Hollow soul, hollow heart, a hollow person, nothing left but scars. Passiveness, hatred, compassion, disappointment, sorrow. I walk through the streets like a ghost through dreams. I wake up in the morning, glide to the shower, black out, and I am soon in my room getting dressed. I walk outside to the open world, and I feel my playground more open. Instead of being a lonely ghost in a lonely house, I am now a lonely ghost in a lonely world. I walk past others, as if I don’t exist. I ride the bus like everyone else, yet I only matter if I am one of the occupants of the seat you so badly desire. During the day I am part of the hustle. I exist because as an entirety we all exist. At night I’m a dark ghost blending with the night. I walk slow looking around. The rush of cars on the street to my right. I lift my head to peer at the quiet sidewalk ahead. I pause my observations to notice I make no noise when I walk. I am alone. I look all around to see the big buildings surround me the empty street with one dim light. I fade into the darkness; I am one in this world. I begin to dwell into my effect on this world. I as a single person do not matter. I walk through these streets, with no sound, yet I exist? The bottle I kicked makes noise, yet I am not seen. I walk next to a dark green car and hope to see my reflection, only to see the playground behind me. My eyes dry and lifeless. I see no soul in the mirror, only shadow. I walk into my home see my grandmother and a flood of gratitude and sorrow stream through my brain. I smile to myself and I climb quietly to my room in the attic. I lay in my bed, thinking about my past. I see the pain, I feel the tears, and I hear the voices. I begin to lose myself in the motion picture of my mind. I relive the moments that have ultimately stripped me of my emotions, defined who I am. I feel no happiness, just a sense of disappointment with the world. I then think about all the lives that are running the same movie I am. I think of how all our stories exist individually, yet never seen.
I sit in a car staring out the window, perceiving everyone’s life. I look to my mother, in the passenger seat and I transport into her shoes to feel how her past was, what she thought as I bled on the floor. I shift focus to my right, my sister quiet like me, looking away. I stare and I began to feel sorrow for the times of hardships and bonding. She stares back I turn away. I peer into the dark black eyes in the rear view mirror. I picture my stepfather’s body weak and staggered on the floor. I question myself, why the instantaneous hate? Why the perception of violence? I quickly make an excuse and shift focus to people walking on the street. So oblivious to their lives, yet I so intrigued in them. I try to determine their lifestyle, who they are, why they are? I then think of the times I walked, and I imagine a kid like me in a car driving by wondering who that man on the sidewalk is. I play music so that I cannot hear anybody speak. I lean my head on the window, close my eyes. I travel into myself. I question my motives; I question what I do, why I did it, who I was, and who I am now? I think about my experiences and a tear runs down my cheek…I ask is this who I want to be? I’m supposed to be different, not like everyone else. Do I act like those I criticize? What did I decide to be and why am I not that person?
I’m awoken from my meditation by a tap from my sister, “we are here”. I step out the car and realize the tear is freezing on my cheek. I wipe it off and put my hood on. I wait for them to lead the way and I quietly, like a shadow, follow. I enter the room and I’m greeted by my stepfather’s family. I break my silence with a fake smile. i use one word answers for everyone that comes up to me. I sit with my family and begin to look around. I start thinking about who is there and what I think of them. There’s my stepfather’s sister and her daughter , “Amy”, who quit school because she was all set with her job and then she got pregnant at 18. “Bobby” walks by and I focus on how he is a cop and figures he could give intimidating advice to all the teens in the room. I see “adielitto”, the brother of “Amy”, thinking he’s cool because he has a semi-decked out car. Yet, he got arrested by “Bobby” because he was caught doing graffiti. “Kevin” and “Danny” the only two I respect. Deserved respected brothers. Time goes by and I see my step-dad walking around having a good time and my head gets hot. Why can’t he enjoy being with my family when we try to celebrate birthdays. Everyone in my family always asks where he is. He never shows up to our parties. I sit back in my chair waiting for the day to be over where I can go back to my room, in my own world. Nobody to criticize me or control my life. I wish I could do things like I dream them, but that’s a broken reality. I’m nearing the point where I have to move away from my family, but they highly depend on me. Will they be able to survive without me? My sister, my brother? I can’t leave them in that household without a guardian. My mother seems to be under control of this man. All her decisions are for the benefit of him and her, none for the children. Thank God I live with my grandparents; otherwise I would’ve had a harder life. Now my grandparents have to move away because the house they live in was sold. Now they move to Florida and I am forced to decide whether to stay or leave. If I stay, I might have to live like a ghost with my mother. I am heard and noticed when I make a change to their lives, but not seen. You always here speakers talk about the decisions we make can redirect the path our lives take. Here I am faced with one and all I wish I could do is run away from it. My life is determined whether I am comfortable moving to a new state or staying with all the drama here in Boston. However, I have a good reputation here with many organizations and places. Days go by and every time I think about it I sigh. I wish I never had to make this decision. After two weeks I think I have come up with my decision. The question is… did I make the best choice?