My parents are good at two things. Giving hope, and taking them back. I am supposed ot attend a a wedding, my friend, I mean, his sister is having a kenduri today. Some of them are waiting me in cyber because they are expecting me to come,
“bad, aku kat cyber ni, kau bile nak sampai?”
“aku tak dapat datang ah, parents aku suruh balik”
“tapi hari tu kata boleh”
“memang ah, tapi hari ni diorang keras gak nak suruh balik”
They wanted me to be home so bad, as if they are expecting me to be home as soon as possible, and apparently, my brother is going home the same day. He arrived home in the evening. I tried my best and to the fullest to be home, I even ran instead of walking in gaiety. And when I reached home, it is dark. No wonder its dark, they are out already, and luckily my bro called and tell me that he left the key to our neighbour.
Walking in the house, its dark and its cold. I don’t know the idea of what a home is, but for me, what matters the most are the people inside that will create the warmth that makes you eager to be home.
I remember when teacher used to tell us to draw “our home”. I will always draw my family with a smile on our face, a real smile. It was the smiling face that makes the drawing meaningful, nit how you actually draw a house.
I hoped that at least one, one soul that will welcome me home, but maybe I was wrong. I shouldn’t hope. A person used to tell me not to give up on hope, but god loves to troll me aint he?
Hope is like a wing, it gave you strength and makes you fly, the possibilities are endless. Maybe I fly too high, and when the wings are ripped off me, I fall hard.
Now I am alone in the house, taking cold rice. This house sure is cold to me eh? Maybe I need to buy a teddy bear for myself, literally, so that whenever I am alone, I can always have something to be hugged and not feeling so left out.
p/s : blame the writer for being a lametard