Rain has been relentlessly falling in a suburban area since the break of dawn three days ago. The drainage system has not been able to contain all the excess water and it kept seeping through the walls into the basements of the residential houses. The residents' gardens turned into bodies of water. While the rain sound is so soothing to the ears the accumulating and visibly rising water levels have started becoming a source of concern to many property owners.
A mobile phone rings in a social housing flat during the early evening hours.
"Yes, dad. What's the urgency of your call this evening?"
"What do you mean by "urgency"? My calls are always urgent! I know this is going to be unpleasant for you to hear but..."
He wants to complain about something again. Perhaps, about the flooded basement this time. So many times I have tried to explain that I am not a specialized emergency services unit on stand-by in order to attend to each one of his daily emergencies. Something in his mind makes him think that I must be an expert in every trade there is.
"...your mother is having an affair with a colleague a quarter of a century younger than herself at work. Shameless beyond words!"
I've previously heard so many of such imaginary stories of his regarding the behavior of my mother. I got exhausted from reacting and overreacting to the "revelations" of this nature each time. Before I used to be overwhelmed by emotions when hearing such things because I believed there was no family harmony in that case. And there hasn't been. However, due to emotional fatigue I no longer know what is actually expected of me upon presentation with a newly minted piece of a never ending "saga of family affairs". Despite my social distancing it continues finding me even in the social housing flat: a symbol of my relative independence from the family of birth.
" Dad, what makes you believe so?"
"I know, I just know so and me knowing so is the necessary and sufficient proof!"
"In contemporary times one needs more reassurance to accompany such allegations rather than a personal opinion. Or one's imagination. However, if you are so persuaded by your "infallible truth", then why don't the three of you gather in some quiet place for a civilized discussion of the matter?"
"I don't need to discuss anything! All is already clear to me!"
"Good, dad. So what is your plan of action next? Are you going to divorce mother this time around and look for a woman of "higher morals" who deserves you as much as you deserve her?"
"No, I cannot divorce your mother. Unfortunately, our relationship has been fated."
"Well, why are you telling me all of this then?"
"Just so you know the true face of your mother."
Isn't somebody's "true face" in the eye of the beholder?
"O.K., dad. Now I know. Somebody is calling me on another line. I have to hang up. Please, give your head a rest. Bye."
"Hello, who have you been talking to all this time that I had difficulty reaching you just now? Have you met somebody and not mentioned to me yet?"
"I was on another call, mom. By the way, why does your voice sound so restless?"
"You won't believe what new imaginary allegations your father has just made against me. He has been insinuating that I've been having an affair with a colleague twenty five years junior at work. How can he treat me like that? After all the care and support that I've provided him with for all those years and decades. Meanwhile, he has even refused to cover childcare and current household expenses!"
"Well, mom, I don't know why he treated you like that or behaved the way he did. I am very sorry but I do not have answers to your heart wrenching questions. All I can say is for you to have a glass (or a few glasses for that matter) of water and try reading a book that I borrowed for you from the library. Perhaps, in its pages you will discover some long sought after solace."
"I knew it was a good idea to call you. Thank you for the tips for unwinding from the emotional turmoil caused by your father's imaginary allegations. Goodnight."
"Goodnight, mom."
In my turn, I feel so weighted down now. My parents have just unloaded onto my being the emotional and mental stress from their intramarital tensions. This ritual has taken place so many times before. Why is it that I can't escape this psychological codependency loop? During my (de)formative years I have suffered severe bouts of depression because of the family dysfunction. Therefore, unexplainable (to the potential employers) gaps in my curriculum vitae and never ending search for my place in the world. Luckily, social housing flat helps me keep some social distance from the atmosphere at my parents' house.
Suddenly a door bell rings.
Me: "Good evening, how may I help you?"
Courier: "Hello, flat four-o-four you've received a parcel that I need to deliver to your door in order for you to sign for it."
Strange, I do not recall ordering any parcels lately due to the budget constraints. Will accepting the unknown parcel get me into some kind of trouble? On the other hand, what if this is a one-in-a lifetime opportunity passing by? I certainly cannot let it pass me by. Should I try holding onto it then? Going by the way of "trial and error" has been exceedingly costly so far. I don't think I can afford one more mistake. What do I do?
The door bell rang again.
Courier: "Flat four-o-four, still waiting for your permission to enter the building."
Given the extant track record of the "wrong choices" this is highly likely to be one more of a kind. It seems, I have no ability of making the "correct choice". Otherwise, I wouldn't be in a limbo like this.
Me: "Delivery person, are you still there?"
Courier: "Sure, I am."
Me: "How about you take that parcel to where it came from?"
Courier: "Sorry, but it doesn't have a return address on it."
They must have forgotten to enter the return details. In that case, how about I take the parcel in and sort the whole situation out for myself.
Me: "Thank you for your patience. Please, come up and deliver the parcel that I do not recall ordering."
The label on the packaging reads "Gift to the Resident in flat four-o-four on the Winter Gardenia Street". Still unsure of what to do with the package I felt the urge of making a cup of herbal infusion; something to calm me down amidst the vows of the daily struggles.
When I was younger I had so many beautiful dreams about how my life was supposed to unfold. They all have been crushed one by one by the merciless circumstances over the years. In the end, I was left only with poor health, no stellar career (no career at all, in fact), no stream of income and no meaningful connections. As a result, I started spending more and more time online: virtually travelling to the places that I could not afford to travel to in real life. Kept virtually "connecting" to vloggers and authors who became my "imaginary friends". Parasocial relationships have gradually replaced the social ones. I have experienced the richness of life through the eyes and lived experiences of my "online connections". I was physically alone but not lonely. Virtual reality felt real and quite fulfilling for over a decade. It was an infinite realm, a world where I eventually started feeling safe. A dream world capable of substituting a rather dark three-dimensional reality.
"But then what?.. Wasn't it enough?.." some voice asked. "But then what?.. You have realized something?.. Why aren't you answering?!"
Then my eyesight has weakened and I was reluctantly forced to reduce my screen time. Those telepathic voices coming to my mind from I don't know where never tire. But I've grown weary of them. Having lounged on the couch my attention has caught the sight of tonight's package placed by the door. I have decided to trust the Sender and have opened the box. It contained a heavy book, a drawing manual for those who wished to regain their artistic sight.
Is that one of those "miracle cures" like the "mermaid's oil" from the ancient times? Or something similar that can "cure the incurable"?
I have not noticed any artistic sight in me ever. Have been blind (or blinded) in that aspect. To be honest with myself, I can financially afford a pencil and some paper but can I afford the practice psychologically and spiritually? And what's the use of drawing when my health is in poor condition? Shouldn't I be focusing on the search of more reliable ways in order to improve my health and my personal circumstances? Given that conventional health services are not affordable to me at the moment (due to no income), I might as well try "miracle cures".
At the very bottom of the package there was included a letter kindly inviting me to volunteer at a psychological rehabilitation facility-center "Today's Paradise". The center has listed mind integration and soul recovery as their organization's mission.
This sounds like a high pressure environment. At the same time, that pressure might still be lower than the one that I am currently trapped in. I must check this out by visiting the center in person tomorrow.
It was well past the midnight. The rain continued relentlessly falling outside the window.