What is it that we all want in this world?
Is it money?
Success?
Happiness?
Strength?
Peace?
Tranquility?
The answer would definitely change according to the person that is asked. For me, it is the desire to see the outside world or see what lay beyond the limits of our village.
However, was that really the case? Had I really wanted all those things for myself? All those things were ‘really’ my desire.
Something inside me always told me that I was missing something. From the moment I opened these damn eyes to this world, I always saw things easily, and that was also the case for my quick head.
And that quick head became a curse in times like this. I always questioned if I was really the one who always desired to leave this place since whenever I saw her, all these feelings always disappeared.
I found myself questioning all those things as the new morning made me greet the rising sun. It became a trend for me to rise from my bed before my general time nowadays. This was something that had frequently happened after our father and mother left this world.
“At-ta-ta- ta-ta…..”
As I stirred from my sleep, a dull ache resonated through my body, a testament to the physical strain endured during the wood-gathering task yesterday.
The familiar sensation reminded me of the harsh reality of our responsibilities, a routine that became more pronounced after our parents departed from this world.
The first rays of sunlight filtered through the window, casting a warm glow on the simple room I called my own. The wooden walls held memories of shared laughter and conversations, but the absence of our parents lingered in the quiet corners.
“Sigh….”
With a silent sigh, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, feeling the cool wooden floor beneath my feet.
“Maybe I overexerted myself.”
The weight of yesterday’s training still clung to my muscles as I questioned whether I should have not trained that much or not.
After all, even if I had this initial desire to improve my body condition, I also heard it frequently that overexerting myself wouldn’t bring much benefits. And considering what I had seen so far in my life, that seemed to be true.
CREAK!
The wind howled through the window as my attention was drawn to that place. Seeing the brown-yellowish silk covering the land and the branches of trees that had lost their green color, it became evident that the winter was already on its way once again, a constant reminder of the tasks that awaited me.
“It was definitely not a wise decision to push myself like that…..”
I couldn’t help but curse myself for yesterday, as I knew the fact that he was the one that was responsible for the muscle pain I was experiencing right now.
“It is definitely not me.”
The question of what I wanted to do with my life continued to linger in the corner of my head.
“What do I truly desire?” The question echoed within me as I moved through the motions of my morning routine. The ritual of splashing cold water on my face seemed to wash away the physical weariness, but the existential questions lingered.
The village, the woods, the training—it was all part of a life predetermined by tradition and responsibility. But as the morning sun painted the world in hues of gold, I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more beyond the boundaries of our familiar existence.
“Come one….Thinking about it is pointless, isn’t it.”
However, I knew, in the face of real responsibilities, thinking about those fragile things like this.
“You have a roof over your head….What is there to complain about….That old man would definitely say if he was here…”
Remembering the smile of my father and his gentle attitude, I involuntarily curled the corner of my mouth.
I mean, how can I help it? Elders always said that things that are precious always tend to be appreciated after they are lost.
That was definitely true.
As I dressed and prepared for the day, I couldn’t help but reminisce about the times when his guidance and gentle encouragement shaped my understanding of the world.
“Sigh…” I sighed once again, this time not from fatigue but from the weight of unspoken emotions. The image of my father’s smile, etched in the recesses of my memory, brought a mixture of warmth and longing.
Maybe it was the changing seasons or the echo of yesterday’s exertion, but my thoughts gravitated toward the moments when I felt like I fell short of my father’s expectations. He always smiled at my endeavors, even when I stumbled and struggled.
I recalled the times when I believed he wanted me to be like the other kids in the village—more physically capable, more outgoing.
The memory of his disappointed expression haunted me during those instances when I couldn’t keep up or when my weaknesses were exposed.
But now, as I stood alone in the quiet room, I yearned for those moments of gentle correction, those subtle nudges that spoke of a father’s unwavering belief in his son. The realization struck me that I missed the very things I once perceived as shortcomings.
The creaky floor beneath my feet seemed to echo the footsteps of the past; each sounded a reminder of shared laughter, conversations, and the unspoken bond between a father and his son.
The window, through which the wind whispered its melancholy tune, framed the landscape that had witnessed our family’s journey.
Yet, the rational mind inside me told me that I should no longer waste my time thinking about all those useless things. After all, I needed to prepare breakfast before she woke up and left home for her duties.
“You were probably right, old man…..” I mumbled with a rare smile. “As long as you have a roof in your head and someone to share it, you should never complain.”
