I still have 17 pending articles due today, but it’s so early for my energy and brain to work so I guess I’ll write a literary post for y’all guys to warm the shit outta me.
I hope you’ll enjoy this, though. 🙂
I’m on my way home and it’s raining really hard. I look at my watch and it’s 10:30 PM. I still have to work early tomorrow, and by the way it goes, I guess I’ll have less than 5 hours of sleep again tonight. I figured out that maybe this isn’t my best day, maybe this is my punishment from the heavens because I hate my mother. After all, “Honor thy mother and father” is the 6th commandment, right?
My mother used to sing when she was young. I remember listening to her and closing my eyes. God, she has a very beautiful voice. She used to sing with me in my pre-teen years. She used to be there when I join every singing contest in our town. She used to be lovely and lively and full of life.
I don’t know when, but it just stopped. She told me that I can’t sing all my life, that I need to find a job, that I should go to college, that I should never follow her steps because when she left everything to pursue her singing career, it led her nowhere and left by her husband who gave her nothing but problems and a baby girl.
Nothing but problems and a baby girl.
Problems and a baby girl.
A baby girl. That hurts.
All my life, I am bound by her rules. I should do this, I should learn that, blah blah blah. At first, I don’t mind the constant nagging, but after years of being my mother’s slave, it somehow get in my nerves. Why can’t I take Fine Arts? Why should I take Finance as my course? Why should I do this when what I really want is that?
Maybe she was right, she could have achieved her dreams. She could live the life she wanted to, if it wasn’t only because of my father… and me.
I finally made it home. I search right away for my mother. I want to move away from her as soon as possible now that I have a job and I’m living my life the way she wanted me to live it. She’s not here, though. She left a note by the refrigerator saying that she needs to be at my aunt Lily’s funeral.
I entered her room and roamed around it. it smells so much like her. Musk and citrus. I looked around and I see a little black book with the year 1996 printed in gold at the center. I opened it and I cried when I read the only two sentences on the very first page.
“My music stopped for me the day that my baby girl was born. But it’s my little girl who continued the music for me.”
I cried because of all the guilt and the pain. I cried because these two sentences slapped me and spit right on my face. All along I thought I was just her burden, the reason why she didn’t have her singing career, a wreck of a creature that my father left her with.
Never did I thought that I became her music.
Liked this? check out my other literary works! 😉