A warm fall breeze blew over as I stood at the middle with a tangerine balled in my fist. There were four of us: dad, little brothers, and myself who stood next to one another. Toward the deceased, everyone were seemingly paying their last respect except for one—me, who was mentally bothered by the tangerine. Its scent had render a sudden clarity and alertness which almost as painful as glancing down at the black box with white flowers cover ontop of it.
“We can’t afford to buy orange all the time! There’s so much other things to buy...”
Every gestures that mom did in our past life events, I remembered everything painfully clear. She was the kind of mother who above everything, would persistently try to hide her shaky lips in front of a grumpy daughter—me. But without even trying, I could always sense the resentful plea tinted her voice whenever I said things like, ‘Mom, orange! Orange! Orange!’...
Each portion of those memories, at this moment of time, ironically find its way projecting into a bigger picture—reminded me of the struggles when her death finally sink in.
"Ah, I was just a little kid at her rebellious age... "
"It's not like I really mean it..."
"Amongst the three of us, I was the most obedient one...right, mom?"
Irrelevent excuse and thoughts for all my wrongdoings in the past flooding in with remorse. Not knowing when it would stop, I just stared blankly upfront, trying so hard to mimic a breath as if I had forgotten how-to.
"Sis, why did you bring orange here? It smells everywhere..."
My head tilted to the side where Bogum clutched my hand. His small voice sounded so uncertain. Something in me finally snap. It was from these kind of interactions, vivid surroundings, then it all registered in our brain. The only thing we don't know is how intimidating memories are—remembering even the small details of mom and also my favourite orange could lead to every ounce of defence within me—shattered.
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