The narrative unfolded before my eyes, a tale woven with the threads of societal expectations and the struggle for individual autonomy. It was a story both heartbreaking and inspiring, filled with the poignant essence of human existence. In this Asian household, the stifling grip of authority tightened its hold, dictating the path a child must tread, robbing them of their own desires and aspirations. Such occurrences were not uncommon in our culture, a reflection of the rigid authoritarianism ingrained within our traditions. My uncle, a stern figure, personified this dictatorial nature. His wife, my aunt, mirrored his disposition, burdening their daughter, Komari, with a weighty load of responsibilities. Whenever we visited their home, the atmosphere exuded boredom, the walls enclosing Komari's existence, confining her to an insipid existence devoid of childhood innocence. Denied the freedom to play and explore the world beyond her confines, Komari became a mere shadow of her true self. There was a time when my uncle and aunt engaged in a conversation with my father, and I sought refuge in Komari's room. It was within those four walls that I first laid eyes on her. Her disheveled hair cascaded around her face, and her widened eyes seemed to be burdened with a profound emptiness. She appeared utterly depleted, drained of vitality. Upon our arrival, she wasn't even summoned to greet us. My uncle simply stated, "My daughter is upstairs, engrossed in her studies. I wouldn't want to disturb her."
I cautiously approached her, but she paid no heed to my presence. Her gaze remained locked on the pages of her book, as if her mind wandered in realms beyond mortal reach. However, she uttered a solitary sentence. Just as I was about to turn away, she spoke, her words escaping like whispers from a distant world.
"I don't feel like myself anymore, I don't see any direction in life."
In that moment, I became acutely aware of her pain, her confinement within invisible chains. Unfortunately, I was powerless to stop her suffering.. All I could offer were simple words, a faint semblance of solace. "One day, you shall discover your own meaning. You possess great strength. Someday, freedom shall be yours, and you will find that elusive path to eternal happiness." Casting one final glance upon her tear-streaked countenance, I observed a peculiar phenomenon: her tears, though born of sorrow, betrayed a hint of joy. Then, a blissful smile graced her lips, as tears fell upon the floor like a poignant rain. Nodding in understanding, I reciprocated her smile and gently closed the door, preserving that moment for history. That was a decade ago, when both she and I were still in high school. However, the glimmer of hope lay in the fact that she eventually discovered the freedom she so ardently sought. Today, she stands as a renowned singer, living her passion to the fullest. Learning of her success brought me immense joy, for her smile—a smile that exuded an air of authenticity—was evidence of her newly discovered freedom.
I, too, have been fortunate enough to live a life governed by free will, devoid of the controlling grip of external forces. The contents of the second journal were even more distressing than the harrowing account witnessed by my cousin. What made matters worse was the realization that the woman responsible for such abhorrent actions was not even the child's biological mother. Such a tale, wrought with chaos and devastation, shattered the child's dreams. And yet, it was Isamu who had metamorphosed into the embodiment of malevolence—a living nightmare that claimed lives and obliterated the existence of innocent beings. In that regard, I now firmly believe that monsters are not born; they are forged through the threads of their past, woven into the fabric of their hatred.
As an observer of this vast universe, I find myself oscillating between yearning for a nonexistent existence and cherishing the very fact that I was brought into this world. At times, apathy seeps into my being, obscuring any definitive sentiment. It is a conundrum difficult to unravel. Though I possess luck and good fortune, I'm still unsure of the piece that I'm missing—perhaps fame or glory? I cannot say for certain. These notions do not occupy my thoughts. However, an indescribable sense of lacking persists within me.
There was a book I once read—a tale of a young boy bestowed with the extraordinary ability to perceive the thoughts of others. He could hear the whispers of their minds and glimpse fragments of their pasts. He was an exceptional and singular soul. But there was one facet of humanity he couldn't comprehend—the inherent cruelty that dwelled within their hearts. Despite delving into the recesses of their thoughts, he failed to decipher the malevolence that coexisted within them. Witnessing the unbelievable mistreatment people subjected one another to, his heart bled profusely. Often, tears would stain his pillows as he pondered the enigma of a cruel world. And that boy, driven by a desire to escape the realm of malice, vanished without a trace. This narrative bears a striking resemblance to the passages I have recently perused—each page of these two journals capturing the perspectives of human anguish from ages past. I wonder if such individuals still exist? Does the world gradually evolve, or does it remain steadfast in its ways? Uncertainty shrouds my perception. Yet, within the confines of my neighborhood, a peaceful and vibrant community thrives—a haven of benevolent souls. Perhaps, a cherished memory or a significant event is what I seek. Firmly clenching my hand, I redirect my focus, wiping away the weariness from my eyes. I move back to the third journal in the book, anxious to learn more about the cruelty of humanity.
