alive (April 19, 2011)

My mom keeps calling me. I know she's going to yell at me. I'll save myself the guilt trip, and ignore her call, again. 

She's probably worried about my younger brother: gay and lost. He doesn't come home early anymore. He stays out late, claiming the bus has not arrived. I remember those nights. I used to yearn to be in the streets, get the attention I deserved from guys on cars honking and asking if I want a ride back home because its already 3 a.m. and I am still in Downtown, "waiting for the bus." 

Except I was smarter about it. My friends knew to vouch for me when she called, because I knew she would.

She worries. It's not so much about me being a cock-sucking queer, but rather about the fact that she knows of the harms to be gay in a homophobic society (after all, she's a product of the heteronormative culture). 

My youngest brother texts me and tells me to call my mom because she is worried, just as I suspected. I am hesitant to call though. I am scared of hearing the truth -- that I am fucking up with my life. My dad wants a break, he needs it. He's been working two full time jobs since he was sixteen. I can't seem to care enough to call her. 

Instead I text him, hoping he'd take my worries away. His naiveness to my fancying him irritates me. I wish I were bold. But I burden myself with the doubts. I'd rather live with not knowing that looking like a fool. I know its never going to be real, so I no longer bother.   

I told myself that this year, I would no longer allow the silence to consume me. But I see how my doubt weakens me. It makes me who I really am.

She's calling again. If I answer, I will have to confront reality. 

A reality that I am clearly afraid of. 

He's asleep now. I can't run to him.

"Hello?"

"Luis Humberto Roman...!!!" 

I knew it would start with tears and my full name. 

What worries me the most is the truth. A truth I have to embark on as I make the decisions that are going to either lead me to happiness or haunt me into regret. 

I know the status of myself, and understand the reality of my surroundings. I admire my strengths and value my challenges. Yet I am critical of the manifestation of both into actions. For what lies ahead is a showdown-of-some-sort that will involve me elevating my strengths, and admitting my challenges -- to others. 

To others who may have nothing but critiques to offer. While I welcome the constructive feedback, I am uneasy about the core of those remarks. Are they genuine or are they reactionary? Are they against me or for me? Sure, these questions should not dwindle in my head too much, but i cant help but wonder. 

I have given up so much of myself. But few people will ever credit that. For they will never understand that it is never about me. It is always about him, her, them, those I have not seen, and those I will be meeting soon. 

I want to text him and tell him I'm thinking about him. 

I stop myself. I dial her number. My mom answers. 

"I love you," I tell her.