Thursday, May 29, 2014

I Don't Believe in Feeling Sorrow

I don’t believe in feeling sorrow. It’s not built-in my system. I was trained to be tough whenever we are faced with problems. Strong girls don’t cry, they are for the weak minded, the cry babies, the good-for-nothing bitches. I don’t believe in feeling sorrow.
I woke up in a tears-drenched bed, my eyes feeling sore, my body aching from my bad sleeping posture. I did not sleep well. As I peeled away from the locks of my comforter, it suddenly dawned to me, that awful reality which I was trying so hard to forget haunts me again. I put my head into my arms as I struggled against another crying fit, then I willingly forced myself up from my bed. The whole room seemed emptier, even though nothing had changed. My cloths laid casually around my bedroom floor, my dressing table a terrible mess, my bags tossed on to a growing pile...

I did not even bother to brush up, there’s no point in it. I dragged myself to the door and opened it. A burst of fresh air rushed into my stuffy room, but it did nothing to improve my solemn mood. I looked across the neatly tidied hall to their room. Their door was opened, just like it has always been. I used to ask my dad why does he open his door the minute they woke up, he used to joke around saying that it is meant to welcome us in. As that memory slipped by, I felt a jab of pain striking my heart. I’m not sure if I can take it.

Mornings at my home were always so cheerful. I loved the way the sun warms each and every one of our rooms, not as much as blinding it, but just enough to create that warm fuzzy glow. Today, it seemed that the sun was feeling utterly happy, lighting up my house the way it always did. I remembered my mom used to say that a bright room is always good FengShui, it means that good Chi is flowing in our home, it will give good luck and good fortune... How Ironic.

I walked towards their open door and peered inside. I hated the fact that everything looked the same. Their TV set looking right at their miniature sofa in front of their king size bed, and my youngest brother’s additional Tilam just nesting beside it. Towards the corner of the room, my father’s favourite massage chair, positioned and angled perfectly to see the TV set too. I remember days when I would just walk in this room, shouting out to my mom and dad in greeting and just lay in their king sized bed, watching the TV together with them. Gleeful moments when I got to wake up my youngest brother when the sun is up, just to annoy him. Or I could just hoist my legs up the bed as I lay down on the sofa, my mom would surely nag at me for being ‘un-woman-like’...

Everything seemed like a blur now. I walked into that room and sat on that sofa I loved so much, looking at that quiet surrounding, seeping in that eerie silence. I couldn’t believe they could just go like that. It was just too sudden. My memories with them seemed like an on-rolling TV series, so real but yet so made up. As scenes after scenes of our stories fast forwarded in my mind, my head felt like a million tonne. It was just too much and I couldn’t resist. I put my head in my arms and weep uncontrollably...

A sudden knock startled me from my thoughts. I looked up to see my red eyed brother, holding up a newspaper cut out. I took the limp piece of paper from him, the not-so-subtle headline spelling out the hard and cold reality - ‘Parents and youngest son died in car crash’. I looked at him as he started to cry violently. Me, being the eldest, could not do much, but to hug him. I too, cried along with him...
I don’t believe in feeling sorrow. But when I woke up from that terrible dream, nothing seemed to matter to me anymore. I ran into that familiar room looking for my mom. She was sweeping the bedroom floor, listening to the morning news. I hugged her as tight as I could and said nothing more.

- A short write up for creative writing class :)

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