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 , 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.
Sothing inside always told that I was missing sothing. From the mont 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 beca a curse in tis 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 greet the rising sun. It beca a trend for to rise from my bed before my general ti nowadays. This was sothing 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 testant to the physical strain endured during the wood-gathering task yesterday.
The familiar sensation reminded of the harsh reality of our responsibilities, a routine that beca 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 mories 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 seed 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 beca evident that the winter was already on its way once again, a constant reminder of the tasks that awaited .
"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 ."
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 as I moved through the motions of my morning routine. The ritual of splashing cold water on my face seed 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 sothing more beyond the boundaries of our familiar existence.
"Co 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…"
Rembering the smile of my father and his gentle attitude, I involuntarily curled the corner of my mouth.
I an, 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.
The mories of my father flooded my mind, a bittersweet cascade of monts that defined our relationship.
As I dressed and prepared for the day, I couldn't help but reminisce about the tis when his guidance and gentle encouragent shaped my understanding of the world.
"Sigh…" I sighed once again, this ti not from fatigue but from the weight of unspoken emotions. The image of my father's smile, etched in the recesses of my mory, 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 monts 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 tis when I believed he wanted to be like the other kids in the village—more physically capable, more outgoing.
The mory of his disappointed expression haunted 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 monts of gentle correction, those subtle nudges that spoke of a father's unwavering belief in his son. The realization struck that I missed the very things I once perceived as shortcomings.
The creaky floor beneath my feet seed 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 lancholy tune, frad the landscape that had witnessed our family's journey.
Yet, the rational mind inside told that I should no longer waste my ti thinking about all those useless things. After all, I needed to prepare breakfast before she woke up and left ho 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 soone 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 in the tasks that needed to be done.
As I stepped out of the room, the quiet hallway seed to hold whispers of bygone days, and I allowed myself a mont to appreciate the mories etched into the very walls. The creaky floor beneath my feet yielded familiar sounds, each one a silent testant to the shared history of our family.
Passing through the familiar spaces of our modest ho, I made my way to the small kitchen.
The kitchen, though modest, held the familiar tools and utensils that had witnessed countless als 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, montarily 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 ho. 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 sothing good.'
For so 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 nourishnt, 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 ca 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 mont, I felt soone'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 in a gentle embrace, and for a mont, 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 deanor 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 acknowledgnt of the void they left behind.
In these quiet monts, the mories of our shared past beca tangible, and I knew that Estelle, like , carried the weight of those mories.
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 beco?"
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 mont, letting the weight of her words settle.
"I do, Estelle," I replied softly. In tis like this, I would normally be the one who sought comfort from her past in the past. But, at so point, our roles have been reversed, maybe at the ti when our father and mother left us.
"I like to think they are. Their guidance and love linger in everything we do, in the mories that shape us. And maybe, just maybe, they find solace in seeing us carry on."
Estelle's grip on relaxed, and she pulled away, her eyes eting mine with a mix of gratitude and sadness.
"Thanks, Astron. Thanks for being here," she said, her voice carrying a genuine warmth. In tis like this, I thought staying here wasn't bad at all.
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