Warm hands caress my cheeks; her blunt nails were tracing my features from my eyes down to my lips. She’s humming a beautiful lullaby as she waits for me to fall asleep.

 She’s beautiful, she really is. No one is like her and no one will be.

Her warm hand cupped my forehead before she leaned forward to place a warm kiss on the top of my head. She smiles at me, her voice resounding softly at the quiet room that both of us lay and rest.

Her soft but pitchy voice feels like home, every time that I hear her voice I know that I’m not alone. She has always been my role model, she’s my beloved Mother and she’s the fortress of my strength and being.

She tells me that she’ll sleep beside me; her promise to keep me safe from the monster underneath my bed always makes me smile secretly. And with her arms embracing me tightly, it feels as if nothing could haunt me, like no monster is strong enough to scare me because I know that I have her.

Midnight strikes, it’s the 21^st of June. The middle of summer solstice and she anticipates it more than everyone else. With another soft whisper full of love from her, I slowly close my eyes and surrendered myself to sleep, her tender arms were wrapped around me protectively.

When I woke up that morning she wasn’t beside me. With the naïve mind of a six year old girl I panicked and search for her.

The loud sound of her pitchy voice echoed around my room, I looked at the direction where the sound of her voice resounded from and there she was standing right in front of me. Her arms were folded against her chest while she looked at me with one raised eyebrow with the endearing question if I ever did doubt that she’ll leave me. For a moment there I really thought that she did. But knowing my mother she’ll never leave me even if our house caught on fire. She loves me, and she’ll stay with me forever. She will, won't she?

++++++

The air was humid and every beam from the sun makes me blink from time to time. My mother was holding her favorite umbrella; it’s colored in a light shade of blue and was designed with polka dots. She held my wrist with her free hand, and the smile on her lips remains as we both watch the craftsman assemble a wooden stand.

She told me that the blank thing is called a canvas, she also told me that there are hundreds of types of brushes and she told me that there’s a meaning to each and every color.

The midday sun is shining brightly while my mother prepares the different things that are needed for her to paint. When she’s done, she lifted me up and made me sit on a mini-stall that’s scooted beside her own.

She started to paint; every color mixture that she rendered made me smile. My mother mixed blue with white, green with yellow and orange with purple. Every takes her another step closer in finishing the picture and every blend of colors played with my eyes.

The finished painting gave me the feeling of sheer lightheartedness, the meadow that my mother painted was simple but in a way it made me feel calm and happy.

 A little girl was the main character in the picture; she’s holding a dandelion, its cottony strings were dragged by the strong winds and the child’s hair was dancing with the winds direction. Her eyes were idled and her lips were draped with a soft smile. The little girl appears to be wishing, her expression was hopeful and her smile was truly genuine.

The landscape that serves as a background seems to signify her home. It emits comfort and warmth, and gives it off an endearing essence. My mother painted a beautiful picture, but there’s still something that made me curious.

I looked at my Mom who was staring at me all along. “Mommy, why is the background all blue and shady?”

“Blue?” she repeated my question like she was trying to ask me back, “Blue is the color of trust my dear.” She answered back while smiling; her soft hands were running through my hair. “One day when I pass on to the afterlife, I hope that in time you’ll understand the meaning of this painting.”

My eyes narrowed, pass on to the next life she said. “Mom, what’s In the afterlife? Why do you need to pass there? Is there an entrance fee like the carnival too?” The giddy little girl in me asked my Mother that question, my tone was full of excitement and my eyes widen with curiosity.

“Nope, passing in the afterlife is free but the cost is great. One day you’ll understand this…” My mother paused, her hand's reaching out on my own. A blissful feeling filled me as she slowly intertwines our fingers together before she firmly holds my hands.

“Someday, you’ll understand.”

And I promised myself that someday I will understand her paintings, that someday I'll see what she sees. To this day forth I knew what I wanted to be when I grow up, I wanted to be like her, I want to be a painter like my mother.

++++++

Long years have passed and I’ve fulfilled my dream to become a painter like her. I work on my Dad’s furniture shop in Incheon as a painter for display portraits, and sometimes I also work for some art collectors and such.

When I arrived home from work the whole living room was filled with the smell of her home cooked meals. The sweet smell of miso soup and steamed buns filled my senses and roused my hunger even more. I skimmed the room softly while trying my best to not touch anything because my hands were stained with oil color that I’ve failed to remove with paint thinner. And if she finds out about this, she might not even give me dinner.

“Mom?” I called for her as I sneakily enter the kitchen walls. Mom’s still cooking, and her back was facing me. “Mommy.” I called for her sweetly this time.

She hummed softly, she glanced behind her shoulders for a moment to face me. “You’re back early my dear.”

“Yep.” I answered while approaching her. A soft peck on her moist cheek, and then I wiped the sweat off her face. “Mommy, you’re still pretty.”

She rolled her eyes after hearing my compliment. Her hips slightly pushed me away from her playfully while she chuckles remotely. “Is your father home yet?” She questioned me happily. My Dad, when will he be home this time?

Every time we talk about my Dad I feel uncomfortable. He’s never home, and if he’s here then I’m either asleep or I’m working at our shop.

Growing up as a young adult, I’ve never really been close to him, and neither do I talk much about my Father. Mom says he kisses my forehead before he sleeps, and that he whispers that he loves me in my sleep. But then, why can’t I feel his love for me? I never grew up in his presence. Sometimes I even ask myself if he cares, if he cares for me and Mom at all.

“Nope, he’s not here yet.” I answered unrelentingly. “He’s never here so why even bother.”

My Mom sighed; she turned down the fire on the stove before she turns to my direction completely. “GyongBae… It’s  not like that, you and I both know that your father is busy to make a bette—“

“Life for us.” I continued her sentence with bitter smile. “I know that Mom, I know that fact since I was a little kid… I just wish that sometimes he’s home early enough to taste your cooking.”

“He will” My Mother proclaimed with a hopeful smile. “He always arrives late at night to taste my home cooked meals.” She stated as a matter of fact. She must’ve heard my disagreeing mumbles that’s why she pinched me cheeks.

After my Mom and I finished eating dinner she told me to sleep early. She said that she’ll wait until my Father returns home so that she can watch him eat the meal that she prepared.

But then again, even after my Mom surrendered and went to sleep he didn’t come back home until it was 5 AM in the morning. His excuse was the same as always, he’s busy with the shop, he’s always busy.

Still, even after all the false hope that my father gives, she still patiently waits for his arrival every night. Those nights of waiting turned into weeks, those weeks turned into months and those months pass by quickly and turn into a year.

 She waits quietly at the dining area with a plate full of food placed at the supposed to be position of my father. Sometimes I watch her as she waits, until her head bounces to and fro because she’s sleepy, even until she falls asleep on the chair. I wanted to hate my father, but it seems like I can’t. I really can’t expect him to give us everything, right?

____________________________________

The next update will be much longer than this. My Mom wants me to sleep early, so yeah.

I love comments and thanks to the ones who commented on the prologue.

I appreciate the gesture you guys, stay awesome. ;)