The gloom has overtaken this realm of falsehoods and illusions, where the very trees themselves echo its lamentations, as if they, too, bear the burden of anguish. The trees now blaze with fury, their fiery tongues licking at the heavens. What have I wrought? I am a wretched mess, a pitiable creature swallowed whole by the abyss. How did I descend to such depths? I, who once believed I pursued righteousness in all my actions. Or was my suffering merely a means to assume the mantle of a hero? A hero I never consented to become. I am engulfed by a profound hollowness, burdened by an all-consuming remorse. My past appears now as an exercise in futility, my dreams were never my own, but rather, the unfulfilled yearnings of those who failed to grasp their desires. I am naught but an instrument, a hollow vessel, and in my existence, I have failed the very humanity I was destined to serve.
Nevertheless, I find solace in the transient respite of detaching myself from my human nature. At times, it is strangely gratifying to shed the trappings of humanity, for humans are flawed creatures, and I, even I, bear the shame of sharing their lineage. These hands of mine have been steeped in sin for far too long. I shudder at the thought of venturing outside, for each time I do, I am confronted by the haunting image of mankind's perpetual doomsday. Heads of humanity float weightlessly in the air, their countenances marred and disfigured. I am tormented by a pervasive uncertainty—am I a madman, or am I simply haunted by the accumulated guilt of countless lives I have snuffed out in my wake?
I was wondering if was I merely a pawn or instrument for others' unfulfilled desires?
It began in the heart of the Czech Republic, my hometown. The lone witness, the lone piece of my past, is this journal. I, Andrea Porizkova, presently find myself residing with my aunt in Prague, a city shrouded in the shadow of the cold war between Germany and the Soviet Union. Once known as Czechoslovakia, this land succumbed to the sway of the Soviet communist party following Germany's defeat, becoming ensnared in the icy grip of the Cold War.
After the conclusion of World War II, the Soviet Union imposed its formidable influence upon Eastern Europe, including Czechoslovakia. The year 1948 marked the dawn of a communist coup in our land, heralding the advent of a pro-Soviet regime. My parents, entangled in the intricate web of espionage, served as clandestine agents during the reign of Stalinist rule. But time has swept by, four years have elapsed since the Berlin Wall fell into the records of history, and the reverberations of collapsing communist regimes continue to resonate throughout our once-turbulent land.
The Velvet Revolution, a symphony of peaceful protests orchestrated by a name that evades my grasp, along with other dissidents, etched an indelible mark upon the fabric of our nation, culminating in the demise of communist domination in December of 1989. The Czech Republic now breathes the air of democracy, yet the journey has been arduous. It was an era marked by strife and adversity, where I, like my parents and countless others, was born into a realm stifled by constrained liberty. Though the protests birthed a flicker of hope, they exacted a heavy toll, consuming the lives of many, including members of my own family.
My aunt has shared fragments of our lineage, recounting stories of a bygone aristocracy, a world I yearn to have known firsthand, yet cruel circumstances rendered me and my younger brother susceptible to poverty's gnawing fangs and the pangs of relentless hunger. Even as democracy begins to take hold, evil persists, its tendrils creeping through the cracks of our society. In my deepest desires, I yearn for a life steeped in tranquility, sadly, I am unable to grasp it. My aunt, burdened by the weight of her responsibilities, can no longer sustain us. As desperation looms, her last resort lies in surrendering us to the embrace of adoption. The final memory I retain of my parents dates back to my tender age of five. Now, as I stand on the precipice of my twelfth year, their absence looms large once more. All that remains is a faded photograph clasped tightly in my hands, bearing the image of my brother and me, and I was carrying my sibling as both of our parents stood at the back, while etched on the verso. The background was a tall white old house, it's quite blurry. What I am holding right now is the last piece of memories of I, my brother and my parents were a whole.
