My Kingdom

No place on earth that is magnificent or exquisite can match that which is mine. Though there are many, better places such as those made of fine gold and silver, it is my home of simplicity that has protected me from the thunderstorm and the gushing of wind, natural or manmade. When I’m in its ground where I belong, where even here external troubles find themselves in, I find peace and tranquility. I live and work to keep it alive; it is my shelter, my sanctuary and my kingdom.

It's a typical night, 12:30 in the morning, finally home from the day's work. No one else is here. I sat in the sofa, breathing peacefully and at ease. I did nothing else but cleared my thoughts away from the outside world. That endeavor was vain, thanks to television, a gift of comfort to the idle and inactive. As always, I watched the news describe the current events of terror, violence, and bloodshed both local and worldwide. What could I really do about it? Well, at least I now know about it, but safe from its reach. I'm thankful for that, because I care for nothing but the work I'm paid to do so that I could remain here.

The only issue that I find bothersome here was the dusty top from the display cabinet. It was very noticeable from the surrounding wall with its whiteness in contrast with the clean, greenish carpet and the blackness of the sofa. A single sweep can fix the microscopic problem in no time. Although it made the room appear dry, there is circulation of air giving the cool breeze that blows from the half shut window. Its wind kills any emotion within me, as I inhale its air and let out the waste. No irritating odor or anything offensive visible to the eye disrupts the comfort except the unavoidable presence of dust. A lot of it hides behind the
foreground, a testimony of imperfection to what seems to be pure.

The lack of framed portraits contributed to the aura of emptiness about this place. No memories of good times and smiling personages reflected light from the overhead source. It is as if a timeless edifice was built where only the present moment mattered. Maybe it's why I always find it hard to recall the past. It's either I don't really like pictures or I am not pleased with my history. Probably, the latter is right. Nevertheless, having this place as simple as possible is
best, according to my liking. Within the confine of my room, one large image is elevated against the wall out of necessity. It delineated a nice picture of a guitar’s hull, transparent enough so that a list of chords is visible. This poster was a big one. Its purpose was to teach chord theory so one can memorize it, but I used it to cover an engraved mark. The poster's material deteriorated over time, evident from its wrinkled and crumpled plane, so much so that I ripped it off its base. Uncovered beneath was an ugly hole surrounded by fissures and uneven surface.

The hole stimulated a flashback to a cataclysmic event. There is no specific motive for this but my anger fused with so many mixed feelings. Everything that plagued my mind and soul developed altogether into a single punch. My fist had exerted enough force to break through. All my frustrations and illnesses came with it. Notwithstanding the release of anger, I had remorse for the damage I had done to my own home. Fortunately, I am the only one that bears witness to it and that it was only a short episode escalated no further, aided by the fact that my bed was readily available.

This place I call my kingdom is the best place to go to. It’s my escape from the hectic environment that surrounds me, especially in times of hostility. This is where I belong, immune to judgement or wrongful treatment. Everything I need or want is here. No stranger shall step into it, excepting friends and family.