It was almost noon when the shrill beeps of my periwinkle alarm clock woke me from my deep slumber. I did not feel so good. As groggy as I was, I forced myself to lift my body up from the rattan bed where I snoozed. As always, my back was throbbing after it remained pressed against the bed’s hard material. I stretched a little to at least reduce the pain. Another night was over. The moon had once again subsided to give way to another heavenly body – the brighter and more radiant sun. Another morning had come upon the face of the earth. But my room remained the same, dark and barely illuminated. I looked at the window of my room. I could see the narrow beams of sunlight entering through the little gaps between the wooden blinds on the window, which had been closed for as long as I could remember. I slowly walked towards the window and peeked through the slits of the wooden blinds to see the morning scenery. It was breathtaking. I saw the orange trees under the shining sun. At the distant side of the panorama, I could see the waters shining under the brilliant sun like a sea of diamonds. On the ground just in front of our abode, I saw our neighbors walking here and there, carrying baskets of vegetables and other foods. Everyone looked so busy. The tranquil nights of our little town had always been filled with silence, except for the buzzes of the insects and the waves of the sea. But the morning was the total opposite of night. Everyone gets resurrected from the death brought about by the darkness. Everyone once again gets hectic and prepares to survive another day of life. But I was not one of them. I was different.

As I reflected upon myself while looking outside the window, I suddenly remembered the things that happened last night. Everything was still vividly pictured in my head. I could still remember how it drizzled on the fields and how I was struggling to find shelter. Then the man came. I could tell he was not from our town. I could still remember how he approached me and offered his jacket to protect me from the rain. And most importantly, I could still not forget how I rudely ran away from him. I felt so stupid. I walked away from the window and sat on the rattan bed in my room, contemplating on what I had done. As he presented his jacket to me, I could feel his sincerity from deep within his heart. He was there, willing to sacrifice his own self to keep me safe in the middle of the storm. He was there, chasing after me in muddy fields just to give me protection. And yet I ran away from him. I knew it was wrong. I felt an abrupt pinch inside my heart. I was hurt at what I had done. I couldn’t understand myself. Those events in that cool autumn night remained inside my head, tormenting me over and over again. But I could not blame myself. I had no choice. I had no choice at all. I closed my eyes. I coerced myself to forget about everything that happened on that evening. I forced my mind to get rid of any thoughts about him. But some unseen force was preventing me from doing so. I could feel a crystal teardrop escaping from my eyes. I wanted to forget about him. I wanted to forget about what happened. But for some unknown reason, I just couldn’t.

I wiped my tears with my bare hands. I looked at myself in the large silver mirror situated beside my bed. I pondered about myself and my identity. My eyes were brown. My hair was long and black. My lips were scarlet red. But I did not look anything like my mother. According to her, I got my appearance not from her, but from my loving dad. I never got the chance to meet him. My mother told me that he perished when I was still in her womb. When I was a little girl, I used to ask her to tell me stories about him. I was interested about his life. I wanted to know how he looked like. I desired to see what kind of man he was. I craved for the answers to my questions about him. But she refused to tell me much. After I finished combing my hair, I gave off a sigh and left my purple comb on the brown table just below the large silver mirror. I once again peeked through the window to see the morning vista. The morning looked good. The radiance of the sun seemed to fill the face of Earth with life. The townsfolk were still there, carrying baskets filled with different crops and walking in all directions. They all looked so busy. I pictured my father walking with them, striving hard with the other townsfolk to feed his family. I looked at the azure skies and wondered what my father was like. He was probably a farmer, transforming the fields into productive sources of food. Or he could have been a merchant, providing each citizen with supplies to get them through each day of their lives. No, perhaps he was a carpenter, erecting houses and bestowing people shelter. It saddened me to think of the fact that he didn’t have the chance to see his daughter, putting in me in a melancholic mood. I felt my tears falling down to my cheek once again. I took my white handkerchief from last night. I wiped my tears and tried to get rid of those gloomy thoughts off my head.

I heard a sharp knock at the wooden door of my room. It was my mother. Quickly, I fixed myself and opened the door. She was there, looking even frailer than yesterday, carrying a tray with her two hands which were getting paler and paler as each day passed. On the gray-colored tray, there were two loaves of bread a little jar of coconut jam. It looked delectable. My mother was a good cook. I remembered how she baked my most favorite chocolate cake every night. Each evening, I would look forward to munching through that sweet and scrumptious cake while feeling the cool breeze brought about by night. For me, her food was the most delicious in the world. Well, it was probably because I haven’t tasted anything that wasn’t cooked by her. I completely depended on her for food. She was delighted to see me awake. She entered my room. Her legs were weak and she moved at a snail’s pace. She placed the tray gently on the mahogany table in front of the silver mirror. “You’re finally awake,” she said. “Here, I made you some coconut jam.” She slowly turned around and started to walk out of my room. I heard her faint footsteps as she went down the wooden stairs of our two-storey residence. I had always felt her unending love for me since I was little. She was always there, caring for me and providing me with everything I need. She had been ill for a few months already. But she never stopped striving hard to give me a comfortable life. Whenever I would ask her to cease working at such an old age, she would always tell me to stop worrying about her and her condition. She would constantly reassure me that she was still in a strong and healthy state. But I knew that the truth was otherwise. Her illness had been getting worse and worse over time, and I could see and feel her pain. When she placed the tray on the mahogany table in my room, I heard her breathe. She was having difficulty with each inhale and exhale of in and out of her feeble lungs. She was having hardships climbing up the stairs with her weak and shaky legs. I knew she was not fine. I knew that her disease was slowly consuming her body. But I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t do anything at all but pray to the heavens that soon, I could get my hands on the cure.

