Dear Noona,

Things are going good here. I got my first real paying job with that girl I met in town the other day. Airi’s a little strange, but there’s not really much about the situation that isn’t. I thought I would like work, but being in that hot, stuffy bakery for hours upon end is so…different. It’s different from how It was at home, I mean, where we used to live. This is home now. Grampa always made it sound like fun, or at least made me think I would like it, but I don’t. I don’t like it one bit. I thought that I would like the change too, the adventure. My mother had me thoroughly convinced that I was just like her, because of the way she can’t stay in one place for too long. Because of the way she’s always “Making up for lost time”. What I’d really like to ask her is “Was that time lost?” you know, “what about me? Was I a waste of your time?”

She’s always wanting to move on to bigger and better things, it’s like what we got here isn’t good enough? The only reason we have this “money situation” is because she psyco-hypnotized me into thinking that this is what I wanted, when It’s really just her trying to live up to her childhood perception of the world, that she never got to live out. We don’t have the means to her ends, and I’m not going to work my ass off in this sweaty shop so we can scrounge up enough cash for the rent before it’s off to the next one. No, for all the money we paid to even get in here, she better die in this house. (That was a joke, I don't want my mother to die.)

The worst part is: She doesn’t want my money. She doesn’t even want me working. It’s not like we couldn’t use it. I’m not doing this for her or for this ‘family’ (if you can even call it that). I’m doing this to prove to the world, or maybe just myself that I have something to offer. Even if it is just scrubbing counter tops and taking out the garbage. When people look at me I want them to see—

I hate it when people look at me.

I know that right now I don’t want to be here, but I thinking that maybe I never wanted to come. Maybe, more accurately: I never wanted to leave. I know I’m not like my mom. There’s a whole piece of me (and I don’t know how big that piece is) that’s missing. Well, it’s still here, but I can’t put a name to it. I don’t know what it looks like. I don’t know how it is supposed to act, or who I’m supposed to be.
And another thing! How am I supposed to get to know a girl, if I can barely figure out who I am? Airi’s the only girl I’ve met, but I’m pretty sure she’s a lot older than me. It’s funny: I can stand heads and shoulders above someone and still feel like a little kid. She’s a bit of a ditz, but nice enough. I like her, but she’s got the kind of personality that can wear on you some. She’s not like you, Noona.
Maybe as I’m sitting here, wishing I had just stayed with my home, My dad’s out there wishing he had left with his.

From Republic City with love,

Niko