RUIN ME

CHILDHOOD SPIRIT

I eagerly unzip the huge suitcase before me, my heart racing with excitement. Inside, there’s a jumble of things and a pile of chocolates, but what catches my eye is the DVD. Excitement bubbles up in me as I check the cover. “Resident Evil 4!” It’s my favorite video game, one I used to own but lost.

I’m always happiest when Dad comes home. He works on a cruise ship in the United States and has traveled to many places. He didn’t come from a rich family, but he worked hard and built his mansion in Digos City.

“Do you like it?” Dad asks as he comes over.

“Yeah!” I hug him tight.

“I love you,” he says. I giggle because I’m too shy to say it back. “Go to bed early, okay? We have basketball practice tomorrow morning.”

I’m not thrilled about basketball. I scratch my head, thinking of something else. “What about billiards? I can beat you to it.”

“Sure, billiards can be tomorrow night,” he agrees.

Dad always does his best to shape me into an amazing man as I grow up.

Dad always tries his hardest to mold me into an amazing man when I grow up. He dislikes it when he sees me playing with a Barbie dollhouse, so he never buys one for my sisters to prevent me from being tempted. Instead, he usually gives them teddy bears or new clothes.

A beam of sunlight sneaks through my curtains, waking me from a dream about my father. It’s as if the universe knows how much I’ve missed him.

He might not have liked it when I acted in ways he thought were too girly, but he always cared about how we felt. When we disagreed with him and got upset, he eventually gave in, even if he didn’t want to at first. Quite the opposite of my mother.

Back then, when we couldn’t sleep at night, he used to take us outside to enjoy pork barbecue, eating with our hands and dipping it into spicy sauce. It was almost our midnight ritual, and he spoiled us so much. It meant the world to me.

They preserved his body in ice and brought it to us a month later he died. It was a traumatic experience for me, seeing my one and only father lying in a casket, knowing there was no way to bring him back, no matter what I did. I should have told him how much I loved him while his heart was still beating and his eyes were open. That day, something inside me changed forever. I was only 11.

We’re all gathered at the breakfast table, ready to eat. Mom’s simply having an egg and mayo sandwich, while my sisters and I are having hotdogs and rice. I’m glad that it’s Saturday and I don’t have to go to school today.

As we eat and scroll through our phones, I suddenly realize that my birthday is approaching. I cautiously glance at Mom, sensing that she might be in a good mood today.

“Mom,” I say softly, “it’s almost my birthday.”

“And?” she replies. “What are your plans?”

“Will you be able to get me a PlayStation this time?” I haven’t had one in years.

She slams her phone onto the table, clearly irritated. “How many times do I have to tell you that I can’t buy you one?”

“But why?”

“Because it’s not good for you!”

“Why isn’t it?” I ask, my voice quivering with an impending cry. “I’ve been asking for the same thing since I was 14, and now I’m turning 20.”

She closes her eyes in frustration and tries to calm herself. “When you grow up, finish your studies, and get a job, that’s when you can buy whatever you want! That’s why I keep reminding you to study hard so you can have a decent job in the future.”

“There are so many kids out there who don’t even have food or a place to stay!” she adds. “And here you are, longing for an expensive gadget so desperately. I’ve provided everything you’ve ever needed. You have a very comfortable life that many people would envy. Can’t you be grateful for what you have?”

Mom works really hard and is successful. Many people look up to her, including me. But she’s always busy, and I didn’t feel like I had a real mother growing up. She travels a lot to make money, and when she’s home, she’s usually grumpy.

“What about my birthday?” Sharpee asks, spearing a mini hotdog and wolfing it down in one bite. “Am I going to have a debut party?”

“Oh, absolutely!” Mom responds with excitement. Sharpee is turning 18 this year, and it’s traditional here for every girl to have a debut party at that age. “We should start planning for that!”

I believe Mom will throw an extravagant party, especially with most of her friends on the guest list. It’s probably going to cost a lot. Meanwhile, here I am, repeatedly asking for something she disapproves of. I know it’s not the right way to think, but at times, I can’t help but wonder if I’m just an investment to her, because she’s never cared a bit about how I am really feeling as her son.

I was just a kid longing for a toy. But she never seemed to understand that. She thinks I should buy it myself when I’m older. But PlayStations are meant for teenagers. Does she really expect me to start playing when I’m already an adult?

Oh right, I’m now a young adult.

“Are you going to invite your friends, Zeph?” Mom asks.

I’m about to respond, but Sharpee beats me to it. “You have friends?”

It’s painful to hear those words. It reminds me of how much of a loner I am. And to save face, I have to bend the truth. “Of course I have, but I won’t be extending any invitations.”

“Who’s the guy who drove you home last night?” Mom asks.

A faint look of alarm crosses my face. “Um,” I stutter, “just a kind stranger who offered to drive me home.” What happened last night was traumatic and distressing, but I have to keep it to myself.

“Then invite him to my party, so you won’t be a loner there.”

“I’m not sure if I’m coming,” I say. “You know I’m not a fan of crowds. I might even faint and create a scene.” I’m dead serious when I mention the possibility of collapsing; I’ve lost count of the times it happened when I was a kid.

Sharpee insists, “But you have to come. You’re going to be my first dance.”

“Alright, but promise me I won’t have to give any speeches in front of everyone,” I say firmly.

Chloe intervenes, trying to reassure me, “Don’t worry, Mom will be the one giving the long, heartfelt speech, right?” She glances at Sharpee, who’s grinning mischievously, causing Chloe’s eyes to widen in anxiety. “Right? Hey! I’ll never step onto that stage and give a speech!”

Chloe has my personality. But she’s lucky enough to not go through the things I’ve experienced at school. She has a few friends and enjoys an easy school life, unlike me, who has attended many schools but struggled to make friends everywhere.

This is why I spend most of my time at home and have absolutely no one to talk to but my diary.

Sometimes, I just don’t see the reason for living anymore.