Two nights ago, someone asked for my age. Me, not paying much attention to the passing of time, can't answer such questions without much thought. No, I'm not in denial. I just really don't count my years each time, and I'm terrible at math. The best thing I could do was come up with a reasonable number: 35. Did I just say I'm thirty-five years old?
As I mentioned before, I'm about to suffer some salary cuts on the coming months. Earlier last week, it didn't bother me as much as my co-workers. The way I live my life is more on a day-to-day basis and I don't really like thinking too much about "future" and what not. But something hit me lately. I'm about to reach 34 this April of 2013.
I had a short conversation with my dad this morning. As we both discuss about the current situation of our supposed home in the Philippines, we came to the conclusion that we both are homeless... so to speak. We both have the same thought that when either of us go to our hometown, we'll end up searching for relatives, looking for a place to stay. It sounds unbelievable but it's a reasonable conclusion.
But how in the world did my dad and I end up like this? My dad spent 2 decades of his life working in Korea. My older sister have been in Michigan for so long. My mom has been in the U.S. for much longer than my dad, as he too, is now living in America. My little sister shouldn't be factored in our financial shortage. Heck, she was able to buy a car for herself, during her college years. In comparison to many other families in the Philippines, we should have been doing more than okay. So how in the world did my dad and I end up homeless? I don't know.
Sure, my little sister has a family now. I believe they're doing okay. My mom's been roaming around U.S.A. by herself. She can get by. My older sister has a stable life with her husband. And my dad, at least, is at a better place... somewhere in America. But what about me? I have been working abroad for a decade and still have nothing for my self.
I guess I thought I will always have a home to come to. My parents house in Balili, La Trinidad. The house that I called home since we got there, and one that I have loved so much. Things happened over time, and I just gave up. I can't fight for it anymore and I might as well say that house is virtually gone. Be that as it may, what's next then? Now that I don't have a home in the Philippines, what should I do?
As my dad and I talk about this over the phone (just a while ago), he reminded me to just save up as much as I can. Get a house of my own. At least somewhere to stay, when we do come back to the Philippines... well... when I do come back to the Philippines. But that's easier said than done.
And then comes my issue about my age. I'm half-way through my supposed life span. If I go for a plan and build my own home, it'll take me about another decade to make it happen. It is such a volatile plan since I'm not really ensured to stay in Korea for that long. Let's say all goes well. By the time I can go back to the Philippines with my mind at peace, I'd be 45. And suppose I live until 50? What's the point? I could work hard for this. But only to enjoy 5 to 15 years of it? And time sure flies so fast, I don't think I'd even realize that I'm close to death. So what's the point?
As I got older, I got tired of change. I had ambitions and dreams when I was younger. But really, I got tired of it and lost all hope as I got older. I might have the option of going to America as well, but the truth is, I don't want to anymore. I just don't want to go through adjusting and transitioning again. Trying to make a living in "The land of opportunities..." Yeah, right! Some of my friends in the Philippines probably envy me as I'm living "the life abroad" or something. But the truth is, my living and working condition is the least that people will consider. I'm simply institutionalized (refer to the film "Shawshank"). I'm actually living in a hell hole, and surviving with the devils, daily. But it's a hell hole and devils that I learned to live with... and now depend on. So much so that I got accustomed to this life, I don't want to change. I fear it.
When I was a lot younger, I look at my uncles and aunts who were 30 or 40 something at that time. Boy, do I admire and adore them. I envied their physique and the look of wisdom in age. Now I'm in that age. And I see those people I admired. They're now shriveled and decayed. Some just look like prunes and that's the best of them. Many have gone through stroke, heart attacks, paralysis, and most of the sickness that generally comes with age. Then it hit me, I'll be next. Eversince I was 25, I thought that I don't really want to get that old. Or suffer at that age. Yes, I even considered committing suicide by the time I'll come to that. I still do. I look at my dad and I see him still strong, but actually suffering. He's just good at hiding it. I look at his brothers and I see some of them doing not-so-good. And I fear, that I'll come to that someday. I fear that I'll suffer worse. I'm alone. I'm single. And I damn not want to marry and make a family just out of that fear. It's a ridiculous and selfish thought to make a family just to have someone "take care" of me when the time comes. Again, I'd rather take my life than live through such agony.
Yet, again, I'm still stuck at being currently homeless. So again, I ask myself, "Is it worth putting up a fight for the next so-and-so years? Only to come back home to the Philippines (I always thought of coming back home there and nowhere else) and try to survive another decade?" I don't really know the answer right now. But if reason comes with age, I guess I'm still an infant.