Alone

As a toddler I remember hating being alone. My parents probably remember this clearly as I used to sneak into their bed at night, leaving them bruised and sore from my rolling and kicking. Growing up, I would constantly run into my brother's room where the AC would be running, 'Bone Thugs & Harmony' or 'DC Talk' would be blaring, and my brother would be pounding away on his Sega Genesis. As a kid this was always comforting. Having someone in the same room, filling up space and creating a ruckus meant the silent unknown was less formidable and less inclined to wrap its tentacles around me. As a kid, my imagination was much more frightening than the mundane. I wasn't a coward, I wasn't always afraid -- then and now, being alone is only a problem when I'm hit with the sudden realization that there is no one else with me and if anything bad happens to me or pounces on me, there wouldn't be anyone to come to my rescue.

As an adult I'm not gripped with the same fear as I was when I was younger. But the realization of being alone gives me the same irrational hopelessness, and longing for something to run home to. I'm in a very quiet house where the only noise comes from the whirling of the fan, the beats and tunes from my stereo, and the engine of cars that drive 17 floors below me. These are empty sounds. The first thing I noticed when my parents left for the States at 3am was the lack of chattering in the morning that usually wakes me up. The second thing I noticed was the eerily quiet living room where the radio would usually be tuned to a senti- or classical music station. I guess these are the things I miss most right now. Noise doesn't fill a room, it just creates an atmosphere. And the atmosphere my parents created is gone. I guess this is the reason why I'm hit with the realization that I'm alone.