Between Life

Chapter 3: Shadows of Sorrow - Navigating the Aftermath

I became aware of how people looked at me strangely. Why didn't that child cry or even appear sad when their father passed away? Whether it was extended family, neighbors, or my parents' colleagues, they all knew that I was the closest to my father. It was because I spent more time at home while my sister was busy.

As the funeral process began, I tried to console my mother and sister. My sister also tried to support my mother. Despite the marital conflicts that had shaken us all before, both my sister and I knew that despite everything, our parents had endured and maintained their marriage for as long as they could. Perhaps love had long faded, but surely there was still affection, right?

After my father's departure and everyone returned to their usual routines, that's when I started crying frequently. I often cried alone, lamenting – who could I freely share my feelings with? My mother? impossible. My sister? She's busy, and we're not that close. I kept wondering what would happen next. Why can people move on so easily when the person they mourned is gone forever? Is this the only purpose of human beings?

It felt forced, but it seemed like a human obligation to endure and let go of many things. I still remember my father, like a youngest daughter deeply missing his presence. Oh, if I had known he would leave me so soon, I would have hugged him many times. I would have told my father how much I loved him. After my father's passing, I often thought about how kind he was to others, often taken advantage of by people who knew he was too good. I often wondered what my father went through without our family knowing. He was a father, but he was also a human. What did he experience, what did he go through, or what was on his mind? If given the chance to talk to him again, I would want to ask him those things and apologize if I could only be the worst child he ever had.

Less than six months after my father passed away, my mother brought another man into our home, claiming he was a friend of my father's. But you know, I was the closest to my father. I knew who my father's friends were, and that man wasn't one of them. However, due to my foolishness, I chose to believe. Since I only have one parent now, at least I gave all my trust to her.

In the beginning, the man only occasionally visited our house, and my mother acted as usual, treating him like a friend. Gradually, it changed; he started coming to our house more often, and my mother transformed. Her gaze focused in one direction, no, two directions! One towards the man and the other towards my sister. I still remember how radiant my mother's eyes were, a sight I had never seen in my entire life—happiness. Yes, my mother seemed happy for the first time, at least that's what I thought. Even when my father was alive, I never saw her eyes shine like that.

My mother became more diligent in grooming herself than usual. She also started leaving me alone at home more frequently because she wanted to be with that man. Like a strong adhesive, that's how I would describe their relationship. My mother still remembered to provide me with food, but beyond that, she seemed indifferent. However, I couldn't do anything. I only had my mother, and if I were to speak up about the situation at home to my sister, what would happen to me? Perhaps my mother would hit me again, and it would be worse than before. Maybe she would kick me out or hate me for the rest of my life. My sister knew about their relationship, but not in as much detail as I did. But, has my mother ever considered me her own child?

I held everything inside, taking refuge behind the tall walls I eventually built to protect myself from people, even my own mother. I secluded myself in my room more often than before, constantly crying and lamenting my fate. Where should I go? What direction is my home now? Or even, who am I now? My life seemed to slowly crumble, and everything I did always ended up in misfortune.

I remember one family member joking about that man, saying I should address him as "father" A joke. But, for me, it hurt my heart and maybe my father's heart. There's only one father for me. That man only worsened the atmosphere. One undeniable fact that I knew was that he was my mother's old love. Yes, indeed, my mother's high school sweetheart. Shamelessly, I felt like I was going crazy upon learning that fact. Once again, what could I do? No one ever looked my way.

I started getting stressed, more stressed every day. I didn't care about my appearance; I only focused on what I ate. I slept more, and more, and more. I hoped that by sleeping, I could escape from all the problems that seemed to be closing in on me. I always distracted myself by playing on my phone, sometimes gaming or just scrolling through social media. Others, especially my family, looked at me as if I were a strange child, the most apathetic one, the one who cared the least about the environment around me.

Me... Me.. Always me.. I was always blamed for others' mistakes.

My sister was always protected. I knew she had her own problems and might have gone through tougher times than I am facing now. But what is all of this? Everyone seems selfish, as if I am just a stranger who suddenly appeared in this family. Why? I kept asking why in my head and continued blaming myself for all the mistakes that happened. I continued to endure this pain and put on a mask, as if I were fine, as if I really didn't care about the people around me. I built an even higher wall.

Month after month, ah, how long do I have to endure this feeling? I'm on the verge of going crazy. Until one night, my mother came to my room in the middle of the night, struggling to breathe like an asthmatic person. That very night, my mother and I rushed to the hospital. With the loss of my father still fresh, how could my mother fall ill now? Would my mother have the same fate as my father? I kept praying to God, pleading for help to save my mother. I kept praying, not caring about myself as long as my mother was being treated at the hospital.

"God, I don't care anymore... save my mother. I beg you, I can't bear to lose someone I love again. I have given my complete trust to my mother. I even pretended to be fine in front of her. I plead for her safety. I beg you, oh God," I repeated that prayer every time I saw my mother struggling with her illness.