Deep in the suburban neighborhood, amidst the many single houses in the area, right at the very end of the street, one of these beautiful houses was undergoing serious renovations. That is where all the hammering and shouting noises were coming from—particularly from the second floor of the house, where no walls had yet been built. Amidst all the South American workers, one person stuck out like a sore thumb, hammering nails away without a single care in the world, just like the others around him.
“
“Hey, Mizan! It’s time to clock out, man!”. (Mr. Harvey)
“Huh?! What?!”.
Wearing a hard hat and earmuffs to deafen the noise in this loud workplace also made every sound muffled. If it weren’t for Juarez, right in front of me, using his chin to point at something behind me, I wouldn’t have heard Mr. Harvey calling me at all. I didn’t hear him the first time, so I asked what’s up.
“It’s time to leave, Mizan. We’re done for this week, and we will continue this next week, alright?”. (Mr. Harvey)
The middle-aged supervisor twirled his index finger, gesturing to the entire construction work here. Mr. Harvey had a rough look, big stature paired with an even bigger beer belly. Still, as a supervisor, he was somewhat normal and well-mannered. I’ve worked with many people in his position who had nasty tempers and personalities. It was just about 5 in the afternoon, comparatively early, but with his order and signal, all the work stopped, and everyone had already started to get off work.
“Next week? You said you wanted this project finished early, right? We should work this weekend too. I’m sure that everyone wouldn’t mind; we could all use some extra pay.”.
As I talked to Mr. Harvey, I handed all the loaned tools to the company trucks. All the power tools were company-owned, so at the end, all that was left on me was my tool belt, which belonged to me. Mr. Harvey looked at me and listened the whole time from the sidelines.
“No can do, Mizan.
“Well, it can’t be helped….Even though we could use more pay, we can’t push you more than we already have. Thanks anyway, Mr. Harvey.”.
“You’re welcome, Mizan. But unfortunately, everything will stay as it is. Anyway, have a good weekend, Mizan.” .(Mr. Harvey)
Although I kinda wanted to call him out on the no-overtime policy, I refrained. The guy was already doing the best he could for people like me—the undocumented immigrants. In fact, half of the construction workers working beside me here were in the same situation as me; we had no identification at all. But Mr. Harvey still hired us. We knew that compared to the documented workers, our pay was less, and even the overtime pay was lesser. But even so, more money is always good.
“You too, Mr. Harvey. Goodbye.”.
Since the man said no, it was time to leave. Like ants leaving the nest, the other workers also left the area. I was walking to the nearby bus station on my own, though not entirely alone, as Juarez was trailing behind me.
“Mizan, wait up! How is it, my man? Did you get the overtime this weekend?”. (Juarez)
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“No, man…Mr. Harvey said no…There’s not much I can do.”.
I shrugged my shoulders and delivered the sad news. We’ve been working together for about a year now under Mr. Harvey’s supervision. The reason I’m working here is also thanks to Juarez recommending me for the job. Since then, I’m not only a fellow colleague but also have become their representative. A lot of the workers aren’t able to speak English very well—some not at all—so I’ve become the go-to person to deliver their needs to Mr. Harvey. I don’t mind the role at all.
“At least we tried, right? Damn, I guess I’ll be selling tacos this weekend….Wanna join me?”. (Juarez)
“Nope. I’ve got my own stuff to take care of this weekend. So, I guess I’ll see you next Monday, Juarez.”
“Alright, man. See you later!”. (Juarez)
He walked with me until the bus station. As I waited for my bus, he went off to ride his cousin’s pickup truck. As for me, I just had to wait for a few minutes before riding the first bus that stopped. Nothing really happened on my ride back home; it was as mundane as it could be. People got on and off at their stops, minding their own business in their seats, just like every day before this. As for me, to remedy the boring ride, I read a web novel on my phone, enjoying another interesting another-world story.
“...Hmm…this MC says he doesn’t want his power to be exposed, yet he goes off to heal strangers in a goddamn hospital. What the heck is he doing?”.
