Chapter 2

Daughter

I twisted the cap of the tap and watch the water gushing down into the sink. I held the cup to the water and rub the outer part of the cup in a circular moment. At least, the familiar routine of washing my cup helps to calm me down. Even though I might be in the kitchen, I can feel my mum’s eyes staring at me from behind.

I need a break.

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“Mum, I am going down for a jog at the Park,”

“Why? Aren’t you feeling tired?” My mum’s right eyebrow arched up in surprise, her usual trademark when she is feeling befuddle at certain thing.

Like me wanting to run after a hearty dinner is something baffling for her. I do not usually run at night. My mum knows me well.

“No, not tired, I just want to unwind myself after sitting for such long hours back in the office.” I replied and get out of the house before she could say anything.

********************

The cooling air of the night caressed against my skin, as I began my running.
I remembered those beads of sweat clinging onto the edge of my hair and oozing out from my pores back when I was still in the badminton team for my secondary school. Even though the aftereffect of a strenuous game of badminton is having a sticky skin and a thirsty desire for cold water, I felt great. Sweating after a game helps me to filter out my stress and anger and allow me to have a good night sleep. Now, I am trying to filter out my stress and tension through running. Everything else around me is in a blur other than the sound of own running shoes and breathing. I was completely unaware of other things, which is going on around me. But the image of my mum quizzical look had already imprinted itself at the back of my mind.

I stopped for a moment to breath in the lavender scent that was lingering around in the park. A gentle wind was blowing, dragging those yellowish leaves along, which departed themselves unwillingly away from their branches along to have their final dance in the air before swaying down onto the soil to rest for eternity. One of the leaves swayed over to my head. Suddenly, quite unbidden, a flashback of my childhood memory came abruptly into my mind.

“Bro, the leaves are falling, “I squealed in delight, jumping up and down amidst the leaves which were already gathering themselves in piles along the street.

“Faster, open up your palm,” My big brother ran towards me, his hand in a scooping gesture.

“Why?”

Just as soon as I asked that, one of the leaves happen to make its landing safely on my open palm.

“Granddaddy once told me if you happen to open your palm and a leaf happens to land onto your palm without you trying to catch it, a miracle will happen to you.”

After saying, he scoped me up into his embracement and carried me to walk around the park
With my small little hand still grasping onto that leaf.

I smiled, finally something to cheer me up. Even though my big brother is dead after fighting his own cancer illness over a year, I can still feel his presence around me. My brother was the pillar of my strength and he was the one whom I can really tell him how I felt. For this very moment, I can feel him whispering to me telling me to stretch my hand out and open my palm.

I did just that and one of the falling leaves had fallen onto my palm.

Mother

I flipped open the family album. Seeing photographs of my deceased Son’s sunny smile and my daughter’s cute dimple brings back lots of memories. There were our first time going overseas as a family, my daughter first zoo trip, my Son in his tuxedo getting ready for his Sister’s award ceremony, my daughter smiling at me over her birthday cake and a picture of my son smiling weakly with his sister after having his first chemotherapy.

Before my son died, he had made lots of great plans. He planned to find himself a gorgeous girlfriend, he planned to have two kids by the age of 25 years old, and he planned to bring me and my daughter to Japan to have sushi. But all was gone when He found himself contacting leukemia. I remember him fighting his own battle in the hospital. He strongly believed that he will survive through that ordeal and bounds back into his normal life again. He spent his time journaling his thoughts into his leather-bound journal which his Sister brought for him as a birthday present. He too visited those cancer-stricken kids to talk to them as well as teaching them how to paint. One of them, a 7 years old patient was planning to give him one of his painting as a gift of gratitude. But before he could give him the next day, my son already breathed his last breath in the hospital. I accepted that painting on his behalf and had it hanged onto the wall. It was a painting of blue polka dots all over the paper. It was my son favorite color.

Heaving a sigh, I stood up and ease the album back into its position on the shelf.
Walking to the window, I try to see if I can see the shadow of my daughter around the park. Finally, I have spotted her. She is still running.