It is a sorrowful fate to dwell in an era that reeks of cruelty and anguish. My brother and I have traversed a world devoid of parental affection, left to wander without a place to call home. The absence of our dear aunt has left our home hollow, for we held her in the deepest affection. Yet, I comprehend the constraints that besieged her—unemployment and a lack of means. It would have been arduous for us to endure such circumstances. Moreover, the return of her son would exacerbate our plight. He had served in the German army, barely escaping with his life, but bearing the scars of conflict. The doctor decreed his transportation to Prague, where he could be reunited with his family. Sadly, her son has nothing to offer, as their nation lay vanquished by the Soviets. This land remains entrenched in the aftermath of conflict, grappling with the Herculean task of rebuilding shattered infrastructure, institutions, and a beleaguered economy. Presently, the government possesses naught to bestow. Were we to remain there, my aunt, her son, and we, would be condemned to a life of destitution and starvation. Profound was her love for her child, celebrating his survival despite the atrocities of war —I cannot help but covet such affection. My aunt, in her benevolence, bestowed upon us a love we had never anticipated. Unfortunately, our time with her was all too brief, and now we are lost, left to make our own paths through this life. Uncertainty looms, casting doubt upon the notion that my brother and I shall remain together through these trials.
However, one truth remains unwavering—within the recesses of my heart, the memories we share shall forever reside. I adore him, my sweet and innocent little comrade, who faces life unencumbered by tribulations. I, on the other hand, have been compelled to mature prematurely, shaped by the crucible of experience into the person I am today.
On that fateful July 25th, 1993, the sun emerged timidly from the distant horizon, casting its rays through the unyielding windowpanes, rousing me abruptly from my peaceful slumber. I rose from the bed, my mind lingering in the realm of dreams, a fleeting solace that eluded me now. Regret weighed heavily upon my heart as apprehension gripped my soul, for I found myself engulfed in the ominous prospect of being adopted. A nameless fear consumed me, and I sought to beg my aunt, pleading for her to let us stay.
Slowly, I extricated myself from the bed, methodically folding the disheveled blankets and arranging the pillows with care. A feeling of order within the mayhem, a glimmer of control over a life descending into dread. As I approached the desk nestled beside the door, I reached for the glass of water, its crystal surface glistening with morning's gentle touch. My lips parted, a vessel ready to utter the parched whispers of the day's dawning. Droplets danced upon the curved contours of the glass, a delicate symphony of relief, as amber liquid cascaded, reviving my weary spirit with each tender sip. Placing the glass back upon the table, I turned to open the door, only to find my aunt's absence.
Across the room, my brother stood, draped in a kimono bestowed upon him by our late uncle, a treasured memento from a distant voyage. I, too, possessed such a garment, alongside a Barong Tagalog, a replica that he once existed in this world. Yet, ever since the news of his untimely demise reached our aunt's ears, her perspective on life underwent an irreversible transformation. Her once radiant countenance was now veiled by an impenetrable shadow of desolation. Though her kind heart remained intact, the weight of her melancholy seemed insurmountable, rendering her incapable of reclaiming the joyous lens through which she once beheld the world.
Drawing near to my brother, who stood captivated by his own reflection in the mirror, adorned in his endearing little kimono, he unleashed a series of punches into the empty air, as though he were a master of karate. Amusement bubbled within me, and I couldn't help but laugh at his spirited display. He turned to me, his face flushed with embarrassment, and in that shared moment of mirth, our laughter harmonized, filling the room with a symphony of joy. Returning his gaze to the mirror, he caught sight of his own reflection once more, and I couldn't resist complimenting him, "Your kimono suits you perfectly, Kuba. Did you also attempt to don the Barong Tagalog that Uncle gifted you? I recall it being too large for you in the past."
