transmediablog

[transmediablog]

Home?

I woke up in my single bed in a cold sweat. I couldn’t remember what day it was and frankly, I didn’t care. I sat there motionless, slowly remembering who I was and regaining consciousness from my fourteen-hour sleep. I finally gained the strength to walk over to the kitchen and fix myself something to eat. I scrambled some eggs and threw them in a crushed-up bag of Doritos. A meal that used to remind me of home, but those sentiments were long gone by now. All that was left at this point was memories. I haven’t felt at home for a while now, whether that be physically or mentally.  Frankly, at this point I’ve forgotten what being at home feels like. Where I am now is nothing but the place I sleep and eat, its not home. The people I’ve surrounded myself with have brought me nothing but pain and penitence and I have no one to blame but myself. Home to me, is a feeling of warmth, security and comfort. It does not always have to be a physical place; it can be a mental state or the feelings you get around the ones you love. At this point, I have forgotten what any of that feels like. It had been two weeks without the bottle and the days got grayer and grayer by the hour. 

I finished my breakfast and decided I needed to take a shower. I could feel the cold marble on my bare feet, and it was almost refreshing to be able to feel any sort of sensation on my body throughout this week. I got in the shower in an attempt to wash off all the regrets and feelings that have accumulated in my mind over the past few days. I began to think of the person I used to be, full of potential and life. I tried to feel the way I felt all those years ago, but these were just memories at this point, not feelings. No matter how hard I tried to recreate that feeling of home they would just be memories. The harder I tried, the more hopeless it became and the more attractive the bottle became. It was 2 o’clock in the afternoon but it felt like morning. Honestly, I was lost. I had no home and at this stage I had no motivation to find one. I had no choice but to keep sticking the band aid back on that kept peeling off. I walked over to the kitchen cabinet sluggishly and grabbed the last drops of alcohol I had stowed away to avoid temptation. I was mentally homeless and the fun and excitement I once got from the bottle had dwindled down to an addiction. An addiction to the only thing that brought me remotely close to the same warmth and comfort I felt in the past. Was this my home? Definitely not. But who knows, there are nothing but memories left in my heart and it was time to recount them once again.

[transmediablog]

Family

I woke up to the sobering sounds of my alarm. 5:00AM Monday morning and another eight-hour shift at work. I got out of bed like a ninja to not wake up my wife and tip toed around my daughter’s toys to make my way to the bathroom. I couldn’t quite remember where I put the toothbrush as this was our third house this year and it’s been hard adapting to a sudden change of setting every few months in order to keep finding work. I went downstairs to the kitchen to start roasting a pot of coffee and enjoy the intoxicating aromas that it exuded. Although I’ve had to cut non-essential costs out of my life to stay afloat, coffee was the one exception to that rule. No matter where I am in the world, I will always find a way to get my local coffee grown out of my hometown in Colombia. That necessity is second only to seeing the smiles on my wife and daughter’s faces every day. 

5:45AM, it was time to catch the bus to the lumber yard and clock in. I got to work seeing some of the usual faces and other new ones. As lunch hour rolled around, I sat down with my usual group and discussed the topic we usually do, sports, politics and life in general. One of our regulars was an old man named Walter and many of us always questioned why he didn’t retire and take his pension. However, it was his response that always fascinated me; “I would rather be bored here, than bored and lonely at home”, he said. At first, I always dreamed about the day I would be able to retire and do the things I love, but I feel that it was these responsibilities that made these activities so coveted. Life is a balance and being away from home is what makes home so special. It was finally time to head back home to see my family and eat dinner. When I finally got back from another demanding day at work, I was welcomed with the two things I hold closest to my heart, my wife and my daughter. I sat down at the table in front of the delicious meal my wife had prepared for me and saw the gleaming eyes of my daughter happy to see that I was home. It was moments like these where I felt truly at home. Despite the constant movement and displacement to find work, the long demanding days and the constant stress of making ends meet, I will always have my family. Home to me is not a physical place, it is who you surround yourself with and what you will protect with your life. Although our family may not have a different house every few months, the entire world will be my home as long as I’m with them. My home lies in the gleaming eyes of my daughter and the supportive smile of my wife, their happiness is all I could ever ask for.

[transmediablog]

Saturday

I woke up to the sunlight peering through my curtains and into my bed. I sat up in my dinosaur pyjamas slowly realizing where I was after I had awoken from a dream. I looked over to my goldfish tank that I had set up myself and checked up on every day. It was Saturday, a day full of potential and free time to be spent at home; where my games and toys were all waiting to be played with! I rushed downstairs to find breakfast had already been prepared for me; two eggs and three slices of turkey bacon with a piece of toast on the side which was all still warm. The familiar richness of the yolk and the buttery crunch of the toast was the most hospitable taste I could think of. Despite the feeling of freedom I woke up with, I could not help but dread the number one opponent to my happiness. Homework. Although homework was a worry for Sunday, I could not help but consider that as every second passes, the closer I get to Sunday. This was my greatest concern and the only way to forget about this impending horror was to distract myself with some video games. I rushed downstairs to find my Wii along with the tens of hot wheels strewn across the floor from yesterday’s imaginary Indy 500. 

I powered on my Wii to see the familiar “Nintendo” loading screen and hear the famous Super Mario Brothers theme song. It was finally time to forget about my responsibilities and problems for a few hours and get sucked into the world of funny creatures and Italian plumbers. Little did I know that these were the very moments that would define my childhood and my home. It was small little moments of blissful happiness that would ultimately define what I call home and what makes me truly feel secure. As an only child, the world would be shrouded in boredom and stress if it wasn’t for these distractions and I could sleep at night knowing that these beacons of happiness would still be there the next morning, whether I was using them or not. “You’ve been on that game forever, its time to get to bed!” Those words pierced through my eardrums and awoke me from my state of video game induced ecstasy. It was mom. Although I was annoyed by this constant proctoring over my activities, I would later realize that it was this invigilation that would make these activities so coveted. It was time to go to sleep, but that wouldn’t stop me from sneaking my Nintendo DS under my pillow and playing in secrecy. At this moment, my only worry in life was beating the level I was on and not getting caught playing games after bedtime. This was my bed, my game, my day and my life. But most importantly, this was my home and all the irreplaceable sights, scents and sounds that came with it.