Nobody

I lived a pretty average life as a kid.

Average mom, average dad, average brother, and even average pets, if this even counts—overall, an average household, I would say.

It is no wonder I grew up being an average person, too.

You are probably wondering why I used the word “average” a lot in that span of a few sentences, when there could be dozens of words that could be a substitute for it.

Well, you see, if there is a word more easily understood to describe my seemingly “mediocrity” than “average,” then yeah, that would probably be it.

But it did not always feel that way...

Growing up, I remember getting pampered like any child would be, by loving parents no less.

Hugs and kisses were all too common, and so are the interactions.

This was even before and after my younger brother came into the world.

Him entering our lives did make certain changes, however—for once, I am no longer just the child of the home, but that also means that there is also another person to care for.

I did not mind—I was just a kid, after all—as all I cared about was when my next meal was and who and what to play with.

But having a younger sibling can and does affect you—at most times, I was his protector, being the older brother who had to monitor him daily and ensure his safety; in other cases, I was a friend at play.

I was never the perfect older brother, however—when arguments arise, I can also be his temporary enemy.

The thing about experiences like these, though—it shape you inwardly, even the way you view the world around you.

But while our encounters with life can and do mold us to become the person we will eventually become, reality can sometimes hit hard.

In the real world, heroes do not come as humans with childish dreams.

In the real world, people look after themselves first before they account for others—hardly the stuff of heroes, or at least the kind we fantasize heroes should be.

This is the real world—a world where people are often on their own, just trying to survive.

I thought I was not any different...

You see, when you come of age, you tend to outgrow everything that may be childish of you.

That toy you have always wanted can eventually be just a thing you want to keep, not play with.

The friends you once thought would be forever in your circle can dwindle and even vanish altogether.

And mostly, it is just about the way you see life, in general.

When you have outgrown your childishness, you see the world for what it is, without the veneer.

It is not always sunshine and rainbows, and it is not always black and white.

Good things may happen, but so do the bad and the disappointments.

See, these things can affect the way you view stuff in life.

But you know what, looking back, I sometimes think that a child’s perspective can be good sometimes—better, even.

Because, maybe, it is in that mindset that the world could be a better place.

Like, maybe, having heroes, perhaps?

Or maybe, like people who maintain the peace by keeping the evil ones at bay, while the people sleep soundly, knowing that they are safe?

Yeah, that is a fantasy I could sleep in soundly.

Admittedly, like perhaps any other children, I dreamt of becoming a hero, more times than I could count, at their age.

A time when I can shamelessly imitate the stuff seen only on TV—be it in live action or anime.

I remember a time when my friends and I used to do just that.

I cannot recall exactly the choices I made in those periods, but I know for sure that they were worth imitating.

Not only are we assigning roles based on our unique preferences, we also copy the way they move, too, especially the signature moves that make them stand out from the rest.

It was all fun and games, for sure, but it is in this fantasy that we get to live something we know we could not otherwise.

But what if these fantasies can be truly lived somehow, will I embrace it?

In this world, that would be tough luck.

However, in a different world entirely, then maybe...

#

The alarm clock rang exactly at 5 in the morning while I was asleep.

It is another one of those busy days ahead, like the rest.

As much as I hated waking up early in the morning, a guy like me has to work.

Otherwise, who else is going to pay the bills?

The rent alone is already expensive, and what about the rest?

Don’t get me going on how costly it is to raise dogs and the food I would have to eat many times a day.

“Ugh, can I not get another 5 minutes more of sleep? I’m still tired...”

This has become my usual soliloquy as soon as my mind has become aware, essentially me nagging myself why I do not feel rested.

Yet, another more of those minutes can take hours, if unmediated, for someone whose body is badly in need of rest.

Just like the time he gave in, only to wake up an hour later, and be late for work.

Lack of sleep—or at least, the feeling of it—is no longer a stranger to me, as soon as I reached puberty.

Like any other individual whose sleep is secondary only to amusement, losing rest means nothing compared to the boredom that takes time and energy to alleviate.

I hope I knew better—but at this point in my life, I simply do not.

I guess, in my mind, it was better off waking up tired but happy than teeming with energy but also sad.

There was no common ground—or was there not? 

What about the best of both worlds?

But you know what sucks than getting up from bed tired and getting to work seemingly half-alive? It is that of getting home, almost passing out—though not literally.

Man, I hate to say it, but this routine is toxic—it is killing me slowly, from the inside.

Something has got to change... somehow.

#

I got off work at 5 PM sharp.

Tired as usual because of the mental and physical toil it took to finish an entire day’s work.

To replenish a bit of the energy I spent, I would always hit the nearby cafe for some quick grub and a cool drink.

“An egg sandwich and an iced tea as usual, please,” I said to the waitress, as she joyfully caters to this poor soul, craving for sustenance.

“Egg sandwich and iced tea coming right up,” she said, still as bubbly.

Waiting for my food to arrive did not take long, which is unsurprising for something as simple yet delicious as a scrambled egg between two slightly toasted slices of bread and an essence of leaves blended in cold water.

Munch, munch, munch.

Om nom nom.

This might be out of sheer hunger, but with every bite and gulp, it felt like my life was slowly getting back to me.

I have been eating the same set of foods the past several days after work, but man, they always taste the same—they are great!

“Ha...” I sigh in relief as I finish the meal.

I looked at my watch and realized that I had only been eating for 15 minutes.

But something in me pressed to leave the premise and go home quickly—so I walked the path I used to take to go home.

When you become used to treading the same path for longer than you can imagine, there is a sense of ease with every step you take and the sights you see.

You become carefree because they are familiar.

It is so linear, it feels as if it would be virtually impossible to get lost, even when going at it blindfolded.

Not sure what happened, but suddenly, there is something strange with the road I am taking.

As if in a haze, everything seems a little blurry.

A fog in the middle of summer... 

Now, that is weird.

But I kept on walking, thinking I would arrive at my destination somehow if I just pressed myself forward.

I am not sure how many steps I have taken so far or for how long I have been treading the path, but the road felt longer than usual—seemingly endless, even.

Weird simply does not justify the experience.

But weirder still is the tunnel I am now faced with, soon after I stopped walking.

“Wait, has there always been a tunnel around here?” I asked myself.

That is odd, considering I know the place like it is the back of my hand.