We were seated side by side, at a big round table. There were a lot of people walking around us yet, the place was strangely quiet. Her hands was resting on her lap. She took a look at me and...
Her Story, The other part of History (Opening)
My mother, has always told me how great a man my father was. When he was young, when he was in middle age and when he was old. My mother only has praises for my father. The only time when she complained was after my so called Grand Dad passed away.
The company took away too much of his time. He started to come home late, tired. He looked fragile, sick, listless. His vibrant self was gone. He seldom talked to me and my mother, and he was always missing during dinner.
All this while, my mother has never talked about her herself. All she would ever talked about, is my father.
One day, I told my mother that I have heard enough stories about my father, to the point that I can write it out. I asked her to tell me more about herself. I want to know more on how she and my father get to know each other and what happened after that.
My mother told me that her life is not interesting as my father's and there's nothing much to talk about. I refused to take that as an excuse and I sulked till my mother finally gave in...
She stopped suddenly. She reached out for the glass of water that was placed on the table and she took a sip of it. While sipping, her eyes seems to be staring to a space of emptiness.
Recalling a past which is so long ago, yet feels like its just yesterday. Feelings and emotions that has been buried in the heart for a long time, flared up again. Like a fire being rekindled after it died, it all came rushing back.
She shook her head and looked at me. There's a joyful look on her face. She set the glass on the table and she continued...
(To be Continued)
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