"Look, son… life might feel like a bitter medicine you have no choice but to swallow. And even when you try to escape it… you might fail."
My dad began his lecture, and I listened silently. At first, I thought I'd push his words in one ear and out the other. But not today. Today, his tone… it was different. The air itself seemed to shift with him.
It felt like I was seeing a completely different version of him. Or maybe… the real him. Who knows? I didn't.
My eyes softened as I absorbed his words, drawn in like a moth to a flame. Words with depth had always captivated me. That's why I loved books—because within them were words and characters that didn't exist in reality, only in the minds of authors. Yet somehow, we could feel them.
He continued, his bluish-gray eyes softened, head lowered, lips curling in a faint, almost bitter smile as he thoughtfully shifted a paperweight over his documents on the polished wooden table. His hair fell gently over his face, partially hiding it. His long fingers and thin nails made soft sounds against the paperweight… and I noticed every sound. The silence was heavy, deep, yet not uncomfortable.
"This life… it might feel too dark, too sad, too hard. But look at those who are about to lose it… like cancer patients. How badly they want to live… how they try to make their remaining days special. That's human nature—not to care for what we have, but for what we don't."
He paused. "If I… take a personal example… then it could be your mother."
I gasped softly, my eyes widening as I looked at him. His words were already heavy… but now this. This was heavier. This was the hidden him, the side he rarely revealed. He barely showed it to anyone, let alone me.
He didn't look at me as he spoke. His gaze remained fixed on the paperweight, thoughtfully handling it. I waited for what I already suspected I might hear.
"When I had no money… when I wasn't… and when I faced a huge wave of loss trying to build this business… she never stood by me. She was… completely different from the Yan Shui I once knew. She wasn't the silent, loving bird of mine… she wasn't patient anymore. She wanted stability, a more attractive, perfect man everyone would notice and gossip about… so she left. Left us… for someone she considered perfect. And I… I was thrown away from her heart."
The more he spoke, the more surreal it felt. He couldn't be exposing himself like this… not to me. Not to anyone. Wait… had he been drinking?
Then I noticed the empty wine bottle on the table. Relief washed over me. At least, he was letting go of some of his pain… even if only through wine.
And his words… his words were soft, real, painful. Heavy enough to hurt directly in my chest. My throat tightened, my chest constricted. I couldn't breathe properly. Was it pain… or panic?
And my eyes… burning with tears I didn't remember last shedding, vision blurring. But I couldn't cry properly. I was trapped—stuck in something nameless.
His eyes weren't teary like mine. They looked dry, as though all the tears had long since dried with old wounds. Is this… what it feels like when someone you love leaves you, and years later you recall it? Will I… feel that too… for someone?
He sighed, settling back into his chair, mouth parted, eyes closed, head tilted to the ceiling embroidered with wood and gold paint, spotlights pulsing softly. His long hair tumbled back. He looked tired—not physically, but mentally. Something a 33-year-old rarely endures.
I saw him sway, dizzy from too much drink. What a strange man… I hadn't even realized he had been drinking, and now the wine's effect was clear.
He was about to lose balance, and my body reacted instantly. I moved to steady him, wrapping one arm around his waist over the loose fabric of his shirt, my hand sinking slightly into the silk. I lifted his left arm over my shoulders, holding him securely.
He smiled, sleepy yet thoughtful, meeting my gaze with his pale cheeks faintly flushed, his deep bluish-gray eyes half-lidded. I could tell he wanted to say more… but before he could, his body betrayed him.
"Don't be like her… don't be so cold that anyone falls for you, only for you to change… to leave them…"
He was too dizzy to finish. He fell asleep in my arms. Taller than me, his hair even longer than mine. I held him firmly, just as he used to when I had no mother to do it for me.
His words left me with two burning questions:
Is losing someone… that painful… that I might never fully feel it?
Will I… break someone too… like my mother did?