I felt the cold breeze embracing me as I heard my phone alarm started to go off. The soreness of my body from yesterday's work has not dissipated yet but I had to go on another cycle again. My body still stiff, I tried to reach out to my vibrating phone under my pillow.
I turned over my body from my bullfrog sleeping position and opened my eyes slowly. It was still dark. I peered through the hole of my room's brick wall and was blinded by the streetlights. I felt like it was the same hour I felt asleep last night.
I opened my super outdated phone that was many generations old and looked at the time. It's four in the morning. I pushed myself up, stretched out to shake down the soreness and stood up.
I tiptoed my way out of the room, eager not to make a single noise to wake up my little sister. Still buried in a heap of blankets including mine, she slept peacefully amid of the freezing air.
As I step out of my room, I saw Father drinking his coffee under the dim light. The light was just enough for him.
"I was first," he mouthed at me as he felt my presence behind the dark hallway and smiled through his wrinkles and thin lips. It was our little game. We would always look out for who between us would get up first in the morning. Most of times, he did since he was a fisherman and like how the saying goes, "Early bird catches early worms" therefore the early fisherman gets the good catch.
Our humble abode was cramped and unstable. This house stood for almost five generations already and with all the urban development going on around this downtown area for years, it left the good old structures like our house an eyesore and prone to destruction.
I carefully watched my steps around the dark living-slash-dining room as I reached the lighted table. I sat down opposite Father who was drinking the last of his coffee. He had his bag packed already with all his fishing materials. My sight was still blurry from sleepiness but Father's old, torn waterproof jacket caught my attention.
"You need a new jacket, Father," I said as I reached out for the kettle with brewed coffee and my cup beside it.
He the inspected his jacket and shrugged, "Well, this has to wait. A notice came in yesterday that the Royalty tax will go up starting next month."
"Awwww!" I shouted silently as I spilled my coffee on the table. Yeah, great! What a way start my day: bad news. Father just looked at me blankly and stared down. Father wasn't surprised like I was awhile ago.
"Seriously? Fuck Royalty!" I was so angry that my breath was shaking. I reached out for a towel and started wiping the spilled coffee with excessive force. "Life is already impossible as it is and how shameless they are to do this with us! For how long are we gonna pay for the reparation of the Revolution?"
Same reason behind the tax inflation for the last eighteen years, the monarchy is demanding for payment for the damages brought by the Revolution since then. It was put upon the shoulders of the lower class because as they have believed it, we started it.
I could almost see the tears building up in the corners of his eyes. We both fell silent. If the Royal family thought that they have received the greatest of the damages during the Revolution, they were wrong. It was us, those who were left with almost nothing after it. We lost our family and most of all, our freedom.
I hesitantly sighed and looked at him with regret. "I am so---"
Father stood up immediately and brought the bag on his shoulder. "I have to go," Father said with blank, cold stare. It was colder that the early morning breeze. He opened the wobbly sliding glass door and he left with heavy steps and did not look back.
I should have just shut my mouth. I tried to look up the ceiling to hide the tears that were eager to fall down but my eyes caught the faded photo in a brown large rectangular frame hanging on our brick wall. They were two guys who almost looked identical in a red military uniform. In their serious expressions, I could sense the pride in their eyes. Father and his twin brother were both high ranking military officers who supported the Opposition during the Revolution. His twin brother was one of the soldiers who died in the infamous bombing in front of the Royal Hospital. Father, since then, never stopped mourning for the loss of his only family left. He also never spoke of the Revolution, and maybe he was pissed of me from my angry remark awhile ago.
Inspecting the photo, I looked totally different from Father. He has a round face, small eyes, and dark hair. I looked nothing like Mother too who comes home from the factory on weekends. Mother was short and plump, had unruly, curly dark hair and small eyes, too. I am tall and thin. I had brown hair, almond face, and big, green eyes. The moment I realized I looked totally different from my parents, I deduced I was adopted and I was right.
Father wasn't the only one who lost his family during the uprising against the Royal family. I, too, lost my entire family. My mother had just given birth in the Royal Hospital when it exploded that only left me miraculously alive. No one knew who my father was.
Few moments of introspection passed, I suddenly jolted. I realized I am going to be late for work.