Grandmother is not coming home. Her home. Well, she’ll find herself a new home. From a nursing home that is. After falling in the middle of the night a few weeks ago she couldn’t get up. She had not been eating well so she passed out. She simply doesn’t remember to eat regularly.

Returning to blank state, in a way similar to an infant. Where an infant learns, Grandmother forgets skills. She has forgotten the place where she lived for over fifty years in merely three weeks. Her life is being undone.

I feel bad from finding joy from this all, I really do. It’s not like I don’t like her or want to see her go, it’s just that I haven’t really known her for a long time. It’s easy to feel detached from pain that doesn’t quite reach you.

I’m living in her apartment watering her flowers and cleaning her floors for now. For free. And I get to keep my cat with me.

I feel bad for not feeling bad for my grandmother, but at least she’s not missing her old home. Maybe it’ll be enough of a punishment for this bad grandchild to spend weeks trying to learn to live in a space that’s supposed to belong to my grandmother.

Sometimes my ability to adapt to new situations is less than desirable. Let’s not talk about the anxiety I felt when mother helped me prepare the bed in grandmother’s room. Usually I would only steal a glance at the room through half open door while walking pass it at most. Now I sleep in the room I previously had hardly stepped into even though I don’t recall anyone specifically saying I shouldn’t.

It’s been difficult accepting this new role in the apartment. Just shopping for groceries and bringing them here. Using the kitchen the way kitchens are meant to be used. Cleaning. Using the television. None of these tasks are challenge for me, it’s just that I’m performing them at my grandmother’s place. Well, it’s mine now. Technically. And the last task is actually a challenge because usually I’d let others choose the channel but the cat doesn’t seem to have any interest in doing that so I need to learn to be more confident and decisive. I can’t live of off other people forever.

Thank you sister for showing me the ropes and giving me a shadow where to stand and learn how to live, but now you have a boyfriend and a child, a family, and I cannot follow in your steps anymore, my guide. It’s about time I let you go, and took off the mask I’ve become one with.

I’ll successfully make the call I stressed over all week and failed making next Monday. I will do it.

I almost forgot. I was gone for a few months. Sorry. Not that there’s anyone other than me specifically waiting.

Parrots and jellyfish. They’re are not especially interesting. They’re not especially uninteresting either. I’m indifferent towards them. That’s the word for it. It’s a bit annoying getting roasted by a English book we’re using in this course, but there’s no helping it.

They talk about “red strings” and stuff. I lost those long time ago, and ever since I’ve been wandering lost within my own words. It’s not that bad to be honest. The words make up their own world, and exploring a world different from ours can be intriguing. Other’s words can feel like a suffocating cacophony. Can you just stop talking? I can’t differentiate between yours and someone else’s words when you keep talking at the same time anyway, so for me, it’s just the same whether or not you keep listening to your own voices. I won’t understand you anyway, so please spare my nerves and keep your empty words for yourselves.

Who knew that on top of a free warm meal there would be grilled sausages. Someone forgot about it. It was a good addition to otherwise vegetarian meal. Vegetarian, not vegan. Meatless anyway. After slipping away from the school’s sports afternoon I feel slightly regretful. Why? I’m a bit out of breath and have a mild headache. But still, it’s the last sports afternoon I’ll ever have in that school. I could have tried padel once more, for free, with other people. Except most people choose pair or group sports with their friends if they choose them at all. It’s probably better to not be standing there as an extra. I have to believe so. I have to.

The button “v” fell off and now I just press the nub that used to be hidden under the fancy pancy button. Nubby nub. I think I’m autistic. I’ve been wondering about the possibility for the better part of the decade, and few months ago when I asked about it from my mother, she said that she was wondering about the same thing when I was a small child. The most reliable looking online test I’ve found gives me a score of 28-29, right in the middle of the Asperger’s bracket. Go figure.

It’s quite late but I’m not feeling sleepy. Well I am. But I don’t feel like sleeping which is dumb. I want to write some story or draw, but they wouldn’t turn out like what I had in mind, so I won’t do it. Not tonight.

