The 'Host' in me

MANILA, Philippines - One day, I was Isabella Swan, feeling Edward’s cold, hard skin against mine. Then I was Lucinda Price, adoring Daniel’s heavenly being. I became Katniss Everdeen, too, the girl on fire, the survivor and the Mockingjay. The next thing I knew, I was somebody else…”

It’s this time of the night again. But tonight is different. Past the walls, I can hear the mumbled conversation of a man and a woman. Their voices are tense and it seems that they want to just yell at each other. The man, as always, is mad, insensitive, self-absorbed, and thinks that what he says is true. His words are as sharp as knives, stabbing her with such striking allegations. She tries to explain, but he never listens. For the first time, I hear her sobs. And I can’t bear it. It’s too painful to hear her cry. So I vanish, and dream away.

Yes, to dream away. It has always been my only escape from the reality of life. When I’m down and feeling blue, or when things go wrong, dreaming is the only thing that keeps me alive. At first, it just serves as my personal kind of morphine, relieving the pain that eats up my entire being. But it doesn’t make me numb. It sends a series of feeling through my veins — feelings that ease up the pain and erase the scars of the past. Then it becomes addicting so that I long for it every time. I don’t mind spending the rest of the day, or even the rest of my life, dreaming.

When I dream, obviously, I do not sleep. Neither do I stare at the entire nothingness. Instead, I read. And to read is to dream away. It transports me to another world — a world that exists only in printed words and in the mind of the reader.

Reading lets me be somebody else. I step in somebody’s shoes, do somebody’s job, feel somebody’s emotions, and live somebody’s life. It’s fun and exciting, being other than me. And as I fly from character to character, flip from page to page, and turn from one book to another, I know I’ve grown little by little with the lessons and experiences I’ve been fed. And I don’t want to stop. I just want to be somebody else again. I don’t want to go back, be myself, and face the real world.

So I dream again. I read again. This time, I’m living in a world made by Stephenie Meyer — a world entitled The Host. And I am Wanderer.

Set in the time when Earth has been invaded by an alien species that takes over the minds of their human hosts while leaving their bodies intact, I wake up in the body of a girl named Melanie Stryder. I have already lived eight different lives from eight different bodies, each in every planet I have been, so I know what to expect this time: the overwhelming emotions and the too-vivid memories. But she’s more than just another host. She refuses to fade away. I can hear her voice. I can see her thoughts. I can feel what she feels. She’s still alive, here inside my head.

Soon she fills my head with memories of her life before having invaded my imagination: a life with her younger brother and the man she loves while in hiding, and the treasured times. I am astounded by how I react while she talks to me. There is a piercing ache inside me, deep down in my chest. I know I should not, but I yearn for those people who I never met. I love them as much as Melanie does. So we take off to look for the people we both love, but what we find is more than what we expected.

My life as Wanderer, a centipede-like creature being inserted at the back of my host’s head to take control of the body, makes me realize how great it is to be human. I get to know the nature of human love in the eyes of somebody who is not a human and does not understand love. Romantic love, love of family, love of friends — all of these emotions I, Wanderer, am able to explore as I first succumb to Melanie’s emotional memories, then succumb to the emotions for myself. I find love in the most unexpected way — not from the one which this body desires, but from the man who has seen the real me beneath her flesh and who has made me feel that I’m more than what I think I am. I find love from the people who I never imagined would love me back.

Being inside the world Meyer has offered, I remember how it really is to be human — to have family, friends, emotions, beliefs, dreams, ups and downs, all rolled up into a short, yet fruitful and satiable life. Suddenly, I feel the need to get out of my host and give Melanie back to them. And regret that I ever came here, that we intruded on their not-so-peaceful but passionate lives. I want to become human, too.

Hey! I am human, after all. I’m just getting so attached to Wanderer, and her colorful life inside the book. Deep down inside, I feel like we’re the same. Like her, I end up living in somebody’s life inside a book while shutting my world behind and not having a life of my own. In her case, she has no choice but to have a host to control her, for she wouldn’t be able to live without it. But I do have a choice. I can just be myself. I don’t have to be anybody else. I have my own life to live, dreams to fulfill, and people to love.

So I ask myself: Why do I have to dream away, read a book and be somebody else? Reading is a good habit. But living inside it, like it’s the real world, is something else. I search for an answer, only to find out more than what I expect. The personal problems, boredom, loneliness: there’s more to it than that. The insecurity that builds up inside me really is more than half of the answer to the question. I find my look normal, typical, and not attractive and interesting at all. The way I compose myself — being loud, moody, talkative, a laughingstock — irritates me. Most of all, the longing for that feeling — having someone who sees you for more than what you think you are and loves you for who you really are; having to look at someone and feel your heart flutter and your knees crumble; the blushing, cuddling, and other sweet things. That’s why I see reading as dreaming, to the point that I get to live as the main character and leave the real me behind.

But I still continue to be Wanderer. And as my story comes to its end, a passage in the book haunts my very being. Somebody in the book tells me:

“It’s not the face, but the expression on it. It’s not the voice, but what you say. It’s not how you look in that body, but the things you do with it. YOU are beautiful…”

It speaks not just to Wanderer, but to me as well, the real me. I feel like I’ve been slapped in the face, drowned in a pool of freezing water, or simply dragged out of a dream. I come to realize that it’s true.

That’s when I close the book. I’m back in the real world. I can hear somebody’s sobbing still. It’s not coming from my parents’ room, not from my mom. But I feel my own eyes water, and I find it hard to breathe. I am crying — a part of me as Wanderer and a part as myself — because of happiness: because I have a wonderful life here on Earth, where I really belong, with the people who treasure me more than anything. But I, Kimson, am crying because I’m hurt — that I have forgotten how thankful I should be for everything I have and spent most of my time living inside a dream and leaving reality behind. I feel stupid finding a way to be somebody else knowing that I, myself, can be as beautiful as the characters I have become given the right change for the better.

But one thing I know that’s worthy of my time, as well as anybody’s time, is to read and gain lessons from it. And this time, I know, I’ve learned something.

“I have always been somebody else — Anastasia Steel, John Smith, Kathy H., Charlie St. Cloud, you name it. But at the end of the day, I am and will always be myself.”

This Week’s Winner

Kimson Albert M. Valdez, 16, from Caloocan City, is studying for his BS degree in Broadcast Communications at the Polytechnic University of the Philippines. He loves reading novels that make him forget about the world. At home, he likes to “concentrate more on dreaming and reading.”