The Guest House

Act 1 Chapter 2

When I was 16, something really bad happened to me. Ever since then, whenever I had a nightmare, a racing heart beat, a suicidal thought, or all three in that exact order, I blamed it on that. I was confused as to how people seemed to be fine with it. I knew that they’re bothered by it, but they never seemed to deal with it like I did. They never reprogram their brains with experimental technology to bury those memories. They never want to burn their school down despite already graduating years prior. But maybe someone, somewhere, somehow did. I was just unlucky to never met them all these years.

Until I thought, “you know, having something you considered as childhood trauma happen to you at such an age shy of adulthood is weird.” So I came up with a hypothesis:

What if something really fucking bad happened to me all the way back?

And so like a confused historian unable to speak a medieval language I started to dig deep into the darkest corners of my hazy memory. It wasn’t easy, all I remember was just my dad used to get physical back then. Okay but everyone got beaten up by their dad at least once in their lifetime. So I dag deeper.

I found a clip of memory so old, they were still together. I remember it was dark, at night time, my parents had an argument. I heard my mom saying something to my dad. Most of them weren’t clear, but some I could hear like mad, disappointed, expect better, or infidelity. I legit thought they were looking for me. He might’ve taken that as an insult or something worse than just a suspicion. Then I heard him saying something that I shouldn’t repeat to a child, mostly swear words anyway. After that, he straight up threw his phone to the floor. I was there when I saw it hit the ground and scattered all over the place. It got blurry after that. What’s worse was they got separated not that long after. Okay but everyone got beaten up by their possibly-suffering-from-anger-issues dad and saw him throw something to the floor at least once in their lifetime. So I naturally dag deeper.

However, nothing really came up. I changed my approach: how about my relationship with mom? Well, that’s a can of worm I’d like to avoid but for the sake of this chapter sure. I don’t think we get along, ever. There will always be something we disagree on. Unlike my dad I think my mom screwed me up in a more subtle way. When I was still living with her, I would yell at her and she would too. She started saying things or phrasing something and the vibes were off. I got pissed off and told her she didn’t acknowledge my feelings. She felt disrespected because I never let her finish her sentences. I cried, but I always turned away so no one noticed. Not sure if she could figure it out from my shaking voice though. She probably did. Okay, but everyone got beaten up by their dad and berated by their mom at least once in their lifetime.

She met another guy right after, unlike dad, an entrepreneur who got lucky investing in Bitcoin. He brought his son from his previous marriage too. He’s younger than me and all I remembered from him was that we fought a lot. Nothing serious, just little kids being little shit, I think at some point everyone who have a sibling will relate to this. Although I have to admit I did get really hard on him sometimes. And how did my new parents respond to this? They locked me in, simple as that.

I think it’s safe to say the hypothesis was proven.

I didn’t really understand the law or anything but after living on and off with mom and then dad, I ended up with my dad. I was young but even then I knew that lonely man didn’t have anything anymore. So he focused more on his lost spirituality, and I tagged along. We returned to his hometown soon after and met my extended family. It was this decision that simultaneously resulted in the best and worst outcomes in my life.

The good thing is, someone somewhere in the family finally took the responsibility to take care of me, the right and gentle way. The old lady from the church, the spiritual leader. She was a widow when she decided to focus more on her lost spirituality, much like dad. But she never beaten anyone up, threw something to the floor out of anger, berated or locked anyone. Her kids are all doing fine. Both are a decade older than me with families and jobs to take care of. Her husband died few years earlier, he was a heavy smoker. It took some time to trust her but eventually I did. I never tell her the full story of my life so far but even then she knew something was off. Eventually, I told her about that big fight when they were still together.

“And right after that they lived in different places and I had to like visit them in turns. Maybe next time someone calls out my name in the dark of night I should be careful. Who knows, it could be another bad omen!”

She gave me a faint smile before explaining to me, “I think you misheard something. Your mother was basically accusing your father of cheating.”

“What’s cheating? I thought you could only do that in math tests.” I asked, rather innocently. She laughed at my question before saying something to me.

“When you love someone so much you dedicate your whole life to them, live under the same rooftop, raise a child together, would you be mad, disappointed and expect better of them if they love someone else?”

“I thought I should love my neighbors like you said last Sunday. Does that count as cheating?” I answered as we walked across her garden. She’s really patient with me.

“Well, that’s a different kind of love, dear.” She said while she picked one of her flowers and gave it to me.

“How many types of love are there? Are they only exclusive to humans? Why do we love anyway?” I inspected the flower she gave me and asked, “do flowers love like us too?”

Growing up with Strangers in The Guest House did something to my brain. I always ended up asking the most stupid question ever. You know, things that were obvious to kids my age. Whenever this happened, people either ignored me, or yelled at me to shut up. But she never seemed to be bothered by any of that. She just smiled, sometimes she also laughed.

“You’re asking a lot of questions that puzzled humanity’s greatest minds, you know?”

Other than that, living in The Guest House would make some things, sometimes, freak me out. You know, things that weren’t scary to kids my age.

“Is.. is that a bad thing? Are you going to slap me for talking too much nonsense?”

She stopped walking and turned around, looking at me. “No. That just makes me adore you even more.” She held my hand and we continued our walk. I held on to her tightly. Weird, for the first time in my life I felt safe with her.

Things weren’t, and still aren’t, going well with my extended family. They really like to pick on me as if I’m the family’s scapegoat. My dad’s marriage falling apart? That’s because of me. My mom remarried and continued her life? Well they’re already satanic anyway and also my fault somehow. My dad lost his faith in the first place? My fault. The village rained for days? My fault. The soup was too salty? My fault. You forgot your homework? My fault. Your girlfriend left you? My fault. The Android TV wouldn’t boot and they couldn’t watch Netflix? Okay fine, that was actually my fault. It’s easy to blame everything to me because unlike [Cousin Name], I never knew the names of The Saints, or other stories about redemption of the soul by Ancient Priests, or whatever they were talking about. This is sadly another effect of living in The Guest House. You’re missing out on the Lore of Your Savior.

One day, one of them started calling me an infidel, to which I respond, “how can I be cheating on god, If I never love him? And how can I love him, if I never know him?”

I thought I was being clever, but they were all just dead shocked when I said that. Even the adults were making a weird face too. Turns out that word means something more than just not being faithful to your romantic partner. Also, turns out it was a really bad idea to confess to a group of devout followers of a religion born as an effect of The Third Great Awakening that you don’t know god.