This silence and night time serenity. Glowing lights, both above and below my 6th floor apartment. New roommates. Apparently it’s an eye condition that makes lights glow. I like my sleepy eyes. And the darkness pierced by lights that make the scene look dreamy.

I strongly dislike motorcycles and mopeds. They make my mind and ears hurt. Owie. They always seem to be the loudest vehicles around. Of course there’s also those cars that make my windows shake when they pass by, but for now those aren’t going to bother me too much. Cars can’t pass by my house right now. They can’t. Unless they’re flying cars. I haven’t seen those yet. I’m glad.

If only. Time. Stop. Let me dance with the lights in the sky without being burdened. Don’t breathe. Breathe. Hard choice. What would you do? In 20 seconds balance is lost and soon enough you find yourself 20 minutes into the future with no way to return. Lost time, eh? Sure, most people can’t do it. Not so fast at least. Sometimes even less than 15 seconds is enough to see glowing lights that don’t produce light and aren’t fixated on a spot. Out of breath. What’s the point of purposefully trying to breathe when you were born with breathing problems written in the stars above. Others have it worse I know. I shouldn’t complain so. My mistake.

How nice. It’s Thursday. It’s been a while. I’ve been stressed for a while. While I’m at it, I should probably try and have a wholesome day. Or maybe not. I miss my cat’s whiskers. Wheee! Where is this world going, What should I do? While writing this, I’m wondering what should I listen to. In the music department obviously.

I’m supposedly in school right now. Blergh…! I dislike distance schooling. It’s hard to focus, and being in the classroom A.K.A. my own room most of my time makes it hard to make difference between studying and free time. It’s all getting mixed up. Basically I’m having free time and studying all the time, and I hate it. School work is constantly on my mind and I’m beginning to get a mental block on some of the projects that I’m supposed to do. The projects are those kind of school work that I’m meant to work on after school at home, but there’s no “after school” anymore.

Not only that, but I can’t wiggle my way out of some tedious, time consuming and overly easy and boring stuff, since all the teachers see with one click who has returned their homework and who hasn’t, and who did their work in the class, and who skipped it. If there are no returns you have skipped class. For a idiotic perfectionist like me it’s a nightmare, especially since I need to log in in at least 5 different sites with WiFi that I’m sharing from my mobile phone. I’ve been marked to have skipped 5 classes already, but don’t worry, I’ve stressed thrice their worth. Technical difficulties are causing my hair to turn gray prematurely.

He said he’ll come here tomorrow. I’m… Never mind that one.

Procrastination. That’s what I’ve supposedly been writing about for an hour. It’s just 10 sentences, but one thing leads to another, and now I’m here writing about what I should be writing about. Well done me, well done. At least I’m okay as long as I’m ignoring the fact that I’m stressed out and fled from the place where I had originally evacuated after schools closed down. Indefinitely…

Today I opened my room’s window. Well, one of the two. It’s not completely open, I’m not a complete idiot. I just figured I should air my stuffy little room a bit. In the end the window I opened at noon is still open. It’s 8 pm. I like listening to cars passing by and random pedestrians going about their lives.

For a while I thought about going out today, but I had already promised myself that I’d let myself be. I did go to the movies yesterday. I watched Parasite. I liked it. I must say I understand why the characters did what they did. I don’t think anyone was in the wrong, it’s just mistakes that everyone did that made everything fall apart.

I had planned to study today, but I kind of drifted off. Time flew by. “Just one more”. “I’ll eat something first”. “Where’s my notebook?”. Excuses. I’m tired. I should probably eat something and head to bed before I drift off again. Next time I check the time the clock might show 1am. That’s been happening a lot lately.

I should probably get a grip before I doze off and realize it’s been a few years. Sometimes it just feels like I’m trying to hold water in my hands. No matter how hard I try the water falls between my fingers before long. If nothing else, the warmth of my skin makes it vaporize and disappear into the air.

