This Is Where I Live

I wake up every morning to the shrill alarm of my clock. I depart on foot; therefore I have to wake up two hours earlier to reach school in time. I proceed with my daily routines, then exit my dilapidated house and head for school. It was always an interesting journey, as I pass many sights and sounds. I see people from the wealthier districts of my neighbourhood jogging or mowing their lawn. And those shady people who have bloodshot eyes adjacent to them, whom I infer have finally succumbed to the cries of their kidneys and stopped drinking for the night as they lay sprawled on the ground. I hear the chirping of birds, the rumble of engines from the harassed cars trying to close that important deal.

This is where I live.

I come back every day at the same time, only to face the nagging of my drunken mother, and begin my chores to avoid the beatings from her. As I enter her room, I screw up my nose in revulsion at the stench of dried urine and vomit coming from the washroom. This was the room I had to clean every day. While cleaning my mother’s room, countless numbers of bottles of alcohol and needles were strewn everywhere. Everytime I look at them, I feel downcast. “Why does my mother do these things?” I ask myself.

This is where I live.

After getting the house in spick-and-span condition, it was time to cook dinner. I try to remember everything that was taught to me at my Domestic Science classes. Actually it is pretty hard to forget, for I always get a good bashing for every mistake made, whether it is a mistake in following the recipe or if I cut the ingredients too big or too small. After wolfing down the meal, I got my mother a shot of whisky to wash down the �lousy’ dinner. It was no use pleading with her to try and lower her alcohol intake; all I would get is a tight slap on my face.

This is where I live.

Christmas arrived once again, an annual celebration for joy to fill the streets of every neighbourhood. Everybody is in a jolly and festive spirit; sounds of carols were floating through the air, houses were adorned with mistletoes and artificial candy canes. Massive Christmas trees struggle under the weight of all the lights and ornaments hanging on it, and glitters scattered to create that magical atmosphere for Santa Clause to appear! Boxes after boxes of presents stacked on top of each other under the colourful Christmas tree, and Christmas stockings hung at the windows, bulging with sweets. I was always green-eyed during Christmas. There is no such thing as a jolly Christmas in my house. My house will look like it always did; no Christmas dinner or presents. The only �present’ I get is an assault from my mother for daydreaming. Dinner will always be the same fare I eat, be it Christmas or even my birthday.

This is where I live.

My house has only two rooms, one for my mother and one for me. My bed is made of rags placed on wooden planks called the cold hard floor. Despite that, I still love my room. It is the only place where I can find peace and serenity, and the only place where I can engage in my favourite hobby, reading. I borrow numerous books from the public library, so often that the librarians know me by name! I would usually be excused if I forgot to bring my library card or returned the books after the due date; the public library was just like my second home. I feel that books are my only means of interacting with the outside world. When I borrow library books, I made sure I smuggled them in without letting my mother know, or else they would have been confiscated and burnt. I hide the books under a loose floorboard in my room, just in case my mother comes in while I’m at school.

This is where I live.

Sometimes I wonder whether I was the reason that my mother is in this state. She never treated me nicely, and I was like a pariah in this house. The only time I felt my mother was a real mother to me was when she was fully sober, and hugged me, saying sorry for all the harm that she had done to me. That was the only incident I remember, carved into my memory so deeply. However, that moment only lasted for a short while. It was not long before she started lashing swearing at me all over again.

This is where