You learn how to . . . do things . . . gradually in life. Some learn from their parents. Some learn from their friends. Some learn from other adults. Everyone learns . . . by themselves . . . from books, from media, from experiences, from contemplation.

Here’s to those who need to learn by themselves.

Living [WIP] 🛠

As a writer, you imagine what a day in a life of your characters look like, from the minute you open your eyes, to when you go back to sleep. In a sense, isn’t that what living is? So here’s how to do that.

1. Waking Up
2. Getting ready for the day
3. Starting the day
4. Ending the day
5. Sleeping

About the Author

Hi, I am the second generation (as far as I am aware) of a neglected household.

I had two parents. One of them was either not present or not allowed to be present. Another was . . . present, but not in all the needed ways. The second parent . . . she . . . was parentified by both her parents. They all came from the slums.

She was given a roof over her head, and just enough money to barely survive on. She survived and took care of everyone until their last days, as much as a child who was not raised by her parents could have. She cooked. She did chores. She made money. She moved everyone to the capital city.

She did not plan to have me. But she did. She made adjustments. She read. She vowed to give me all the things she never had.

Now I realized we never realized what we never had was so much.

I was given a roof over my head—a house in the city even, five-storied.

I ate three meals everyday, that is, until grandmother stopped cooking, and we stopped eating together, and one time I did not feel like cooking for myself. My mother asked if I wanted her to cook instant noodles with eggs for me, wihout vegetables as I preferred—I was a picky eater—I did not want instant noodles at that time, not how she made it.

At some point everyone took care of their own meals. Mom cooked hers in the microwave. I cooked mine in the kitchen. Dad bought his from outside; so did my grandparents.

I had school uniforms to wear to class, tailored to myself as much as I acquiesced to. I did not have to re-use anyone’s uniform, or to modify them to extend their lives year-after-year. I had allowance to bring to school—I never used any of it to buy snacks like other kids did though. I kept all of it in the piggy bank. Lunch was included in my primary school’s tuition.

What I got was 10 times what she got. Of course, time were different. She could buy half a noodle soup. I could buy one or perhaps two snacks.

The tuition for my middle school and high school did not include lunch, as were the case for all public schools, so I had more allowance. But I stuck to saving. One dish, one drink, it was the same every day. I still never bought snacks. I bought an extra drink in high school, in the morning, when I started commuting to school by myself, and sometimes after school, when I particularly felt like it. I did not do well without air conditioning all day.

I did not attend cram schools like other kids, but I did get private classes. I played various instruments that she only had chances to look in from outside the windows at tutoring centers.

She tutored other kids when she was in high school. I got an piano in my house—upright—as well as other instruments.

At first she coaxed me into the classes by attending them with me. She never stuck with any, except for golf. She did stop her classes in the end.

At times I enjoyed the classes; at times I did not like practice. For some of the classes, mom had me give the money to the teacher myself at the end of each lesson.

I was aware that the home I was in was mortgaged.

My mom opened a company with my dad. It was a construction company. They did construction, and later architecture and also consulting. My mom did architecture and consulting. She was an Engineering undergraduate though—Civil Engineering. She applied to Architecture but did not get in. She worked as an Engineer, Project Manager, and so on until she had me and opened the company around the same time.

I did not know the concept of revenue, but I did know the debts we had were in the millions. We bought multiple properties, and all of them seemd to be mortgaged. I became aware of these things whenever mom fought with dad.

I never wanted toys. I pirated movies, games, and software.

My mom does not ask me if I wanted toys anymore. I still do not want toys. Spending is still mostly survival or investment. She was very willing to invest, not in investments but in people. She also donated up until when she closed her company. I sometimes caved in and spent my money on frivolous gacha games, online novels, or donations after I was able to earn them—I considered I earned them when I first got a scholarship in university. I never did as much due diligence as she did with donations. All of them were in the spur of the moment, whether by predatory sales tactics, or by a very righteous and personal cause.

We used to sleep in one room. Then my mom and I moved out. Then she moved to her office. We slept separately since then.

It was only later when they divorced, and lived on, that I realized . . . they could always have lived on their own.

I wished they had separated sooner. I wished their debts, no debt, did not have to be that high. One person took on all the debt.

While I was growing up, I never had my own room. My computer was in the bedroom. Then it was moved to mom’s office. She wanted to be aware of what I was doing with the computer all the time.

Back in middle school, I started watching animes and reading mangas. In highschool I moved on to web novels. I read cartoons and non-fiction before then.

Highschool was also when I first got my phone. I browsed the internet with it. I did not play many games because most of them required money. They were not essential. Funnily enough, games were all I ever used my friend’s phones for.

I used to hop onto the dirty old payphone boothes that sometimes did not work to call my mom to pick me up. I am not sure if I would have preferred commuting to home myself had I known how to.

I never hung out with friends afterschool before university. Somehow with all the webtoons that I read, it did not occur to me if I should want that. It was always home, straight to school, and straight back home. I only hung out with friends while waiting for my parents to arrive. I only waited in the library while I was in primary school. After that I waited alone, after a trip to the payphone. Then after that I did not need to wait for anyone.