Sometimes it’s just hard to feel not feel intimidated. It wasn’t that long since I was a child, and now I’m expected to stand on my own while the ground is quaking. Or maybe it’s just me who’s having tremors.

The clock’s 21.29 now. I’m scared. I just want to sleep and forget. I want someone to take care of me and love me. Maybe the world wouldn’t be so scary place if I could watch it from the safety of my loved one’s arms. But it’s also scary to give yourself wholly to someone. They have the power to hurt, and I’m fragile.

I feel pain over the smallest things. You should’ve seen me when I first learned that my sister’s boyfriend has a bong. You should’ve seen me when I went to my sister’s housewarming party and pretty much everything had alcohol in it. I walked out when they brought out the bong. I was so scared, anxious and angry then. I was shocked. I had been told that they didn’t actually use it.

For me drugs are something scary that mess up your mind. I’m already enough of a mess even without them. It’s okay if people use them within reason, but seeing my own one and only sibling talking about drugs in a small dimly lit apartment with beer cans here and there was too much for me. At that point I started collecting my things. When I was about to head out everyone except for one person had gone to bedroom with the bong.

The person remaining in the living room was one of my former classmates from middle school. She’s okay. She was drunk, but still okay. She asked me where everyone had went (She had been in the kitchen eating snacks or something). I told her they were in the bedroom with the bong, and her eyes lit up. She joined them. She was excited. I was even more shocked.

At that time I was so upset that me, who has generally troubles showing their feelings in front of other people, was on the brink of having a mental breakdown right there in the stairway. I hastily walked out with my helmet, barely stopping to tie my shoes properly.

When I got out two of my sister’s guests were smoking in the yard. One of them was another one of my former classmates, and the other one was probably her boyfriend or something. The girl asked if I was alright. I evaded the question by telling them that the bong was out of the closet. The two of them didn’t feel like going. It made me feel a bit better. I hopped on my moped and left. I used the longer route back home. I cried. It was the first time I actually screamed out my bad feelings. I was that upset.

When I got home mother asked how was the party. I said it got too rowdy for my taste. Mother said that how it usually goes when you’re the only one not drinking. She could’ve driven me there and back. I told her I was tired.

I guess there’s a part in me that has remained a child even though I’m already legally an adult. I’m scared of many things that are part of everyday life. Like walking into a store I’ve never visited before. Talking to people when there’s no clear and simple reason to or if they don’t talk to me first. Being responsible for myself. Trusting people.

It’s just easier to watch life from behind a glass screen. It’s like a storm outside my room. Sometimes it’s just better to crack the window open just enough to hear, see and smell the life from a safe distance, instead of stressing myself everyday. It can’t be that bad to oneself a rest every now and then.

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to lose a limb or the use of it at least. Even temporarily. What if my right leg was a stub that ended right below the knee? What if I couldn’t use my left hand? I’m more of a leftie than a rightie when it comes the handy business. Most things in life require mobility. Walking. Eating. Majority of hobbies.

Suddenly having to adapt to a new situation sounds a bit scary. Breaking a bone isn’t all that frightening, but losing a limb for real is sort of permanent you know. The world of prosthetics is quickly advancing but what’s on the markets today isn’t really on the level of the real thing. Bionics and whatever other there is lack in accuracy when compared to real arms and legs. Meanwhile the person wearing them can compensate and adapt to what prostheses offer, the prostheses themselves are just what they were made to be. Useful, but useful only to the degree their manufacturer had the ability and resources to make them. The bought arm just won’t learn the same way as the arm that’s directly connected to your nervous system.

I suppose in the leg department there are some designs that may make you jump higher or run faster but I’d still personally prefer to keep my limbs intact for as long as possible.

Today I saw a girl and her (assumed) mother at my school. The girl looked like a potential new student for the next school year. She seemed a bit younger than me, but old enough to be finishing 9th grade. Of course I didn’t ask them what they were doing at school, that would have been a bit odd thing to ask and possibly made them feel unwelcomed. I don’t want to make people feel that.

