Amid my mother's solitude, she bravely shouldered the responsibility of raising me. She returned to the club she used to work in, leaving me in the care of an acquaintance so she could earn a living and provide for my needs. I witnessed the hardships she endured as I grew older. There was a time when she succumbed to drug addiction, but she eventually stopped when she realized that she was neglecting me. Her health suffered, and with only the two of us in this world, she had no choice but to seek help from friends and neighbors since she had no family to turn to—her siblings having been separated after the death of their parents.
At the age of eight, I began working, much to my mother's reluctance. She had no other option but to let me, as we had no one else to depend on for support. We couldn't simply rely on others, so from a young age, I learned the value of hard work. My mother regained her health and was considering going back to the club, but she realized she was no longer fit for that environment, as they were now seeking younger employees. That's when she met Mother Martha, and they became friends. Whenever Mother Martha went to negotiate laundry jobs, she took my mother with her. Whenever they left, I stayed at Mother Martha's house, where I was supposed to have someone to play with.
However, I preferred making money over playing, so when they left, I waited for them to go and then sneaked out to collect bottles and anything recyclable to sell. No one really stopped me, as all the kids there were in the same situation—left behind while their mothers worked. Mother Martha's husband, Father Rene, left early in the morning to work as a garbage collector. I made it a habit to go out scavenging, but none of Mother Martha's kids ever reported me; we weren't close enough for them to bother.
One day, I fell ill, and my mother had to go to do laundry for someone else, leaving me in Mother Martha's care, just like before. She was confident that I wouldn't be left alone because her son, James, was always at home. James was a quiet and diligent boy, doing all the household chores whenever his mother was away—cleaning, cooking, and doing their laundry. I couldn't help but think, "Maybe he's gay," since he was always preoccupied with household tasks. Unlike me, who never lifted a finger to help my mother with such chores, as she did everything for me.
As time passed, I realized that James was a kind-hearted and dependable person. He acted like a substitute parent to his siblings when their mother and father were away. "Perhaps he's just too nice," I mused, noting his introverted nature and the dedication he showed toward his family. Little did I know that fate had a bigger plan for both James and me, one that would weave our lives together even more closely. As we navigated the hardships of life, I couldn't have imagined how significant his presence would become in my life—a friend who would prove to be an unshakable pillar of support in the tumultuous journey that lay ahead.
"Feeling hungry?" James asked, somehow annoyed or something. "Just wait a little, the rice will be cooked soon. I'll call Irene and Lezel to join us."
"Alright, thanks," I replied bluntly.
Once Irene and Lezel arrived, James sprang into action, skillfully preparing the food. I wanted to lend a hand, but he declined my offer, insisting that he had everything under control.
"Now, let's sit down and eat," James said, motioning towards the table.
"You're truly a jack of all trades," I remarked, admiring his competence around the house.
"Well, no one else is here to do it, and besides, we wouldn't want Mother to scold us for a messy house." He replied.
I nodded in agreement. "I see your point."
"Oh, by the way, thank you for taking care of me," I added sincerely.
"I wasn't exactly taking care of you. I just prefer being indoors, that's all. It's not like I was watching over you or anything." He responds grumpily. I couldn't help but think he was being snappy.
With a sense of responsibility, I offered, "Let me take care of the dishes after we finish eating."
"No need to trouble yourself," James insisted, "it's not your house, so you don't have to do anything."
"I consider it my home too," I admitted, feeling comfortable enough to share my sentiments. "I'm here often, and your mother treats me like family. So, I believe it's only right that I help with the household chores."
"Oh, now you're saying it's your house too? Who told you that? You sound ridiculous!" His sullen reply makes me want to punch him in the face.
"Easy there," I said, trying to keep my cool despite his attitude. "I didn't mean it like that. I just feel at home here because your mother treats me like family."
I was embarrassed right there, huh. Tsk! Yes, he's kind but also moody. I used to be annoyed with him back then because his behavior seemed like that of a woman – sensitive, sulky, easily angered, and hard to appease. But over time, I just got used to it. Since then, we have become friends. Through our ups and downs, we get to know each other's personalities.
Somehow, life with my mom became better. We managed to get through each day together. Of course, since our families became friends, James' family also became our support.
Mom never mentioned anything about my father. Whenever I asked, she would always reply with a simple "Nothing." Until suddenly, my father reappeared in our lives.
As I looked at my mother's face, I could see the unwavering trust she had in my father's explanation. While I empathized with her emotions, I found it difficult to place my trust in the words of a man I had never met nor spoken to before.
"I understand your hesitation, dear," my mother said emotionally, sensing my doubts. "But he seemed sincere, and he had his reasons for what he did."
"I know, but it's just hard for me to accept without really knowing him," I replied, my uncertainty apparent.
"Just give him a chance, my dear. You might be surprised," my mother comforted me, trying to reassure my conflicted feelings.
As she mentioned the roses that adorned our humble home, she informed me that my father was expected to return soon and was eager to see me. Consequently, she advised me not to work the following day.
"He's coming back, you know. He really wants to see you," she said excitedly, hope shining in her eyes.
"I don't know, Mom. This is all so overwhelming," I responded, trying to process the flood of emotions and questions swirling within me.
In moments of confusion, I considered seeking solace in James's company, but I refrained, fearing he might sway me to believe my mother's story. When faced with uncertainty, I found myself closing off my mind to any opinion but James's. It was as though he was my guiding compass in times of bewilderment.
"What should I do? James is the only one I can trust in moments like this," I murmured to myself, torn between seeking advice and relying on my own judgment.
Staying indoors, I noticed James's absence. He typically dropped by, even without any specific reason, yet today, he was nowhere to be seen.
"Hey, have you seen James today?" I asked one of our neighbors, hoping for some insight.
"He said he had something to take care of. He'll probably be back tomorrow," the neighbor replied, giving me some reassurance.
With James still not showing up, my mind remained preoccupied with thoughts of my returning father. Questions about his character, appearance, and intentions inundated my thoughts. Of course, I'm not a hypocrite, the matter of his wealth crossed my mind first, though I knew it shouldn't be my primary concern.
"I wonder what he looks like. Is he kind? Rich? So many questions," I contemplated, feeling overwhelmed by the uncertainties that lay ahead.
As the night drew near, I continued pondering my father's imminent return, anxiously awaiting the meeting that held so many possibilities and unknowns. The thought of finally meeting him both thrilled and terrified me, and sleep eluded me as I tried to make sense of it all.