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Home

By Edward Ian C. Benito

Home is the first word that comes in mind after two weeks of staying out of town. Eyes melt with crystal-clear tears as I lay down my millimeter thick bedsheet. Cold floor tiles tingled the back of my slender body as I reminisce those joyful days taunting my mother a joke she never once liked. I couldn’t sleep, is it because of insomnia? Or is it because of how I clearly remembered the noise my father makes as he always loudly snore every 12 midnight?

Oh, I remembered how both of my brothers aspire things they individually liked. And, mesmerized, they both got what they want, upon greater and somehow depressing exchange, the separation of our bond in place we once, and always, called home. Well, it’s normal, bonds of carbon and fluorine, which is the strongest bond of all carbon combination, or perhaps to all compound elements, can be broken by a single platinum atom. The thing is, we were separated by time, and I can’t help myself but anticipate what if 50 years from now, we would go back home, complete, with own different experiences, altogether reminiscing, having fun, with cute little snacks lovingly made by the granny of our children.

The laughter that fills the room, loud grumpy noises of two grandparents, clumsy little children breaking glasses of orange juice. That is home, and nothing we can do but foreshadow. And for now, I have to bag all of my memories, fill them in with happy experiences, and bring them forth half-century later and show it to them like a cinema. The dark theme of a movie theatre that makes film showing a hundred times better will be changed into a light, joyous theme, as I happily report each of the books I’ve been keeping inside my bag. This is me that time, ma, I said. This is me and my girl first met, pa, I added. Bro, got me my new Mercedes, I bragged. Then I show them the pic of me when I was a baby, saying

“This is the best thing I ever did”

Song: Twice - The best thing I ever did