When they walked past me I noticed the girl’s right leg looked rather bony and thin, and her step was a bit asymmetrical. She wasn’t really limping but it wasn’t quite what you’d call “normal”. Not that there’s any “normal” way to walk. Everyone has their own style and some people’s walking style stands out less than others’.

When the girl and her mother sat down near to me I couldn’t help but take steal a glance at her leg. Now that she was sitting her I saw her knee even better through her jeans. It really was what I thought. A prosthetic leg.

It was the first time I saw something like that so close. Of course I was a bit curious. I kept observing the pair. A subtle glance here and there when they were sitting near to me. When the student counselor came to take them to her office I watched the girl walk away. I’m just guessing, but I think they came to talk about the girl’s special needs and possible disabilities that come along when you can wear legs the way you wear clothes. (On a side note: There’s 5 floors and no elevator in the current school building, but if my memory serves me right our school is moving at least temporarily to another building over the summer break.)

I just hope that the girl and her mother didn’t notice me, or if they did they were understanding. I didn’t mean to be rude but new things often make me curious. I’m very well aware that having prosthetic limbs doesn’t change the person, and that it’d probably be better to ask directly, but I don’t want to bother a random passerby with questions they most likely have heard thousands of times before. I’ll need to try and figure out how to balance being (or trying to be) polite and being bothersome. maybe I’ll have a change to learn more about her next year.

Prosthetics aren’t that common amongst the youth in a country that hasn’t been in a war since the 1940’s so at least for me people who have artificial limbs remain a mystery. Of course there’s always birth defects and car crashes where one may notice that they have less than 2 upper limbs and 2 lower limbs but on average those cases are uncommon, so prosthetics remain uncommon too.

That’s the time I woke up. There was no alarms but I got up for a bit. It was still 3 hours before I would need to eat breakfast and go to school. I wish I would’ve had those 2 or 3 hours of proper sleep but what can you do. I was sad. So, so sad.

It was a dream-, no a nightmare that woke me up early. Actually, I’m not sure if “nightmare” is the word to describe it… It definitely wasn’t a dream though. It was one those recurring dreams I’ve had since I was a child. I don’t see them regularly but every now and then they come back with different variations of themselves. There’s usually lot’s of changes in details and also something more major that affects the dream more than whether it’s cloudy or sunny.

For example when I was in middle school I was in a cruise ship with my middle school class and teachers, but now I’m more likely to be there with people from high school. Sometimes the recurring dreams might link to each other, or the surroundings might look different. There’s one dream where the layout is usually completely different from the last time I saw it but there’s always something that I recognize. It can be the atmosphere. It can be some person. It can be something about the interaction or roles or even just a sense of familiarity.

Last night’s dream wasn’t cruise ship. It wasn’t the weird disco district I see sometimes. Oh no… Even though those have been pretty dark at times but they’re generally lighter than the dream that woke me up.

The dream I saw depicts the fall of society. At the beginning everything is normal. This time around I’m driving a car instead of walking or cycling around the town. I go to friend’s house to pick her (I think the friend was a she) up. There was an old~ish tall man living there too. He was skinny and clumsy. A mute.

That’s when I realized the cruel variation that was waiting for me. I knew what was going to happen. It was like I was a time traveler who had seen how things were going to go in few hours, day or two tops. And there was nothing I could do to stop it since it had already begun. Meanwhile I was aware of what was going on, I wasn’t quite aware that it was a dream.

I knew the old man was done for, and he seemed to be on the same page even though I was supposedly the only one who knew. My friend went outside ahead of me and I had a conversation with the mute. He used sign language and his face, and I understood that he understood and he wanted me to take my friend away from him.