He glanced back at me, his eyes gleaming, and replied, "Yes, Big sis, I tried it on. It's still too big for me. Perhaps it will fit when I'm as old as you, Big sis!" I crouched down, tenderly stroking his hair, and reassured him, "There, there. I understand your eagerness to grow bigger and stronger quickly, but remember to take things at your own pace and savor each moment, alright?" His expression contorted with confusion as he asked, "But what about you, Big sis? Aren't you happy? You appear so sad and weary..." A gentle smile graced my lips as I met his gaze, replying, "You needn't worry about me, alright? I'll be just fine." Rising to my feet, I playfully flicked his forehead with my finger, prompting a soft cry of "Ouch!" from him. I added with a mischievous grin, "See? I'm smiling, which means I'm truly fine." He laughed in response, his eyes sparkling, and declared, "If Big sis is fine, then so am I."
My heart overflowed with affection for my little brother, and I relished the gentleness of our bond. With a contented sigh, I implored him, "Would you mind preparing a sandwich for me? I need to have a conversation with Aunt for a while." He simply nodded, his eagerness palpable, and darted off as if propelled by the gentle breeze itself.
I averted my gaze, fixating my eyes on the door which called me to venture forth. My aunt's absence was palpable, her familiar presence conspicuously absent. The flowers adorning our abode possessed an otherworldly beauty, a display to my aunt's profound love for all things botanical. Perhaps this was her sole refuge, the only sanctuary in which she could seek solace from the trials of life.
With a brief moment of captivation, I allowed myself to be enchanted by the blossoms before redirecting my steps towards the rear of the house. There, at the far-left corner, my aunt diligently watered the sunflowers. The red and white roses flourished with vibrant health, their petals awaiting another grand unveiling. The tulips and marigolds, too, radiated with resplendent allure. It was my aunt who had meticulously crafted this enchanting garden, a monument to her perseverance after the aristocratic fall of our family. Once, she possessed a garden of breathtaking beauty—a balcony where she would gaze upon her cherished floral offspring. She employed gardeners to assist her in tending to the plants, as I reminisced about the image she had shared with me. The garden thrived, nurtured by nature's benevolence, with manicured hedges and immaculate lawns embracing vibrant flowerbeds. Statues and fountains exuded an aura of timeless elegance. Winding pathways unveiled hidden alcoves, their scented blooms intoxicating the very air we breathed. This garden spoke of opulence, enchantment, and refined beauty. In the center stood a majestic fountain, a place where she would bring my uncle, when he was a mere toddler, to feed the Koi fish that resided within its depths. Even now, her unwavering adoration for nature remained unchanged, an undying flame in her heart.
I approached my aunt, her left arm gracefully tucked behind her back, as she hummed a soft tune while tending to the verdant life of her cherished plants. A subtle veneer of bliss adorned her countenance, yet underneath, an unmistakable air of melancholy clung to her being. As I drew nearer, I could not help but notice the duality of her emotions. "Do you need help, Aunt?" I inquired, prompting her to cease her rhythmic watering. Her gaze shifted to meet mine, and a tender smile graced her lips. "Oh, my dear, it's you," she replied, her voice a gentle whisper of the heart. "Yes, I could use some assistance. You see, I forgot to give Poko a bath. Our dear dog has taken on a rather unpleasant odor. Would you mind taking care of that, my sweet?"
I hesitated, for Puko, the canine in question, was a creature of stubborn temperament and not the easiest to cleanse. Moreover, he possessed a peculiar disposition, incessantly whining even when there seemed to be no discernible reason. My brother found joy in playing with him, but I harbored a resentment towards the dog, as he once shredded my beloved dress into tatters—an act for which I could fathom no reasonable motive. The fondness I once held for him had been eclipsed by a combination of pity and abhorrence, making me reluctant to engage with him or even draw near.
Yet, how could I possibly refuse my aunt's request? Thus, with an unconvincing show of enthusiasm, I replied, "Sure thing!" But as I turned to make my way, a realization struck me—I had no idea where that elusive canine could be at present. I pivoted back to face my aunt and inquired, "Uhm—" Before I could complete my query, she preemptively offered, "Poko is beyond the confines of the fence." With a graceful gesture, she indicated the western periphery of the enclosure. "Over there, I believe. Perhaps check around the bushes; he may be engrossed in gnawing on his leftover bones."