I didn’t know if the loaves of bread I was eating were for breakfast or for lunch. It was too late for a morning meal, and yet it was too early for a midday repast. I really didn’t mind. I and mother would eat when we feel starving; we didn’t have a systematic schedule of meals at all. As I consumed the loaves of bread Mother had prepared for me, I could feel my stomach gradually getting more and more satisfied. It was excellent. Upon munching on the last bite of the last loaf of bread, I got lured by some force to once again peek through the window and gaze at the outside landscape. This time, the sun was brighter than before and was already high above the sky, ultimately ruling over the earth. On the ground in front of our abode, I now saw good old Henry talking to my mother. He was our neighbor, and he was my mother’s friend. I could hear their conversation from above.

“Hey, how are you?” Henry greeted Mother. “You look so pale today. Is everything all right? How is your illness? Have you been eating healthy these days?” I felt a little loneliness upon finding out that even other people already notice Mother’s deteriorating state.

“I’m fine,” my mother replied. As usual, it was the answer I expected from her.

“You know what, I want to tell you this for quite some time,” Henry said. “I tell you this as a concerned friend. I am pretty much worried about your health condition these days. It’s just that… we all know that you are sick. And… what I mean is, you should really take good care of yourself. Do not forget to eat healthy foods. Drink the squash soup I gave you yesterday. Because you see, I don’t mean to be hoping bad things but… we cannot see what destiny will bring. If you don’t take good care of your body, your illness might get worse. And when that happens, you will be all alone and nobody would take care of you.”

“I understand,” my mother said. “I know my limitations.”

I moved away from the window and lied on the bed. I looked at the dull ceiling of our house, and I closed my eyes and dreamed of the azure heavens. I imagined the clear blue skies. I tried to feel what it was like to be on top of the world. I wanted to live a life without any sorrow, without any grief, without any melancholy. I wanted to take my mother to a place where there is no need to cry, no need for pain, and no need to hide. And it didn’t take long before I fell asleep.

When I woke up, it was already very dark outside. I peeked at the windows once more, and I could tell that it already late, probably close to midnight. I couldn’t believe that I remained in slumber for such an extended time. The night scene behind the closed window blinds of my room was very similar to last night, except that there was no more full moon that illuminates everything in the milieu. There was no more radiance. I struggled to find a matchbox in the drawer of the mahogany table in front of the mirror. It took me quite some time before I got my hands on my only source of light that evening. I then located a small white candle resting on one corner of the table. Carefully, I used a matchstick to light up the candle and illuminate my shadowy room. As the orange flare on the tip of the candle sent light in every corner of the space, I saw Mother’s chocolate cake on the table on the opposite corner of where the candle was. I was always touched whenever she would bake those cakes for me every night. She had probably left it there when she found me sleeping soundly in my room. I charily grabbed the plate with both hands, and I sneakily exited my room. Peering from upstairs, I saw Mother in a deep sleep on the wooden couch downstairs. Cautiously, I went down the staircase carrying the plate. Before I went out of the house, I sneaked into the little cozy stockroom and stole a crystal clear see-through box and a long, scarlet ribbon. My mother used those materials in making handicrafts for our gift store. I gently transferred the chocolate cake from the plate into the box before sealing it stylishly with the burgundy ribbon.

I managed to get out of the house without my mother noticing me. Without hesitation, I ran through the roads of the town, sensing the cold autumn breeze of the evening wind. The transparent box with the cake inside was still there, on both of my hands, dashing with me through the paths of the town. The canvass known as the night sky was painted with a thousand stars, and in the absence of the full moon they were the ones who enlightened the path for me. After a few minutes of sprinting, I finally reached the place – the tranquil and deserted fields where it rained last night. And I returned to that very same spot where I gazed at the extensive ocean, without any idea that I was about the discover something. There, on the exact spot where I stood while gazing at the sea, was nothing. There was nothing at all! The chocolate cake I left yesterday was gone. And so, with much happiness and joy wanting to burst from my heart, I cried. “He has returned!”