Home

I have no home. But I'll admit I live somewhere. If you were to ask me where I live, I tell you the address. But if you asked me where's my house, I'll say nowhere.

Home. I heard it's a place you can call your own. I heard it's a place to feel at ease, that nothing can harm you. Is that really it? I don't know, but for sure I know I don't have it. The house I'm in is simply no different from prison. Always angry or sick, always looking for a way out, dealing with people you despise. I'm not like those everyday teenagers kids you see on TV. I am not trying to go out with my friends to late night parties and what not, I am not trying to get away from my parents, nor am I sick of facing them everyday. No- I am just merely tired of the parasite, or shall I say parasites, in the house.

My uncle, aunt (which I would prefer calling them parasites) and their poor child lives with my family and grandparents. Day by day, night by night, the couple would occupy themselves with important duties. These duties would invole going out without the child, watching TV while leaving the child crying, worrying about their jobs instead of the child, and much more. Oh why yes, these are highly important compared to their mere attention-starved child. Everyday I would hear the child cry on the top of his lungs, while the father is away, the mother would be too busy satisfying her friends. She would leave my grandma to babysit sometimes, but she is old and tired. And the child would certainly not pick his grandma over his mother, thus his crying would continue.

There are more problems besides this one with my uncle and aunt. And because of this I would never have a place to call home, till then 'home sweet home' is another word that is to be defined and I would be always trapped in 'the house'.