I am
seventeen-and-a-half years old, and at a
crossroads
Last weekend, I walked down a quiet street in Manhattan (they do exist), and thought about the
chain of events that led me here.
I ran away from home when I turned 16. Now-- This wasn't a traditional running-away-in-the-heat-of-anger. Rather a well thought out and
meticulously planned escape, so much so that even my better judgement was ineffectual against its rationality.
I applied to
school. Got a full scholarship. Packed my bags, my
Trinitron, and left-- my parents could not stop me, and I think they were
afraid to-- for good reason. At the time, my sister had
cancer, and my parents had more to worry about than
me.
Only later did I figure out that this was the point of no return. I now had an
education, a place to live, a job. Once the
thrill of independence wore off, the
realization of independence set in.
Now I've
wandered off again, and found myself in
New York City doing kind of well for myself, I've done selfless research, and then sold out to
the man. I've been entertained by all that New York has to offer and entertained all sorts of
grandiose and righteous ideas (much like this writeup). I've met people, some bright eyed youths straight out of the corn-fed
midwest, eager and hopeful, and some products of the ghetto-made-good who have 'lived' more than I have had I been 40.
I've lived in extremes, sometimes with no money, sometimes with too much. I've known famous people, and spent
birthdays alone.
I've done the things expected of all of those burnt-out I-know-the-truth-at-seventeen prodigies. What do I have left?
I sometimes wish I'd just stayed at home, and spent some time with my
parents before our relationship so
abruptly changed from their being
caregivers to
equals. They're thinking of selling our
house in
Pittsburgh and moving to
Manhattan, and I'm trying to convince them not to. I was raised in that house from when I was born-- Even though I know I can't go
home again, if that house is still there, a piece of my
childhood still exists.
Unconditional love still exists.
I jumped into the river, too many times to make it home. I'm out here on my own, and drifting all alone.
I think it's time to get my head out of the clouds.
Vote this down, if you like-- I don't ramble like this too often=)