As I sit behind the wheel of my car, I take in the wintry landscape that surrounds me. Despite the fact that I have a clear view from inside my vehicle, I lower the window, eager to immerse myself in the frigid atmosphere. The snow-covered roads have already been cleared, thanks to the diligent efforts of the plow trucks that have been working since early morning. The crisp air seeps into the car, invigorating my senses as I take a deep breath.
The world outside is blanketed in a layer of pristine snow, as far as the eye can see. The lack of other vehicles on the road is a welcome sight, as it allows me to take in the serene beauty of my hometown without any distractions. The only sounds are the soft crunch of the snow under my tires and the occasional gust of wind.
I have been away from home for far too long, working tirelessly on my art and focusing on my career. However, my mother's persistent messages finally persuaded me to return for the holidays. Despite my busy schedule, I felt a strong pull to visit my hometown, to reconnect with my roots and spend time with my loved ones.
As I continue my journey down the road, I reflect on how much has changed since I left. The once familiar landmarks now seem unfamiliar and distant. But despite the passage of time, the memories and emotions associated with this place remain etched in my mind, reminding me of the strong connection I have with my hometown.
As I approach the outskirts of my neighborhood, I instinctively slow down my car, taking in the surroundings with a sense of nostalgia. My thumb absentmindedly taps on the steering wheel as I gaze out the window, noting the subtle differences from my memories. The small park on my left appears unchanged, yet its emptiness feels eerie, a stark contrast to the lively gatherings I used to attend there. The pizza place on the right, once a staple of my youth, now looks unfamiliar, its windows dark and shuttered.
I can't shake the feeling that I'm searching for something, but I'm not sure what. Perhaps it's a piece of my past, a connection to the memories of my childhood.
As I turn onto the street where I grew up, a smile breaks across my face. The homes are decked out in their annual display of holiday cheer, with twinkling Christmas lights and festive decorations adorning each yard. It's a familiar sight, one that never fails to evoke a sense of warmth and comfort in my heart. Our neighborhood always goes all out for the holidays, making it the most anticipated time of the year, aside from New Year's.
The coziness of the street envelops me as I drive down the familiar road. I can almost hear the sounds of laughter and merriment filtering through the windows, reminding me of the joyous gatherings of my youth.
I navigate a few more twists and turns before finally pulling to a stop in front of the familiar façade of my childhood home. Taking care to park my car along the side, I turn off the engine and release my seatbelt. Reaching into the back seat, I retrieve my bag, taking a moment to gather my belongings. I then retrieve my lip balm from the sun visor, feeling the dryness of my lips from the cold winter air.
Stepping out of the car, I make my way through the snow-covered front yard, my feet sinking into the drifts with each step. As I look around the neighborhood, my gaze is drawn to a house a few blocks away. It stands out like a sore thumb, its lack of holiday decorations and lights in stark contrast to the festively lit homes surrounding it. The windows are dark, the lights inside turned off, giving the house an abandoned, desolate feel.
This house, so different from the others, holds a strange fascination for me. Its emptiness and lack of celebration is at odds with the warmth and joy that pervades the rest of the neighborhood during this special time of year. It's as if time has stopped for this one house, while the rest of the world moves forward, embracing the holiday season.
"Chaeyoung!" My mother's voice, full of warmth and excitement, brings a smile to my face as I turn towards her. She stands in the doorway, bundled up in a thick jacket and scarf, a welcoming beacon amidst the snow-covered landscape. I hurry towards her, eager to feel the embrace of my mother's arms.
For our family, Christmas is a time of great importance and I make it a point to spend as much time with her as possible during this special season. As I near, she wraps me in a tight hug, rubbing my back comfortingly. "I've been waiting for you," she says, her voice filled with love and anticipation.
"I'm sorry, Mom. I was just finishing up work and making sure everything was in order," I explain, patting her back softly. "But I'm here now, and I'm so glad to be back home with you." The chill of the winter air dissipates as I bask in the warmth of her embrace, feeling the love and comfort that can only be found in the embrace of a parent.
