Menthol-Guy

I would like to quote Lucy Camden from 7th Heaven (I’m admitting that I’m watching the show every “Holy Week” ever since Studio 23 launched their marathons for the bored and the peaceful), asking “Why am I always the last one to know in the family?” on herself or to Ruthie or to one of the characters of the show. I can’t explain why it suddenly jolted on my mind while eating the fried spring rolls I made - maybe because some fragment or some memory went inside my mind when I was still in the States, living a cartwheel away from Manhattan.

I was waking myself up back then; it was four in the afternoon, if I’m not mistaken, and I had this short nap or something since it’s April cold (Maybe those Americans are somehow thick-skinned since they have “acclimated” or accustomed themselves to the climate that they consider April as hot - but I’m used with the tropical climate so I coined the term “April cold”). I woke up because of some clamor happening a floor below my bedroom, which is the kitchen, and though it was muffled I can still distinguish the two contending voices.

My father and my eldest sister happened to argue about something. It was four, and I haven’t eaten my lunch yet. Naturally, I went downstairs to hunt the kitchen for food but I slowly trekked my way down the stairs to actually hear what the dispute is all about. Too bad they still felt my footsteps; they froze for a moment and my sister hollered my name.

The argument was unfinished, and it was just because I came down for lunch - what a huge dumbass interference. And a huge mistake on my part - I should have at least let them conclude their stand or whatever that is they were talking about, but I’m pretty sure it’s about the affairs of the family. The usual Mom-and-Dad (though Mom’s loud-mouthed figure in the family forced all four of us not to let her talk about problems near Dad) fighting about my meth-crazed brother - the rehab expenses, the house repairs, the tragedies of our relatives (a cousin losing her business after a computer shop robbery, an aunt divorced by her husband, and all the scandals) and stuff that generally revolves around my brother. Though I am glad that my college tuition is at the least of their arguments, I somehow resent the indestructible idea of a hierarchy in the family.

You see, I’m the youngest of all four. I’m seventeen, my brother and two sisters are near or over thirty years of age. I really respect their decisions of protecting me from the migraines of the family, since I’m young and maybe they thought that rebellion might be a result of too much exposure to these headaches. Perhaps, out of fear, they spared me the problems.

But I’m all grown up. I can understand myself practically being the last one to know ten years ago - probably when I was still addicted to Aka Zukin ChaCha and all that cartoon stuff, but now that I’m nearing the legal age - I just can’t understand it. I just can’t understand why they treat me too fragile and too sensitive not to hear the issues on time. Why can’t I be aware? Why am I always shelved, always protected; why am I always the innocent one? Am I even psychologically impaired (a-huh) to be kept away from the mud and dirt?

Does my position in the family - as the youngest (and probably the powerless) - have to do with the awareness of these problems?

I don’t really know. I used to be contented with the drill of averting my mind away from my connotation of the phrase “family problems”. Now, I don’t know. I can’t stop asking questions right now, and I know I’m throwing it on the wrong crowd, but at least I can breathe for a while.