even thinking, you snatched whatever you could reach and tossed it in the bowl.
You started showering. Hmm, yes. The joint force of your shampoo and bath soap could combat the odor, you thought. It was only after you raked your hair with your fingers that you realized something. What you ought to use was your towel but it was already drenched in the stool. God.
Way to go. Way to go.
12 PM
You felt your stomach rumble as you head downstairs to the office pantry. Your morning inconvenience barred you from having a proper breakfast, and so as you faced your computer bombarded with mental tasks, all you craved was a cup of hot chocolate. It had always been your comfort drink since childhood, right? And although milk chocolate powder could never be on par with your grandmother’s homemade tablea, it was still a decent substitute.
As you flumped on your chair, you couldn’t help but notice a throng of laughter growing louder and louder along with the heavy footsteps. Those were too familiar; as if engraved on your senses to warn you of impending harm. You felt as though you came straight off Pavlov’s conditioning, you were the dog and they were the stimuli – a bell ringing. Only now, the response it elicited was not salivation, but the sinking feeling to hide. You cursed mentally; they should not be descending this early. You hated their faces – no, scratch that, you hated their very existence. And so to stave off any future sneers or side-glances they threw at one another when talking to you, you quickly grabbed your food.
Fortunately, the exit door was on the left side, adjacent to the entrance.
5 PM
It was exactly five o’clock when you got home. The billowing of curtains flooded the room with a warm orange hue. You had this musing before that late afternoon had this particular air with it; like a snippet of your favorite movie when you were ten, or the sudden recurring of memories pushed back to your subconscious. Out of all times of the day, this was what you like the most. Maybe because you had escaped the horror of being a copywriter, a job you thought was worth compromising your chance to have a psychology degree. And although you could still hear the different commotion outside, it was during this time that you felt serene. There was something about the chuckling of children, the gossiping of people, and the angry screaming of the couple next door that took you back to your childhood. It was complete chaos for sure, but, man did it feel like home.
You decided to take a nap.
1 AM
IT WAS 1 AM ALREADY.
The house was quiet, and the only sound you could hear was the sharp murmurings outside. It could be the exchange of money for a tiny gram of crack, the drabs looking for someone they could offer “special service” to, or any sort of debauchery. Sometimes, it just differed on your imagination. But most of the time, you wished they were loud enough for you to discern their business. Not that it concerned you that much. You just longed to fixate your mind on other things and not dive down into the bottomless pit of retrospection again.
You tore your hair out of frustration.
Surprise, surprise, your body clock was out of whack again. Who to blame? You, of course. Why did you even take a nap earlier knowing it would make you wide awake at midnight? Now, you were haunted by the ghosts you refused to deal with in the past. And each time you tried to close your eyes, you saw them.
They took the form of your parents’ angry faces when they found out you dropped out of college. However, to this day, you jokingly thanked yourself for making them finally agree on one thing; you were a failure.
Thump, thump, thump. The ghosts morphed into someone else now, and although his image was hazier than your parents – perhaps from a long time of not seeing each other – you immediately recognized the smile that reached his eyes, his crooked teeth, and disheveled hair. All painstakingly familiar. He was that one person you felt you owe your greatest apology to even though he was the one who stormed out the door five years ago.
It was exhausting to replay the past every night, of how you witnessed childhood slip through your fingers gradually without you even noticing. And through the tedious years of waiting to grow up, to kiss a boy or a girl, have sex, and do drugs, you wanted everything back. Because now you’re 25, and the only thing you wished was your grandmother’s tablea, or your mother’s acerbic earful, or your brother’s quick rebuttals to your jokes.
But your grandmother’s pastries were left to rot in the kitchen akin to her remains buried underground, your mother stopped calling a few years ago, and the relationship you had with your brother had become completely strained – “beyond repair” to put into his own words.
You felt warm liquids start dripping down your cheeks.
6 AM
Time to wake up. Again.
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