She was sitting on her bed, by the window, when she suddenly realised someone was singing. She recognised that song.
She turned around and saw her mom folding her favorite green scarf and singing.
She asked, “Why do you sing the same song all the time, mom?”
“Because I love this song. And did you know I won first prize for performing it in high school?”
“Yeah, yeah you told me that many times!” she said, and noticed a certain glitter in her mom’s eyes.
Her mom laughed aloud and then asked, “Why are you so messy? Why can’t you keep your clothes and your room clean and tidy? When will you grow up?”
Suddenly, she was angry. In a fit of rage, she replied, “I will never! I like being messy mom.” Then she screamed, “Mom, don’t touch that book. I haven’t finished reading yet. Keep it where it was.”
“At least try to tidy your books dear! It’s all over the place!”
“I love those messy books and folded old brown pages of them,” she said. now smiling, once again.
“Why didn’t you give your dirty clothes to Nima aunty? She could’ve washed them.”
“I don’t like her mom! I will wash them myself.”
“Why dear? She really likes you and even tries hard all the time to make you happy,” she found her mom explaining, with much concern.
“She is very dear to dad and you know I can’t stand if anyone is close to him other than you,” she said and started to cry out loud.
Suddenly there was a knock on the door. It was her dad.
“Oh dad, what happened?” the girl asked.
“Your Nima aunty organised a get together for your mom’s death anniversary, please get ready and come downstairs to attend.”
She got out of bed, paused her music player and suddenly turned towards her bedside table. She noticed her medicines were lying there, intact. She had forgotten to take them. Or maybe she didn’t want to, not for this day.
The writer is a student of English linguistic and literature in East West University.