If you ask me about our house when I was twelve, I might have told you a lie. I might have told you that I live in a big house with rich neighbors in a subdivision. As I recall it, I refuse to tell where I live in whenever someone asks. Why? Reason: bullying in school.
I’m bullied most of the time in school. My classmates call me names such as a “son of janitor” or a “squatter”. In truth, both of them are not true. Yes, I am a son of an employee but my father was a school electrician not a janitor. I might be living on a poor settlement site but we are not squatters. Though we are still playing our lot, we still own our house. Our house is just small, only a mere two-storey building with an area of 40 square meters. The house exterior is not even painted. Why we were living there is a painful story to tell.
We just transferred since we got booted out with the government demolishing our house. I do not really know why and how that happened but I heard that we raised the issue in court. We had a document proving our grandfather owned a title of the land but the court said it was invalid. Too bad, the document was still written in Spanish and not renewed. That explains why we live in a cramped house. We desperately needed a house to stay in. We are seven in the family but we have no other choice but to stay in a small place.
During sleeping time, we roll in some sleeping mat in the first floor. This is where I, our youngest sister, and my parents would sleep in. My other siblings would sleep upstairs with my eldest sister in a bed, my two brothers in a double-deck.
Like any other kid with my age, I spend most of my time in school. If not studying, I’m with the chess varsity training. If I’m not in school, I’m playing games with kids in the neighborhood. I’m usually out of our house. Now, I wonder why is it I’m always out of our house? I guess I’m just enjoying the best out of my childhood. I’m still a kid, right?
This was thirteen years ago.
Writing Prompt: Writing 101—Size Matters (Assignment 11)