we will always have home
everything i've learned from rebellious teenagers and being a teenager
dedicated to the four girls and four boys who I grew up with.
thank you for this summer.
“What are we doing tonight?” For the past years of sleepovers, no one had asked what the plans would be once we arrived at our regular spot: my home. But something about the silent air and the sleeping sky made me ask my cousins. I don’t remember who answered me or what they said; all that I know of that night is that before we entered my house, we secured the money, two left the house to go to the store, and those who remained waited for the alcohol.
I was born with a gossipy trait. It isn’t something I own; I share it with my family. My grandmother gave birth to four girls, and when you think about it, when girls are grouped in one room, you best believe everyone will go out with a new story heard or a new story told. So living in a house with them gave me not only a family but also daily updates that serve as episodes of a literal reality show about other families—particularly the most accessible: my relatives.
How ironic can people go from loving the drama about people whose lives are falling apart to fearing their own lives drastically going wrong and others hearing about it? And what is a juicier gossip session for adults if not the monthly gathering with their friends or family talking about how their teenagers rebelled against them?
I have a lot of older cousins, and I still remember their teenage stories from when I was 5 years old. I know I'll never forget them. The first one, let’s call her Sarah. For her, home wasn’t where her family lived; it was where her boyfriends (she had many of them but never at the same time) were. She was never home at night—even on school nights—so how much more when the sun was up? Her family was anxious every time she came home since they’d expected pregnancy news given that her life consisted of boyfriends and overnights. Thankfully, she hadn’t.
The second one is Anna. She was a drinker. Alcoholic seems like a strong word that must be solely used for people who waste their paychecks on booze every day off, but her case was lighter; she used her allowance, her mother’s money. Anna’s mom would receive phone calls from her friends saying Anna threw up and was fully blacked out somewhere 15 minutes away. Or claiming they got caught sneaking alcoholic drinks into a hotel when they clearly looked like minors.
Last one is Max. He’s the one you see on social media with the hashtag “van life,” except his mom doesn’t know. He drives his car or motorcycle with his friends, going to places his family would never expect him to be. Sometimes, the only way his mom would know he was out was when Max desperately called her because he was in an accident. It happened three times.
These are the basics, things coated with gold that you think every cool teenager did every night and day back when you were 8 years old. The golden transitional years you couldn’t wait for because you knew everyone goes through it, and those who had been there talked like they had freedom in their hands because they didn’t have to worry about the obligations on their shoulders. But most importantly, that it doesn’t last long; that everything counts because it won’t be enough; and it will never be the same after you leave because your shoulders are weighted and your hands are full.
When I was little, I believed that you would know that you'd become a teenager, as well as an adult and a senior. Maybe I was talking about birthdays, but I imagined a day when you realize you’re finally in your golden years. A simpler one where you’re in a car with a few friends going on a road trip, and while you’re at it, you celebrate it with chips and beverages from the gas station as you talk about how fast you’ve grown up. Or in a room with friends, taking your first shot, and the moment it hits your tongue, they all cheer loudly.
Everything, I thought, should be celebrated because you’re finally old. Finally cool. Finally have freedom in your hands. Finally have your parents inside the house while you’re out. However, life wasn’t the droplet on the window with an expected runway. Instead, before it could land on the window, the breeze ditched it to the other side; life didn’t go as I thought it would—I think it’s more bewitching that way.
I had no time to celebrate. They had no time to cheer. We had no time to talk about everything. We were present, but we weren’t conscious. We drowned ourselves in happiness and time, and in the moment we laughed, talked, joked, and played, it felt like it was the very first time we met. It’s happening, I thought, the part where everything counts because it won’t be enough. It’s happening, the part where it doesn’t last long, because when we blinked altogether, it was already the day that I had to go back to my country. The vacation was over. Summer is still around, just not for me.
A day before my flight, we went to the beach. After a whole day of basking in the yellow, my cousin spoke as we gathered in our cottage. “It’s funny how we used to spend all of our time in the water as kids. Now we learned to get out without being forced by our parents.” That’s when we reconnected with reality. I looked around and saw young faces: 14, 15, 16, 17, 18. My mom and dad weren’t there, nor were theirs.
They were the same faces I was with on the night I asked what we were about to do. Faces who went to the store, faces who waited for the alcohol. It began to sink into my lungs that I had become somewhat like Anna. We slipped something we weren't supposed to have inside my room and down our stomachs. I also began to think Max was cool. I wanted to feel the adrenaline of going out quietly, driving the windows down, and dashing to places no one had ever seen before. Not like Sarah though, I’m not into boyfriends, but in terms of overnights and never coming home, I thought about it too.
Anna is earning her doctorate in another state, Max is training every day to become a police officer, and Sarah is spending her after-graduation summer in our house almost every day. She has a boyfriend who has a 7-year-old brother to care of. Since they live together, she's primarily responsible for him when he's at work. They're like a family, and she plays the mother's part so well. My friend, who’s one of the faces, has a toxic boyfriend she refuses to leave—like Sarah before. My friend, like her, comes to our place every day causing the three of us to hang out. One afternoon, the three of us got tasked with buying pizza. As we waited for the food, my friend told Sarah about the state of her relationship, asking for advice without really asking. Sarah said there is no point in holding on to a relationship that is sinking because she is afraid to drown. She said it’s not good to focus on her partner when all she needs right now is education and her future.
You might say that Sarah has the nerve to say such things that contradict her past. But to me, it was a message to the future.
I am the new Annah, my friend is the new Sarah, and when all the faces are grouped together, we are the new Max. We are starting to follow our desires rather than the approval of the elderly. We are starting to rebel.
Am I proud? No. Do I worry? No. Teenage years are the chapters in life where you are free to smudge your ink however you like. You’re all about getting messy—exploring the world in its realms, exploring the deep ends of yourself, and tasting every savory there is of youth—before life settles all over you and it’s time to get serious. Before you say I'm encouraging you to defy your parents and consume what may harm you, the reason I came here to tell you all this is because Anna’s post, Max’s videos, and Sarah’s eyes told me the same thing: We will always have home, and you will learn to return to it.
“Let her be. One day, a knock will come and she'll run back to you.”
— what every movie tells every parent.
Make mistakes, feel the ground beneath your foot as you brake your bike, hurt your eyes with the rude lick of the ocean, let the sand breathe on your skin, lose a friend, meet a new one, say I love you, say I hate you, walk away, come back and say I’m sorry, don’t make plans, fetch your friend and just go, beg for water, finish a whole plate, smile to the rain, and wave to the sky.
One day, all the mistakes you’ve made, everything you’re sorry for, all the people who walked away, and all the people you’ve walked away from will catch up and tell you their purpose. After that, it’s up to you how you use the lessons.
As for me, I’m lying peacefully, knowing I had the best summer and will continue to do so. I know that if I ever become lost in life and roam in the unknown, I had learned to go back home. There will be no wind, boat, or train that will lead you there; you must have the wisdom, the heart, and the lesson to walk and knock. Now go on, live while you’re young, because no matter how much we want to, we will never be young forever—or at least not in the same way.
Love this post and your writing 🥰 Made me feel like I am also a part of your group and viewing my own life in this deeply observant and reflective way! Thank you