First Love

Yoongi remembered when he was a child. He remembered how his mother used to play the brown piano in the corner of the house; how majestic the piano looked in front of the four year old Yoongi. He remembered how his height couldn't even reach the top of the piano and his mother would chuckle in amusement when she saw her son peeked on her from behind the large piece of wood.

His mother would pick him up and sat him on the bench next to her. She would play some cheerful songs and sing along in her angelic voice. Yoongi remembered how he yearned to play like his mother. He wanted to be as good as her.

That was when he found his first love; music.

It felt so nice to touch the shiny pure white keys with his small fingers. Ever since that day, the piano had become his best friend. Every evening at 4 o'clock, exactly two hours before the sound of car engine roaring from the porch, an indication that his father was back home from work; he will never missed to run his fingers on the said piano.

Those were good times.

He remembered back during his elementary school days. He was 9 when everything started. His father would come home later than the usual 6 o'clock routine, sometimes in the midnight, the other times he wouldn't come home at all. One thing for sure, he would come home talking funny, face red and he would usually stumble in his steps.

That was when the angelic smile on his mother's face permanently wiped away.

Gone all the good times he had with his parents. He remembered the constant arguments between the two, plates and glasses came smashed to the grounds, producing such earth shattering sounds and he remembered leaning his back against his bedroom door, hands cupped his ears as stream of tears cascading on his pale cheeks.

Right then he knew that good times will eventually come to end.

He was just an elementary school student. He remembered that it has been two years of the same routine, hearing his parents arguing about the same damn thing, until everything ceased one day.

He was young but he wasn't naive. At the age of 11, he knew well that he wouldn't hear his parent's arguments anymore, not when he found the once angelic figure that he called as mother hanged lifelessly from the ceiling, ropes of blanket around her neck. He remembered, from the corner of his memory, the bits and blurry images of people dressed in black walked out of his house, giving their condolences to his father and grandmother during his mother's funeral. He remembered the soulless look in his father, though he could see the pain in those pair of brown eyes; the regrets swam in them.

Yoongi remembered he walked through all those black dressed people, with no definite destination in his head. He just walked through the house aimlessly when suddenly his eyes captured the familiar brown instrument in the corner of the house.

'Hey, there. It's been a while.'

At that time, he remembered how much taller he got compared to the first time he met his best friend, his first love. He ran his fingers on the keyboard despite the dust piled on it. He couldn't remember the last time his fingers skipped happily on the keys, producing those happy tunes. He couldn't remember the feelings he had the first time he met his first love, the sweetness rolled with it and the warmth he felt each time they spend their time together.

He forgot.

Yoongi lived with his grandmother since then. His father had refused to see him and so he knows nothing about his old man ever since, whether the guy he called as father is still alive and breathing.

The 14 year old Yoongi walked passed a church on his way to his middle school when his eyes caught the pure white statue in the church’s garden. The statue looked rather ethereal with a pair of wings spread from behind it, might be a depiction of an angel.

But Yoongi knew there’s no such thing as angel.

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