As I got off at my stop and walked home, my eyes were glued to my phone screen. I got frustrated at the stupidity of the novel’s MC. The guy was about to go to another world, yet here he was in the meantime, doing stupid things that could easily get him exposed. Even the FBI caught his actions. Just how hard is it to stay low in real life for him? For me, it’s fairly easy—just don’t do anything stupid. It’s as simple as that. I can’t believe I was ranting about a novel all the way to my apartment’s front door, but I guess that’s just how it is, the novel is still fun though.
“
Closing the door behind me and locking it, I turned the lights on. Before me lay a simple, small, old apartment. Devoid of any life aside from me. Saying ‘I’m home’ is just a habit. I know that no one would reply to me and welcome me home anymore because the owner of this homely apartment, Camellia Cain, my mother, has long gone. I’m an orphan now. She died 5 years ago—stage 4 breast cancer, depression, and overwork took her away from me. I miss her. She was a good mother and a good person. A strong, mixed-Asian woman who left her country and became a nurse in the United States. She did her best in everything she got into, including me, the unwanted presence in her life. I’m a child born from a crime committed against my mother—a rape victim who was alone in this country.
Yet, against all odds, she raised me with love and care. Without a man in her life, she persevered. She taught me many things, loved me, and cared for me. I was her family, and she was mine. We only had each other, and that was fine for us. No matter what anyone said, we had each other, and that’s what mattered the most to me. But then again, although I was born here in the States, I’m not registered as a citizen. My mother didn’t know how to do it, and when she found out, she was scared to do so. Her status as a new immigrant worker, not married, a rape victim, and alone—all these factors made her fear that I would be taken away from her. And hence, I became an illegal immigrant in the land where I was born. It was a bad situation to be in, but over time, I barely even cared about it anymore.
My life history is kinda sad and all over the place, but such is my fate. Naturally, I am not sappy all the time about it. I found solace in gaining small happiness here and there. I watched anime, movies, TV shows and dramas, read novels and comics, and played games—all sorts of games—and these kinds of things made me love my life. I am also a collector, the poor kind of collector, where all my collections are in the form of saved files on my computer and phone. I am currently single, and it’s by choice naturally. Since my last girlfriend was a cheater, I dumped her straight away when I found out, and that was a year ago. If I were to put a label on myself, I’d consider myself a functioning Otaku/weeb, I suppose, and I’m okay with it.
I never blamed my mother at all. She did everything she could with what she had, and that was enough for me. And all these hardships made me who I am now. Right now, I’m alive and well. I’ve worked in all sorts of jobs. Once, when I was 17 years old, I bought a fake ID, faked my age as 20 years old, and worked as a low-level grunt in a private defense contractor. It worked for 3 years. I did all sorts of things and got paid for it. After I finished the 3 years, my boss, who knew my shenanigans from day one, hooked me up with a secure fake ID, and I left the job with some security. Back then, I no longer worried about looking over my shoulder. Simply put, when it comes to work and identity, I was set for life, and there were no problems at all.
My mom said to me once, “Mizan, you’re my treasure. The reason for my existence. If I had never been hurt, I would never have met you, and I would never have loved anyone as I do you. I’m glad I had you. You’ve made my life worthwhile.”
Hearing those words from her, I smiled and answered, “Yes, mom, I love you too. Thanks for everything.”
Life’s tough. So, I do what I can to survive in this world. Right now, I live in a very cheap and small apartment on the lower side of the city. Many people would label this neighborhood as a sketchy place with all the street gangs and homeless people around. For me, though, it’s perfect. With all the people of questionable nature around me, it made it harder for any authorities to dig deep into my presence here. That’s the life I’ve led ever since my mom died. Get up in the morning, go to work, and return home at night. That’s all I do, and now that I’m 30 years old, I can safely say that my life sucks, but that’s alright. I make it work.
I took a shower, had a small dinner, and finally went to bed. I didn’t even bother with pajamas; I just went to bed wearing my worn-out boxers. Laying down on the bed, I spent the remaining battery on my phone watching a YouTube video about a guy who made his own Mecha robot from scratch, and just before the video finished, the phone shut down. I closed my eyes and slowly drifted to sleep, just like every other night before this.