Where was this person that I had heard so much about? I was getting very impatient. You see patience is a virtue of which I have very little. I suppose that even at the young age of six this was true. I half whined and half sang, “Where is he, Dad?”

My Dad flashed his famous grin. A smile that always let me know that he had a secret, or that he thought he had got one over on us. His bright blue eyes twinkled and gleamed as his large, over six-foot frame stepped aside to reveal Rob standing right behind him. I smiled and then it seemed that the smile just froze there, decorating my face. Rob was not at all what I had expected.

As Dad walked further into the house, I glanced to Rob. He looked about fourteen or fifteen. I couldn’t remember how old Mom and Dad had said he was. As Rob walked further into the living room, I realized that he was different.

There was something about him that bothered me, but I could not quite put my finger on it. He walked slower than I thought he would. Rob was shorter than I thought he would be. His hair and eyes were darker too.

My dad had showed me a picture of Rob and Sally when they were around my age, and they both had blonde hair and light eyes. On closer inspection, I noticed that he looked scared and nervous. Of course, he didn’t know any of us yet, even Dad.

Even though my Dad had never missed a support payment, he had not seen his other two kids in many years. He lost contact because his ex-wife, Alice, had moved four or five times a year. I had gotten most of this information from my many eavesdropping opportunities, since my room was right next to my parents’ bedroom.

My mind and my eyes turned back to Rob. He was heavier than I thought he would be; he was downright chubby. He wore tattered and stained clothes. His shoes looked as though the dirt was what was holding them together. None of these things still explained the weird feeling that I got when I looked at him. I could feel my stomach doing summersaults whenever he was nearby.

I noticed that Rob looked a little bit like Dad, but not nearly as much as I did. His eyes were much smaller than our large, expressive ones. The best way to describe them would be as beady little eyes. The color was much darker- a deep, navy blue. He had medium brownish-red hair that was rather long.

Of course, looking back on it now, for the early seventies, I suppose his hair wasn’t really that long. He seemed to move very slowly as he walked further into the living room. His steps seemed calculated, as if each one was thought out purposefully. I had no idea then how this confused and seemingly lost boy would change my life.

About this time, Mom and Grandma entered the room. They greeted Rob warmly, and urged everyone into the large, eat-in kitchen for supper. Rob simply chirped a quick response. “Hi,” he said quickly, as lowered his eyes to the floor.

During dinner, I noticed that Rob ate as if he were starving. He must have polished off at least 6 pork chops. I felt very sorry for him. I realized that it must have been so hard for him to be shipped off to live at a church, where he knew no one. He was taken from the only people that he really knew- his mother and sister.

This all must be so hard for him. To come to Ohio, move in with a family that you never knew, and act as if you belong here. I looked at Rob again, and realized that the strangeness that I felt must be due to the fact that Rob was different than me. We came from opposite worlds. There also was nearly ten years separating us too.

After dinner, Mom and Grandma cleared away the dishes, and Dad took Rob on a tour of the house. I followed behind them. Dad gave Rob the room on the other side of mine. That meant that my room was right smack between my parents’ room and Rob’s bedroom. After the tour, my Dad sat in his old, tattered recliner and watched TV. Anyone looking in one of our windows would have seen a normal family relaxing after dinner.

Rob glanced at me, and smiled. His smile gave me that strange feeling in my stomach again. It was a sick, nauseating feeling that gripped me. His eyes just leered at me, as if they expected something. What I saw when I looked at the same scene was a boy who sort of gave me the creeps. A boy that was supposed to be my brother sitting on the couch, twiddling his thumbs. I saw the family that I loved making room for this kid, changing their lives to include him.

I went to bed that night with a very uneasy feeling. Again, full of questions about the day’s events. What did we really know about this boy? How was he raised? What was he taught? Would I ever feel like he was really my brother?

