Wrong hole again


You can learn a lot about a person by listening to where in the sky they think the sun should start shining. Or some other intelligent opinion because the one thing people love more than having an opinion about all there is under the sun (and above) is having the impression that their opinion is Willy Wonka and that the rest of the people around them only have Oompa Loompas in between their ears. The terms people/person are used lightly.

North-west would be great for me. Not because my house doesn’t get enough sunlight, but because my house would block the sun in my neighbor’s living room so it would be cold in there, therefore they wouldn’t be able to spend a lot of time in the living room and everybody know that if you don’t spend at least 3 hours/ day in that particular room, you die. It’s a fact. I read it in this piece of paper from a magazine I found under a box, under the seat of my bus while heading to study what potatoes do during Mondays.

Today I found myself in a room with a few other people, see? And these people needed a trigger to release their Willy Wonkas, see? So ask me what the trigger was! I dare you! I double dare you mother tucker!

“The church is collecting signatures to forbid gay marriage so I signed their petition. I signed it in a second.”

(Then they all started saying how gay marriage is wrong and unnatural and evil. How gay marriage is a sin. How gay marriage killed one of their fathers back in the war. How gay marriage went out to buy some smokes and never came back. How gay marriage stepped in gum one day and scraped it of its shoe and then stuck it in Sally’s hair.)

They continued to say how homosexuality is a disease and how in the old days they would “take care” of people like that. If this wasn’t pitifully saddening they topped it by saying something along the lines of:
Being gay is b-b-b-bad, but letting a gay couple have kids (artificial insemination) /adopt is b-b-b-bad to the bone! *This has been put extremely lightly*

When is the last time you went to an orphanage? And I don’t mean a decent one. I mean a low to barely funded orphanage almost forgotten by the responsible officials. I am not talking about an orphanage in a big glimmering jewel of a city. I am talking about one situated in a place where all the citizens have it pretty hard.

Do you think that a child is better off without a loving family and an education? Because guess what! Gay parents kiss their kids before they put them to bed, they take their kids to school mornings and pick them up when school is over and they love children as any parent does.
Gay parents do not “gay up” their kids. Sexual preferences aren’t picked up like you pick up a cold. Take your Willy Wonka outta my face, people! Your opinions imply that more kids should remain orphans because gay couples are going to ruin them. Living in an orphanage is surely better than having two parents in your life that take care of you and love you every single day for the rest of your life.

So to all of the people who have bright ideas and sizzling brains because they though really, really, really hard and came to the conclusion that others should not be recognized by the state as a family because they have a similar anatomy in their pants -news flash- your Willy Wonka (opinion) came out of the wrong hole again-your mouth.


Broken b’homes


About a fortnight ago my father and I went to a local construction supply depot to buy this and that for our house. When we arrived I saw some dog houses for sale outside of the depot. They look really well-made and were extremely colorful. They reminded me of Snoopy’s dog house and gave me a little bit of nostalgia. A few seconds later I saw this limping dog getting closer to the houses. He (because the dog was male and I don’t like calling animals “it”) looked anxious and it took a peek inside each one of the houses. He wanted to go inside one or two of them, but the employees in the parking lot gave him a cold stare and he limped away to lay down somewhere else.
It’s funny how this got to me. We’ve all faced the challenges of finding a place to call our own. It is not easy. When we find a place we’d like to live, more often than not, we get cold stares of rejection from those around us or from the emptiness of our pockets(or bank accounts), the problems being mostly financial ones. A house is just a house. It takes people and memories to make it feel like home. After all, we’re all just a bunch of wounded animals in search for a place to call “home”.

Somewhere called home


I find myself, yet again, unable to sleep. In my restlessness, I gaze outside through the empty space where my future bedroom window is supposed to go. The house lies empty like a wooden rib cage sitting atop a concrete slab. The blowing wind pushes the sawdust in all directions causing short irritating noises like cheap sound effects in a low budget horror flick. As I hop from one wooden beam to another I notice the darkness below. Between the cold, dead floor and myself are only 4 meters and yet it seems like a precipice of endless proportions. Fear does that to the human mind. I continue to walk across the beams back and forth, singing whatever comes to mind. If I were to slip it would ruin all my fun. The wood under my feet smells of pine, making a strange combination with the odor of dust and drying cement, which I find surprisingly appealing. This wooden cage is so bothersome; making cracking and squeaking noises with my every move as if trying to complain of my presence.

I once again decide to take a peak at the world outside. I grab a beam, lean against another and start to think about the past days as I search for something interesting. I see the neon lit signs of two hotels: the closest one is yellow and the furthest one is red. Both hotels seem just as empty as the street. Power cables jump from pole to pole looking like old, dusty cobwebs that nobody has time to dispose of. I see rusted rooftops under the night’s sky, cars passing in a hurry over the black tar of the streets and people walking slowly, buried in themselves, as if they refuse to reach their destination quickly. I lie there, asking myself this and that, wondering about past and future.

Building a home is one of the most difficult things to a human being. A house means nothing more than a roof between the stars and yourself, but home is the place where the stars can be seen shining brightest. The past three years have been eventful to say the least and during the years to come I hope to find the last missing piece of home.