PROJECT: Gaia

For a moment, I allowed myself to think something along the lines of 'my, how far I have fallen', but considering that I did this to myself, I don't think I have the right to think that way. And besides, whilst I thought that for just a moment, at the same time I was proud of myself. It felt great having a place that I could call 'home' without it sounding wrong to me. Albeit, this place may only be a small rundown section, but it is my home now. A home that I can truly call my own.

What led to me calling such a place my home? Well, it's quite a long story, but I guess I could talk about briefly. But it will be briefly, and I'll only talk about it just this once. The story of me and my father, and how I ended up here.

My father is Frank Scuderi. Everyone has heard his name before, but in the event that you haven't, to sum it up nice and neatly, he lives on the moon. And he's a rather important figure at that. I don't actually know too much about what he does. I'd rather not think about him if I can help it.

Before he went to the moon, I lived with him and my mother in the city of Singapore. We had moved there when I was still very young, for my parents' work. Both of them were working on the mission to the moon. In fact, it was their lives. In a lot of ways, I'm sure I was a secondary matter for both of them.

Shortly before my father left for the moon, when I was nine years old, my mother disappeared. She didn't die, she just vanished. Without a trace. To this day, no one knows where she is. Perhaps you'd think my father would stay here on Earth to take care of me, but that's not the kind of man he is. He wouldn't give up his chance to go to the moon, even if it was for his family. Instead, I was sent to live with some of my father's family in his home country, New Zealand.

In Wellington, the city where my father's relatives lived, I had a comfortable enough life. I attended high school, I had friends, and I was well off. But it was unpleasant, living there. My father wasn't very popular among his relatives. Even before he left, I hear that he hadn't visited any of them, not even his own parents, in years. And, though I didn't notice for years, I came to understand that my relatives didn't like me living with them. Why, I'm not sure. Because I reminded them of father, who they disliked, or because of something I had done, I don't know which. But I do know that the only reason that they put up with me was because of the money that my father sent them to take care of me.

At any rate, I'm sure over six years of living in such an environment would make anyone feel like they couldn't stay there anymore. Or perhaps I'm just a weak. But it was too much for me. So, I left.

I went on a journey, though it wasn't like I didn't have a destination on my mind. I made my way to Christchurch. My father's hometown. The place where he grew up. Where he spent his childhood. Though I couldn't tell you what I hoped to find or learn by going to my father's hometown, that made me choose Christchurch my destination. With what little money I had, a few changes of clothes, and a couple of prized possessions, I set off to father's old turf.

It didn't take me long to find a job here. There's always a shortage of labour outside of Auckland, so it wasn't hard to find a job even without being able to show proper credentials. After all, I don't want to be found. Though I'm sure if someone really wanted to find me, they could no matter what I do, but I'm not going to make it easy for them either. Even after I had a stable income, it took time to find a landlord who wouldn't ask questions, and a place I could rent incredibly cheaply.

And that's how I ended up here. In this cheap rental. The one on the corner of the street, with overgrown grass, just three rooms, and is always cold. And this is the last time that we're ever going to talk about how I got here, and why I'm here. And the last time that I'm ever going to talk about my father.