The next day brought a few answers, but more questions. Grandma got us up pretty early. She wanted to get out in the garden to weed and water. After finishing breakfast, we hurried out to the large half-acre garden. The way Rob looked at the garden was almost comical. I had to keep myself from chuckling aloud. He gazed at the land before him, looking very overwhelmed. From the look on his face, I would guess that he had never seen a garden before.

Grandma instructed, “Now, get over there under those beans. See those weeds? Pluck them out!” Rob bent over, and he slowly tugged at the wayward plants growing beneath the tall, sturdy bean plants. “Hurry it up. They won’t bite ya,” Grandma added curtly. I smiled at the no nonsense tone of voice that she used. This was Grandma’s way of saying that you needed to get the lead out.

After helping for a bit, I wandered back into the house. Since Mom was upstairs in her room and Dad was at work, I had the television all to myself. I sat down and began watching Captain Kangaroo. I chuckled at Mr. Green Jean’s antics. Just then, Rob came in and headed into the kitchen. He came back with a tall glass of water. He sat down beside me on the couch. We watched Captain Kangaroo silently for awhile, and then he spoke.

Rob asked me cautiously, “Do you want to listen to some of my music?” I shrugged and nodded my consent. He turned the TV off, and then Rob got out his albums. He removed the vinyl record from the sleeve, and placed one upon the turntable. Loud rock music filled the room. I had never heard music like this. The sound excited me. I had only heard it briefly on the car radio, before my Dad switched the channel.

Rob came over and sat beside me on the couch. He was looking at me again in that creepy way that I had come to know. His hand reached out, and touched my shoulder. He had startled me. I turned quickly and asked, “What?” Rob shook his head like he had changed his mind, but his hand didn’t move.

“You are really pretty,” he said very quietly. His hand slipped lower still. His hand was resting over my chest, which was flat as a pancake. Since I was a six-year-old girl, this, of course, was normal. What wasn’t normal was the way he looked at me, as if he expected something from me.

His stale breath filled my nostrils, and I had an overwhelming sense of danger. I struggled to move away as quickly as I could, but his hand held me firmly. “Let me touch your boobie,” he said gently. He pressed his face closer still, as his grip on my chest tightened. I used all of my strength to break free of him. Just then, Grandma walked in. She asked loudly, “What are you two doing here?”

My embarrassment and the pervasive feeling of guilt overtook me. I could not bring myself to speak the truth. I simply replied quickly, “Nothing Grandma, we were just listening to music.” I tried to mask my surprise. Of course, I am sure that Grandma noticed my obviously labored breath, flushed cheeks, and nervousness. I hurriedly excused myself, mumbling that I needed to use the restroom. I hurriedly ran into the bathroom. The churning in my stomach had the force of a volcano now. It felt as if Mount Vesuvius was erupting in my very stomach, and my intestines would spew forth like lava. I definitely needed to go to the bathroom. It was no longer a reason to escape. It had become a necessity!

After my insides settled a bit, I gazed into the mirror. I asked myself questions, many of which are still unanswered today. Why did Rob do that to me? How on earth could he think a little girl was cute or sexy? Why didn’t I tell on him? How am I going to stay away from him? I glanced at my young, fair face in the mirror, but the only thing I seemed to see was the terror. My blue eyes were shadowed by the fear, darkening them to a deeper cornflower blue. My face was pulled tight, almost frozen into a shocked expression.

Your potentialities, your creativities, are rapidly slipping away along with time, through the gaps between your fingers.  Before you even realize, it’s gone. Your spirit. Your time. Your energy.  Take charge of your life. Your every new thought is creating your next reality.  Your personality reconstruction is within you.

I’m aware of all this, but what am I to do?  That zest for life is lost somewhere.  Actually, this sense of boredom and frustration stems from this dormancy …To vacillate and hesitate in your field of activity, is worse than death itself .  Action is the answer, not inaction.  Nike is apt when it says JUST DO IT.  Remember that everything is the construct of your own mind.