A forced chuckle escaped my lips as I responded, "Ah, yes, I suppose so. I shall make my way then. Thank you, Aunt!" Her countenance, forever kind and serene, radiated affection as she returned my gratitude with another of her heartwarming smiles. "Anything for you, sweetheart," she murmured, her words an echo of unwavering love.
I set forth upon the path indicated by my aunt, my steps carrying me towards the verdant embrace of the bushes. But even in the peacefulness of the natural world, I could hear the discordant symphony of human conflict. The neighbors, like so many others in this world, engaged in bitter altercation. How pitiful it seemed, as I pondered within myself, that we could not coexist harmoniously and embrace the serenity of peaceful cohabitation. In the throes of disagreement, they resorted to shouting, expelling their anger as if it were a mark of strength. Yet, to me, it appeared naught but a manifestation of weakness.
Drawing my focus back to my mission, I called out for Poko, but no response reached my ears. Evidently, Poko must have wandered off to the river. My feet carried me forward, following a trail that led to the water's edge. As I approached, there lay before me a river, a realm of vivacity that seemed to dance with life itself. A shimmering ribbon of liquid dreams, it wove its sinuous path through the landscape with an artist's touch, bestowing grace upon all it touched. In reminiscence, I recalled nights spent by this very river, a spectacle where fireflies would engage in a wondrous ballet with the flowing waters. Under the nocturnal reign, a celestial symphony emerged, illuminating the night skies with their ephemeral luminescence. The moon, in its splendor, claimed center stage, transforming the river into an ethereal realm. There, it would mirror the heavens above, reflecting the sparkling stars as if they were celestial gems, veiling within its depths the enigmatic secrets of the universe.
As I glanced into every nook and cranny, Poko was nowhere to be found. Desperate, I called out once more, "Poko!" A rustling sound emerged from behind, causing me to turn sharply to the left. It was the bush itself, seemingly heralding an approaching presence. As I approached cautiously, Poko suddenly sprang forth from the foliage, causing me to stumble and lose my footing. His paws found their place at the corner of my body, and when I opened my eyes, there he was, peering down at me. I glared at him in annoyance, but before I could utter a word of reproach, he showered me with his affectionate licks.
"Stop, Poko! I said stop!" I protested, but the dog remained relentless in his display of affection. "Enough!" I exclaimed as I pushed him away, and he finally relented. I promptly rose to my feet, brushing off the dirt from my clothes. This dog, always craving attention, never seemed to understand boundaries. He retreated back to the bush, and I scolded, "Poko! Where do you think you're going?!"
In a matter of moments, he reappeared, clutching a bone between his jaws and contentedly crunching away. "You infuriating mutt! Look at what you've done! Now I'm all dirty! I can't stand you!" I vented my frustration, yet Poko gazed back at me with an air of bliss, responding only with a cheerful bark. "Argh! What am I going to do with you, you odd creature!" I fumed, unable to resist his innocent charm. "Come here! You're getting a bath, you smelly dog!" I seized his collar and hoisted him up. It had been a month since I last carried this odd companion. I couldn't shake off my irritation from the memory of him ripping my favorite clothes last month.
Poko's history were intertwined with the memory of my late uncle, who had raised him from a little pup. Back then, my uncle would bring him along as their loyal guardian, and I had cherished the canine companion as if he were a sentient being. Perhaps I had been overly harsh on Poko, for deep down, I harbored a profound affection for him, despite my resentment over the dress he had torn, a precious gift from my mother during my childhood. In my heart, I knew I loved him dearly, despite the moments of frustration he caused me. As we made our way back home, I struggled to carry the weight of this large German Shepherd in my arms. Yet, even in his seemingly mischievous behavior, he continued to shower me with licks, his tongue playfully tickling my arms. "Poko, please stop," I gently implored, wary of dropping him again. I realized he must be thirsty, but then I remembered that dogs often panted to cool down. He truly had no one to play with, and I couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt for being so harsh with him.
Upon reaching home, I rushed into the bathroom with Poko in tow. The bond we shared was peculiar, and despite my mixed emotions, I couldn't deny that there was a mysterious enchantment in our connection. I was drawn to him, even as I once despised his actions. As the water cascaded down, he seemed more agreeable to the cleansing process than I had expected. I expertly wielded a brush with gentle bristles, dipping it into a fragrant shampoo concoction reminiscent of wildflowers in bloom. The air was filled with a harmonious blend of scents, evoking an atmosphere of joyous tranquility.