With a deep breath, I shook off the nostalgic thoughts, reminding myself that the present demanded my attention. The rhythmic motions of my morning routine provided a comforting anchor, grounding me in the tasks that needed to be done.
As I stepped out of the room, the quiet hallway seemed to hold whispers of bygone days, and I allowed myself a moment to appreciate the memories etched into the very walls. The creaky floor beneath my feet yielded familiar sounds, each one a silent testament to the shared history of our family.
Passing through the familiar spaces of our modest home, I made my way to the small kitchen.
The kitchen, though modest, held the familiar tools and utensils that had witnessed countless meals shared as a family.
I headed straight for the worn-out kettle, a faithful companion in my morning ritual. The rhythmic sound of water pouring into the kettle filled the room, a precursor to the comforting aroma of brewing tea.
The tea leaves, carefully stored in a small container, released their fragrance as they steeped in the hot water. I watched the swirls of steam rise, momentarily lost in the soothing routine that bridged the past and the present.
“This should be enough.”
Next, I ventured into the small garden adjacent to our home. The dew-kissed leaves of the vegetables glistened in the morning light, awaiting their turn to contribute to our daily sustenance.
‘I guess I should make her something good.’
For some reason, I knew she would also be moody when she woke up. This would probably enlighten her mood a little more.
I plucked fresh tomatoes, crisp lettuce, and vibrant bell peppers, envisioning the colorful array that would adorn our breakfast table.
A trip to the well provided the water needed to wash the vegetables. The cool water felt invigorating on my hands, a tactile connection to the earth that sustained us.
Returning to the kitchen, I retrieved eggs and cheese from the storeroom. The eggs, with their shells bearing a mosaic of speckles, held the promise of nourishment, while the cheese, aged to perfection, added a touch of richness to our simple fare.
CHOP! CHOP! CHOP!
As I moved through the familiar motions of chopping vegetables, cracking eggs, and grating cheese, the kitchen came alive with the sounds and scents of breakfast in the making. The familiar routine, a dance of culinary artistry, brought a sense of purpose to the start of the day.
The aroma of sizzling vegetables and the crackling sound of eggs in the pan filled the kitchen, creating a symphony of flavors that made my stomach grumble.
HUG!
At that moment, I felt someone’s arms wrapping around my waist, a familiar touch that brought both surprise and comfort. Turning slightly, I saw Estelle, her presence enveloped in the soft light of the morning. Her arms held me in a gentle embrace, and for a moment, the world outside the kitchen faded away.
“Hmm, good morning, Astron,” she mumbled into my back, her voice carrying a muffled morning grogginess. The warmth of her breath against my clothes and the softness of her embrace all indicated that she sought closeness today.
“Good morning, Estelle,” I replied, a soft smile playing on my lips. Her slightly moody morning demeanor didn’t escape my notice, and I couldn’t help but wonder what thoughts lingered in her mind.
As she nestled her face into my back, I continued with the breakfast preparations, the sounds of chopping and sizzling providing a rhythmic backdrop to the shared silence.
The familiar routine served as a comforting balm, grounding us in the simple acts of daily life.
Estelle’s embrace tightened, and I could sense a subtle sadness lingering in the air. The weight of our parents’ absence hung between us, a silent acknowledgment of the void they left behind.
In these quiet moments, the memories of our shared past became tangible, and I knew that Estelle, like me, carried the weight of those memories.
As the aroma of the cooking breakfast filled the kitchen, Estelle spoke, her voice still muffled against my back. “Do you ever wonder, Astron, if they’re watching over us? If they’re proud of who we’ve become?”
The question hung in the air, a reflection of the unspoken thoughts that often surfaced in the quiet corners of our minds. I paused for a moment, letting the weight of her words settle.
“I do, Estelle,” I replied softly. In times like this, I would normally be the one who sought comfort from her past in the past. But, at some point, our roles have been reversed, maybe at the time when our father and mother left us.
“I like to think they are. Their guidance and love linger in everything we do, in the memories that shape us. And maybe, just maybe, they find solace in seeing us carry on.”
Estelle’s grip on me relaxed, and she pulled away, her eyes meeting mine with a mix of gratitude and sadness.
“Thanks, Astron. Thanks for being here,” she said, her voice carrying a genuine warmth. In times like this, I thought staying here wasn’t bad at all.