"Of course, you're a busy artist, Roseanne," my mother chuckles, her laughter ringing like music in my ears. "Let's go inside. I've just started cooking dinner, so feel free to lend a hand if you're not too exhausted." With a smile, I follow her into the house, feeling a sense of warmth and comfort wash over me as I step over the threshold.
My mother heads straight for the kitchen, her energy undiminished, while I take a moment to kick off my shoes and hang up my jacket. It has been a long time since I last set foot inside this house, and I take a moment to bask in the familiar surroundings, allowing memories of my childhood to flood back.
The interior of the house feels just as cozy and inviting as I remember, with the aroma of my mother's cooking filling the air and the soft glow of warm lighting casting a cozy hue over everything.
As I step into the living room, my gaze sweeps across the familiar space, taking in the changes that my mother has made. The plush new couch and flat-screen television catch my eye, reminders of her efforts to keep the space updated. Despite her reluctance to accept financial assistance from me, I feel a twinge of guilt for not being able to do more for her.
My attention is drawn to a medium-sized Christmas tree, decked out in glittering ornaments and twinkling lights. Underneath it, a stack of presents beckons me over. Sifting through the neatly wrapped packages, I notice that they are a mix of gifts from friends, family, and neighbors, as well as a few from my childhood friends and sister.
Rising from the floor, I make my way over to the window. Despite the dreary weather outside, I can still make out the silhouette of the house I had been observing earlier. The lights remain off, casting the building into shadow. The cool temperature outside makes it seem as though the sun is quickly sinking towards the horizon, casting a warm golden glow into the room.
"Chaeyoung, will you come and try this soup?" My mother's voice rings out from the kitchen, pulling me from my reverie. I tear my gaze away from the house, my thoughts still lingering on the dark windows.
"Coming!" I yell back, taking a deep breath before turning towards the kitchen. My mother is still standing by the stove, her focus unwavering as she carefully watches her soup. I make my way over to her, grabbing a clean spoon and taking a careful taste. "It's perfect," I say, nodding in appreciation.
Just as I'm settling into the moment, I feel a tap on my shoulder. I spin around to see my older sister Alice, a mischievous grin on her face. "Look who's here," she says, eliciting an instant smile from me. The sight of her always has the power to lift my mood and make everything feel just a little bit brighter.
"What could be more important than your own sister that you only just remembered to come down now?" I tease, eliciting a lighthearted laugh from Alice. She steps into the kitchen, wrapping me in a warm embrace. She's just returned home for the holidays, all the way from Los Angeles where she currently resides.
"I was just wrapping up some work for a client," she explains, patting my back before pulling away from the hug. "Attorney Park is very busy."
"She sure is," my mother chimes in with a nod. "Always so busy, our Alice."
"Mom, should I set the table for three, or should I make room for four?" I ask, my mind turning to memories of our family dinners when we used to share it with one more person.
"Just the three of us tonight," my mother says.
"You haven't seen your friends in ages," Alice points out.
My mother nods, her eyes downcast as she thinks of my lack of socializing since returning home. "I just got back, that's why," I said softly. "Won't we need another plate, just in case?" I ask, hoping that there will be another person joining us at the table.
But my mother simply shakes her head. "Not tonight," she says as she carries a steaming bowl of soup over to the already crowded table. The aroma of the soup fills the air, mingling with the scents of the other dishes already waiting for us.
"The lights are off at her house," she muses, "she's probably at work, even if she's home, she'll just be sleeping. Me and some of the neighbors are bringing her Christmas food and gifts. Hopefully, she won't have to work tomorrow on Christmas day." My mother's voice is filled with concern for that one person.
"Is she still working at the store?" I inquire, the concern for her palpable in my voice.
"I saw her there last month," Alice says, settling into a chair at the table.
"She doesn't have a set schedule," my mother explains, "she goes there every day, holiday or not. They get a lot of walk-in customers, so she has no choice but to be there."
"Is she doing okay?" I ask, the worry evident in my tone.
"She's... okay," my mother says softly, her eyes thoughtful. "She's just trying to make a life for herself." The compassion in my mother's voice is palpable, and I can see the care she still has for her.