Meanwhile “zombie apocalypse” doesn’t feel like accurate term for the incoming catastrophe it is the best term I can think of. I know in the dream people who get sick are beyond saving and are considered essentially dead and are dangerous for healthy people “zombie” doesn’t feel right. In some variations of the dream affected have been able to regain their senses just enough to let me go or sometimes even cured, but this wasn’t going to be one of those. This was going to be a miserable tragedy. I just knew it.

At some point while “talking” with the old man doomed to die very soon I had realized that I was asleep but it all was just so real that when I forcibly pulled myself out of the dream I was shaking allover. The anxiety… Knowing that everyone you know is going to suffer and die running and hiding from people out of their minds. Die scrambling for food, with no shelter. And there was no avoiding it.

But in the dream or right after waking from it I felt no fear. Just endless sadness. Like a big eyed doe standing in the headlights, knowing the inevitable, crying because it doesn’t want to see the end.

I’ve lost all my friends and been hiding alone more than I care to remember in that dream. It’s frightening to be alone when you know that it’s highly unlikely to see a familiar face again. Sometimes there has been someone to miraculously save me but not always. I guess I’m lucky since so far the dream has always ended before I’ve been caught, but sometimes I’ve spent long, long time running away from hoards before waking… Still, the tragic sadness of knowing incoming misfortune was more hurtful than those lonely times on the run.

Why is it so hard to get a sincere apology? Don’t you see that I’m hurt? Or do you not just care? There has been plenty of times I was scared of you ever since I was a child.

You were always the first one to punish me. Even my grandmother saw that you were rougher with me than you were with my big sister. Do you not want me?

Is there something wrong with your head? Is that the reason you have that look of insanity in your eyes when you’re angry? Is that the reason your rage bursts out unhindered like tsunami wave that washes away all reason?

When the wave hits it hits whoever you’re angry at. You vile beast. Only person who’s safe from you is the one you love. I’ve come to accept that my feelings for you are that of dislike and fear. I’m sorry but that is true.

Meanwhile I was scared of you at times as a child you made that state permanent when you physically hurt me while you were trying to hit my beloved sister’s boyfriend. Again. I only wanted to stop you. I stood between you and the one you tried to hurt. You used to be one of my anchors in this world, and I tried protect that. That’s why I stood between the two of you.

When you hit my sister’s boyfriend, you hit most of what I had believed in as a child. Never before you had been so physical. Never. Not ever. You were so fixated on hitting the boyfriend again that you actually pushed and scratched me to get to him. Even after he had slipped outside behind me. The scariest part of it all was how happily you smiled after the incident. You smiled like you had done the right thing when you hurt physically 2 people and mentally 3 people. You smiled like there’s nothing wrong in the world while you were cutting grass. My poor, poor sister. You were going through so much even without having to see it all.

I got bruised. I got scratched. My nail got chipped to the point of bleeding. But those were only the visible wounds you gave me. Afterwards I haven’t been able to even think about you without feeling anxious for all the wrong reasons. Being near you makes me feel trapped. You make me flinch away. I’ve tried to talk about it, but I’m too scared of making you angry that I can’t speak directly to you about what happened. I know sister’s boyfriend is a tender subject to you. You’d most certainly get angry for being blamed for hitting people. You truly believe you are not in the wrong.

Meanwhile you were made to apologize I never felt like you meant it. You apologized to my sister. You apologized to my sister’s boyfriend. You apologized to me. But you did it because you were made to do it. That’s why it was not meaningful. You didn’t seem sorry for what was done. At most you were sorry for making your children cry and your wife mad at you. I haven’t forgiven you, nor forgotten what happened.

It pains me to see that crazed look in your eyes when my little 1.5 years old nephew touches something he has no permission to touch. Like the speakers in the living room. Or the seeds you are readying for the short summer months. Or a smartphone that is not your work phone. Or your tools.

I’m still waiting for the day you sincerely apologize for the mental scars those insignificant scratches gave me. Why do you feel like you did the right thing when you raised your hand that day. I’m curious why you have that look. Did you inherit it from your father I never met? Why did you hit me? Is that really what you want to pass on to your children?

Father, why?