Work Text:
November 9th, 1990
Wake up: pray, wash up, eat breakfast, and leave for school.
It was my morning routine.
Walk home, show my parents what I did at school, pray, eat dinner, do homework, and sleep.
That was my night routine.
The mundane routine is the same, over and over again. Especially praying, I always prayed even if I didn’t believe in it. My parents have, since I was born. They thought Mother Mary could cure my high blood pressure, 19 years later and I still have it.
I mean, I guess it isn’t always the same. Sometimes when I feel ‘rebellious’, I’ll stay past curfew when getting my medicine. Maybe treat myself to a dinner that isn’t cooked with prayer and faith.
I didn’t do much, didn’t talk to anyone really other than the necessary. It was nice, but also isolating. But since my family didn’t like me going out with outside influences. They’d try to get me to talk at church, but I didn’t put any effort in.
It’s hard, I don’t know why.
I want to leave, I want to be an artist in Europe with their sketches on display. I want to taste the salt of the sea on my tongue, while I lay in the sand. To feel the breeze on my skin while we ride alongside the cliffs of Italy. But I doubt they’ll become reality, just silly whimsical dreams.
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November 16th, 1990
I haven’t done anything interesting, it's hard to update my journal.
I just feel alone, I’m always begging for forgiveness in prayer. I don’t do anything wrong, at least I don’t think so. My parents think anything abnormal is the devil's work. So I’m stuck in my loop, as always.
Maybe, tomorrow I’ll try to find an excuse to leave home for a bit.
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November 25th. 1990
It’s thanksgiving break, or well more like it’s almost over. I didn’t do anything as usual, other than have dinner with my family. Argue over stupid things and storm off to my room.
Leading me here. I would sneak out but it's too much effort, my parents worry about me too much. I could be like others and sneak out, disobey and have bad grades.
But I don’t instead my father hyper fixates on small mistakes I make.
And my mother, she just cries. She wishes the best for me, I guess by worrying.
I want to leave, I hope to find a good college to be sent off to. I just don’t have the money, that or I’ll be sent to some catholic school.
I want to live a normal life, a life ‘full of sin’ my father says.
Whatever it is, I hope for it to be mine one day
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November 30th, 1990
Mother Mary, if you can hear me please, send me far away from here.
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December 23rd 1990
I forget I have a journal, and when I do remember it's really nice to write down my feelings. I just get scared my mother will find it and have me beg for forgiveness again.
I was sitting outside a restaurant, avoiding home again when I met a boy. He seemed my age, he was smoking, I tried it but instead I coughed and bled again. He seemed apologetic about it.
It was nice talking to someone that wasn’t a part of my church circle or at school. I learned about him and his struggles, he was a nomad always somewhere.
I envied that, not being chained somewhere. Especially here.
He was kind of cute.
Is that weird to say? I liked looking at him and his carefree attitude.
I’m a boy, it’s a sin to like another boy. I’m just admiring him, I admire a lot of people.
His name is Hayden and I really like him.
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