With every stroke of the brush, my laughter mingled with the spirited echoes of the surroundings, and a playful gleam sparkled in Poko's eyes. Each caress became an expression of my newfound appreciation and affection. "I promise, tomorrow we shall play together, Poko," I whispered, patting his head. In a heartwarming surprise, he barked as if in agreement and tenderly licked my face, as if to assure me that all was forgiven. As the water flowed, carrying away the dirt of the past month, a cleansing of the heart took place as well, mending the bond between this odd creature and myself.
Poko's scent, somehow sweeter now that I had released him, wafted through the air as he darted outside. Fortunately, there was a door to the garden; otherwise, I feared the delicate flowers would meet their untimely demise. As I made my way towards the garden, I spotted my brother engaged in playful antics with Poko. The sight brought a fleeting smile to my face, for in the company of these two, it seemed boredom had no place in this household.
Drawing near the garden, I hesitated. Aunt seemed lost in the beauty of her cherished refuge, and I wondered if it was the right time to broach the subject. But time was a luxury I could not afford; I needed to convince her, no matter the cost, or else my brother and I would never reclaim the life we once knew.
With a slight frown, I addressed her, "Aunt—" before I could continue, she interrupted, acknowledging her faults, "I know... I have been a poor aunt, my dear. But circumstances left me no choice. I couldn't bear to see you both suffer, for you are beautiful children, deserving of far better than this."
"Aunt... I don't want us to end up in an orphanage, neither does Kuba. I promise to shoulder double the chores, or even find a job. Education isn't everything; as long as we have you, I know we can overcome any hardship," I implored.
She let out a weary sigh and responded, "Life isn't always rainbows and butterflies, my dear. We must face the harsh realities of our impoverished existence. What good are our bonds if we have no means to support ourselves? Moreover, suitable jobs for women are scarce in these times. Education is crucial; how else will you find the path to prosperity? Remember what you said once? You dreamed of restoring this garden to its former splendor. How will you achieve that if you forego schooling?" Her words struck a chord, and tears began to well in my eyes. Suddenly, a sense of guilt washed over me; was I being selfish?
She continued, her voice softening, "I do not wish for you and your brother to lead a life of destitution. When you get adopted, you'll have the chance to experience new things, explore the outside world, and escape this forsaken street. And when your uncle arrives, it will be a trying time, for you know his volatile temper. I fear he may bring harm upon both of you. But he's still my son, and despite his flaws, I cannot find it in me to hate him."
Aunt's hands, weathered and warm from the sun's touch, reached around my waist, drawing me into her embrace. A mixture of sweat and the scent of her daily toil surrounded us, but I didn't mind; it was the fragrance of familiarity and love. I clung to her, imagining a world where this moment would never fade away, where we could forever find solace in each other's arms. Eventually, she released me, her tender lips pressing a kiss upon my forehead. "You can do it," she said with unwavering faith, "I believe in you, my intelligent little girl."
I mustered my strength to brush away the tears that welled up in my eyes, trying to hide my vulnerability. "Thank you for everything, Aunt," I managed to respond, my voice tinged with raw emotion. "I don't want to leave you and Poko. I yearn to remain here, surrounded by your love and happiness. I simply wasn't prepared for this situation. I know it's selfish of me, but I feel unready."
Aunt's gentle hand stroked my head, a soothing gesture that seemed to contain the wisdom of ages. "My dear," she began, her voice soft yet resolute, "Life often grants us circumstances beyond our control. But I have faith that with your efforts, you will return to us one day—with countless stories and achievements in tow. Everything will be alright. And as for me," she said with a touch of humor, "I may be old, but these bones are tough enough to keep me going." She flexed her muscles, a defiant act against the passage of time.
However, concern gripped my heart as I beheld her frail and fragile form, her skin marked by the years she had weathered. I worried that Uncle might push her too hard, subjecting her to undue strain or even mistreatment. Despite my fears, I couldn't help but let out a light chuckle at her spirited display. Aunt's spirit was indomitable, even in the face of adversity.