CHAPTER 4: AUTUMN OF GRIEF

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Airin sighed as she sat up by the side of her single-sized bed, collecting her thoughts.

On the floor right next to her bed was a notebook, open, full of handwritten notes. Scribbles on the sides. Scratched out paragraphs, then rewritten on top of the deleted parts. Her novel. Something she had been trying to finish for months, and now, stuck.

A novel about a heartbroken girl who went on a journey of self-discovery after the death of her mom. To heal. But storm came, wrecked her tiny boat, and she got stuck in an island where she had to fight for her survival.

Airin sighed again. That stupid novel would not ever be done. It would just be stuck, just like the writer currently. What was she thinking anyway? To write a novel? All based on what Mom told her when she was a little girl, that her writing was good.

She loved writing, her poems and short stories had been published on some magazines and online forums. Though she had not done any writing since Mom died, until a few months ago when a flash of inspiration struck her and she started writing her novel. Until she got stuck. Stuck till now.

The notebook made her want to cry for some reason. One kick and the notebook was now underneath her bed, away from her sight.

She grabbed her hairtie and made a big bundle of her long brown hair on top of her head. She took off her kneelength sleeveless red yellow polkadot nightgown, threw the gown on the bed, sat naked with only her underwear on by the side of the bed for a few seconds, took Mom's necklace and wore it, the round jade pendant the size of a marble rested on her cleavage, the classic jade green color contrasted her milk-white skin.

A digital clock on her nightstand showed 7:30AM. Her class started at 8:30AM. She sighed, twirled the necklace before standing up, picking up her bra from the floor, and went to the bathroom at the left corner of the room.

Getting ready did not take long. She washed herself, wore black skinny jeans and bright pink t-shirt with her hair tied up in a ponytail. That was it.

She went out of her bedroom to the living room, a room with soft lilac-colored paint that looked quite new compared to her bedroom. New, because this was the only room she repainted when she moved in – she only had budget to paint one room.

Painting was done with the help of a couple friends from work on a weekend. A couple burger dinners was all she could afford to give to these friends and they were happy about it.

The living room was big enough for three guests squeezing in together in her dark blue futon couch – old, she bought it second hand from a garage sale, but nevertheless handy because it was actually a futon that was folded to be sofa-like.

A wood-lacquered coffee table the size of a quarter of a pingpong table with a tall glass vase filled with four stalks of almost dead daisies was in front of the futon couch – she got this table in a bundled price deal with the futon couch.

A red wool throw, it was Mom's, was on the couch. An open kitchen that was big enough for two adults to squeeze between the old pale blue fridge on one side, and the stove and the kitchen cabinet on the opposite side. A tall window was on one end of the kitchen, looking right at the railway outside juxtaposed with the electricity poles and their cables.

After standing in front of her kitchen for a good two minutes trying to decide what to eat for breakfast, she decided for a bowl of cornflakes and a cup of earl grey. She ate fast, standing next to the kitchen counter because even after six months she had not gotten herself a proper dining table and chairs. For now the futon couch and coffee table doubled up as her dining chair and table.

When she was done eating, she grabbed two jumbo sheets of stickers from the top of the fridge, stickers printed with Good Job! or Well Done! or Thumbs Up! in different shape and colours. With one throw, she dropped them all in her crossbody bag—a cotton, hand-sewn, marooon bag with the word DARLING embroidered in gold letters on its flappy cover. The bag was her 21st birthday present from Mom.

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