I also never ate regularly with friends until university. The first time I ate with friends were in highschool, but it is a one in a while thing. Lunch was hectic in public school, and unlike my friends I did not prefer to wait, or just dally along, but to spend as little time as possible, so when the bell rang I would dash out to find the shop and quickly sat down on any place that was available. I did not care to sit with my friends. I thought the time to talk was after eating.

Again, with all the webtoons that I read, it never occurred to me what other kids were doing.

I always knew I was not normal. She always said we are abnormal.

I was poorer than everyone, yet I had better things than everyone. My allowances were less, yet I had multiple private classes. It was long until I had my own phone, yet I always had my own computer.

I found out I did not need to study as hard as others. In fact I did not study. I do not review. I attended classes. Later on I found out that exams were supposed to be harder than class.

I found out I liked the same gender in middle school. I also accepted only ever liking in the same gender then. I knew another friend was bisexual, but I never thought of discussing such matters with him. He uses they/them pronouns now.

I did not think my friends then had a problem with queer people. Yet somehow I knew we were abnormal. I was curious about the male body, not the female body. Somehow that seemed wrong to show. No one else showed that after all.

My mom always told me not to twist my waist while walking, that it looked like a girl. She also told me not to do weird hand movements, that you will look like a [tranny].

My first memory of doing the wrong things for my gender was in primary school when the female cheerleaders were practicing their cheers and I tried out one of their moves wondering why it seemed so hard for them. I do not remember anyone laughing at me, but I remember the senior pointing at me saying, do it like that boy did. Somehow I was embarassed.

Mom also said gay people are mentall ill, that they needed psychotherapy. I did not think that one day she will also tell me love does not depend on gender. That was only after I felt it was enough hearing her expectations around my sexuality though.

My first sexual discovery was in primary school. It was after we have had health class for years. —I never felt embarassed in health class.— I learned institutions reccomend parents have “the talk” at some point, but I never thought I wanted to bring it up or that I needed to bring it up. What is there to be known anyways? I learned on my own.

My first sexual encounter was around grade 5–8. All encounters were with adults. I went online to look up similar experiences, finding some compatriots in forums like Reddit. I never thought of letting anyone else find out about them. I did not feel they were harming me, yet I knew what we were doing together was wrong. It was half them and half me. Of course, the first time was never me iniating, but I knew I could always walk away. There was no power difference, only a difference in age and experience. Interestingly they never told me to say or not say anything.

My mom only ever hit me once. The plastic hanger broke at that time. I do not remember what it was, I was very young.

When I was young, the people in the office used to call me the why kid, always asking why. I do not rememver asking adults for advice. I always opened Google, typed in the search terms, and looked for answers in different forums.

I do not remember when I was introduced to death, but we did cover religions, including Buddism, at school. I was a believer of science. Karma agrees with science, so I believed partly in it. Reincarnation did not—the weight of the soul being disproven is something I learned from non-fiction books from very young—but Nirvana then seemed easily achievable.

I do not fear death.

I do not fear hell. People say homosexuality is a sin to God, and suicide is a sin to your parents. I did not care.

Whenever it was hard, I scurried off alone, or tuck myself in the bed, fantasizing about what I would say or do, and how other people would feel and regret what they did while crying. I was never a loud crier. My mom taught me crying achieves nothing, so I never cried in public.

I thought about horrible things I could say—I never say them, running away—I never did, killing myself—I never made an attempt, or just wishing to sleep and never wake up again. I was always good with imagination. I cried a lot when I read drama, or listen to music. I never cried when someone died though.

I thought away all of my problems. What am I feeling? Why am I feeling? How should I be feeling? . . . What should be done? I still do.

I also overshared when I started posting on Facebook. I find that it is easier to think when I write out my thoughts as if talking with someone. I think as much as it was not the best way to do things, it gave me so much insight into my own mind.

Yes, I do not really go to my parents for advice at all. I did not see them as experts to be consulted within my reach. I taught mom how to really end things with dad.

I was worried for both of their mental health. I think depression runs in the family from my mother’s side.

As I grew older, one day my knowledge expanded enough to cover nost just philosophy but also mental health. After growing a lot in the univeristy and dealing with one tumoultuous relationship, I came to know of the condition known as complex PTSD. I then recognized myself in it.

I remember back before I knew that information, when trying out an online counseling service free trial, I once described me as half-raising myself. I realized there were so many things I did on my own for myself. So many things I had to learn, get it wrong, gradually find a better way, then remember it as how to do things.

I always hated how I had to learn every aspect of my life by myself. I figured science had come such a long way, yet after so many generations why does living feel very much like an unexplored territory rife with experiments and wrong and suboptimal results. Where did all the lessons go?

When I was young I used to want to be an archeologist. Then I wanted to be a scientist, an inventor, then I found out I wouldn’t make money so my dream became to have a lot of money to do what you want and eat what you want. At some point I realized dreams are just dreams. But just for one of the things I always wanted . . . I think I can start making it.

So here’s to those who need to learn how to live by themselves.