All these confusions in the mind are bullshit. I don’t know why we walk around like victims, when there is so much to life. Congratulations!  Hello!  You are alive … Cheers to the spirit in me!  Smoke away the worries, smoke away the deadlines, but wait not till tobacco jams your lungs. Drink and drink like a fish, but don’t spend half your life stinking of Fosters.

Self-control is not a virtue to be possessed with unease, but to be discriminated subjectively.  You control your senses. Let not your senses overpower you.  Refuse to become victims to circumstances.

I’ve been trying to make these smoke rings, but they simply diffuse out into the air, without leaving their mark on the world, except that lingering smell of nicotine…. I’m already feeling a little heavy in the head. I leave my half-filled glass of whisky.  Whisky is a brilliant brown, when light cracks through it … I walk out… Feeling confident…

Its human habit to glorify weaknesses such as need, compassion and project them as high-sounding virtues to support our weak mind. Empires of the mind, are empires of the future. It’s very difficult, you know. Has to be brought about by minute to minute awareness.

But you are aware, aren’t you, of the circumstances which have made me the way I am. I’m swimming in these depths of mental depression. Well, basically, you must help yourself.  The world, comrade, has no mercies. It only has its ruthless laws! The world is dirty with all its imperfections, but are you perfect yourself?  We have no control over WHAT WE MEET in life. But HOW we meet WHAT we meet is very much under our control.

You are but, a pathetic helpless expression of your past. This syndrome of sympathizing with yourself has almost become like immunity.  I can’t figure out the course my life is taking. It’s all so cloudy. I’m most dissatisfied with the sequence of happenings. Realize you are a part of the larger picture.  And more importantly, everything happens for our own growth.

I wake up in the morning, my headache has turned into a heartache …my head is bursting at its seams. Its 6:30 in the morning, I reach out for the last of Bensons  & Hedges….  Fretting about the monotony of life. What is the meaning of it all?  Is it all worth it?

Nothing is worth it.  Cheers again to nihilism.  Investment of matter and spirit in anything is worthless.  I’ve had my share of shattered hopes, visions belied, ambitions thwarted. That is why my liver needs liquor.  But what you don’t understand however is, you are moving further and further away from the core issues of life. …

to be continued..

I gulp it down, whatever it is … vodka …informs a friend. Cheers to the pain and ugliness in the world! Cheers to the unjust and negative world! My senses take an ecstatic flight, my mind goes reeling through the noisy logic of my explanations….

Excuse me! But do I need a reason why I smoke and booze big time? I do so, because I enjoy it. It unplugs me from this wretched life. Not valid? Fine, let me begin justifying. My life is being plagued by a galore of problems. I don’t care a damn as long as there is rum.

Life of escapism, you would argue. I know most of them are my self-created complexities. Running away from problems does not make them nonexistent. Besides its cowardice. Me, a coward?  No way! You can never understand the pain in my life. It’s not fair. I’ve been taken for granted by profane people. What about slogging my butt out till the wee hours in the morning?  I haven’t reached anywhere, anyway. What is life, but a series of unsuccessful endeavors … Hold on! That still doesn’t explain why tobacco should inflame my lungs…

I walk to my bed, unsteadily; there is a dull ache in my head and my vision is blurring. Why do I land myself in such circumstances? Regret. Regret. Life is one big regret.  Its funny, I always feel empty and hollow.

You should anchor yourself to a purposeful goal. I know I should, but don’t know how I get deflected. This is where clarity of thought comes in. I’m sure of what I don’t want, but don’t exactly know what I want. Disillusionment reigns. There is only an engulfing sense of frustration.

Human Euphoria Pheromone Cologne is the answer for those guys who never have any luck — an answer that relies upon an old standby that has proven to be effective in the past. This old, trusted standby is the pheromone. A pheromone is a barely noticeable aroma that, when detected by a women, triggers an instant attraction to the man wearing it.

The creators of the cologne offer a happiness guarantee. After using it, you might find the women of your dreams. When you can’t count on luck, try science to level the playing field. Human Euphoria Pheromone Cologne does that for you — the results will prove it.