"Kyuhyun, hurry up!"

 

I huffed, bending over in exhaustion. The over-excited man raced ahead of me, treating this day as if he was the one who was supposed to be enjoying it.

 

Don't get me wrong. That day, after all, is a holiday for all walks of life after all. But it was more like a celebration for kids and their families. Not young adults, or desperate-for-youth dads. 

 

So why was I strolling after my father on the day which was deemed as "the Christmas of May"?

 

I had no idea.

 

"Yah, why are you walking so slow! We have to beat the queue!"

 

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at him. Unless I wanted a scolding from him later at home (when he has calmed down from all those childish excitement), I had to resist every urge to scoff or talk back at him. Sometimes I just want to drag him to the psychiatrist and check for some split personality disorder or something.

 

He was bounding towards a ride, and one look upwards sent my sweat glands into overdrive.

 

Oh, dear.

 

 

 

"Dad, you do know that we could just spend this holiday at home. I'm already 17—"

 

"Oh, come on. Live a little! I know you're already good at your books, so let loose a little!" He "fist-pumped" my shoulder, and I inwardly winced at his gentle gesture.

 

Sighing rather audibly, I deliberately avoided his wilting glare zapping obviously at the back of my head from his pupils, while glancing around the park. People—families—were starting to fill up the arena, chattering excitedly amongst themselves. It was almost becoming an incessant buzz, and heck, it was annoying. I wonder what he found fun about cramping ourselves in the massive sea of people just for a few minutes of exhilarating rides, when I could just make use of this day to do more Math practice.

 

But just like the past years, I never dared to object. It wasn't because I really wanted to celebrate; I was old enough to celebrate the real Christmas and the price of amusement park entrance tickets were like crazy on this particular day anyway. I knew he wanted to spend this day with me, since we rarely got time for each other on the rest of the year.

 

We got on the ride after a few minutes, and I just couldn't enjoy myself. Formulas and Calculus ran around my mind, and there was simply no getting rid of it. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to clear my head. But nothing changed and I felt sick—like throwing up for some reason.

 

I rushed to the toilet without telling my father, knowing that he would follow. Sure enough, after a few seconds of bending over the sink, I felt someone put his hand on my back.

 

"Are you okay?"

 

I could only nod and switch on the tap to wash away my half-digested breakfast. My legs felt like expired jelly, and my throat felt like it had suffered a second degree burn. My father patted my back soothingly while I rinsed my mouth. 

 

After exiting the toilet, I was prepared to face another several rounds of rides. To my surprise, he brought us both to a bench and took out a bottle of water for me to drink. With a mumble of gratitude, I drank from it, feeling slightly better as the cool liquid flowed down my throat.

 

The light spring breeze ruffles my hair, sending a small feeling of comfort. Before I could relax, somewhere from the depths of my mind reminded me of the exam my class was going to have in a week's time. 

 

My palms started sweating and vision started swimming. I felt like passing out from worry, even I had been studying for the test for the past 3 weeks. I felt like I had memorised the notes inside out, but the sense of insecurity still remained. I don't know why.

 

We sat like that on the bench for while, my father  just watching the flow of people passing by while I tried to clear my head. I started counting the number of children I saw to distract myself from my nagging thoughts and almost got to a hundred when my father suddenly spoke.

 

"You've been really stressed."

 

It sounded more like a statement than a question, so I didn't respond. He continued, shifting his gaze from the scene before us to me.

 

"Your mother wouldn't like it if she saw you like that."

 

"Like what? That I'm out on this day and that I'm not studying?" I couldn't help but retort.

 

My razor-like tone affected my father. It was reflected in his eyes—the shock and the pain—clear as day. I swallowed uncomfortably. In a split second, his eyes turn blank once more as he shifted his gaze elsewhere. I pursed my lips, fully knowing what folly I had committed.

 

"Dad, I'm sorry..." I said quietly.

 

"I..." He started, but with a sigh, he changed his tone, "You're growing up too fast. 17 is a year where you should explore and find out about yourself. You're supposed to enjoy some parts of it. It really hurts me to see you whither your entire youth away in books. "

 

"It's not a bad thing that you study hard—I'm really proud of you in fact—but you're too uptight. You have to live a little. Play a bit. Your mum may not liked you playing, but she would definitely be sad to see you exhausted and lifeless from all that time spent buried in your books."

 

I remained silent, but his words struck my sub-consciousness as hard as a tonne of bricks directly dropping onto the ground.

 

"She would be really proud to see a healthy and happy son, not a depressed one. Studies should come second; happiness first. You have to do what you love sometimes, then you can love what you do."

 

I watched a drop of moisture fall onto the dry ground through my blurry vision. But my lips remained sealed.

 

"You're a great son. The best son any parents can ever have. You may have been rebellious in the past, but at least you've come to your senses. I'm proud of you for that, and many other things. But it is parent's ultimate wish to see their children grow into good people who do things for happiness, regardless for their own or the people around them. Think about it. Would your mother be happy to see you wearing a frown all day, sticking your nose into books?"

 

Inhaling a deep breath, I pushed back all the threatening drops of emotion. My father was right. She wouldn't. I could remember the days when she would silently comfort me while I was upset. When she thought I was asleep, she cried in my room about not being a good enough mother to make me happy. Yes, I had been rebellious, but I wasn't happy. There was just this part of me that had to defy the norm and the rules, but now I could see the reason why they are there in the first place.

 

The images of her lamenting over my bad side everyday struck me deep, because she was the one who blamed herself for not being able to discipline me well. But the one that changed me completely was the last image I had of her. Her last words. She wanted me to study hard and be an outstanding, and happy, person.

 

I did it. But I wasn't satisfied. I had to be the top in class, top in level, top in school, later on number one in my region... then whole of South Korea. When I didn't make it, I cried for days, sometimes even hurt myself. My father always told me what I had done was enough but, to me it wasn't. It just somehow felt like what I had done wasn't enough to bring glory to myself and my mother. The image of her always demanding more from me repeat itself in my mind. Unfortunately, it feels like I still couldn't give her what she wants after she was gone.

 

I glanced around me. The amusement park I was sitting in had been the same since the last children's day as a whole family; before my mum got admitted into the hospital, before my sister went on her scholarship trip. After that, me and my father only had each other. 

 

I could still see the four of us happily queuing up for rides, my mother trying to keep me still by clinging onto my wrist firmly. My sister would call me an idiot, and I would throw a tantrum, which caused my father scold my sister. 

 

The image of it made me laugh. I wanted to go back in time and experience it all over again.

 

Blinking away the stinging water in my eyes, I glanced sideways at my father. He was still, his flyaway hair messy from the spring wind. But the far away look in his eyes hinted at something.

 

He was thinking about my mother.

 

I sighed, then chuckled. 

 

There was no way for us to relive our past, so why not make use of the opportunity at present and embrace the future? Every single one of us age, whether we like it or not. But we would always have that child inside of us, yearning for fun, laughter, happiness, love. It will always be the simplest things that can make us feel content. We learn, and then we change. But some things don't change, and they will never do. 

 

Why? Because we are just humans after all.

 

Since the other ones we love are not with us, I guess we have to create new memories of our own.

 

"Dad... Do you want to go on for another ride?"

 

He turned to me, eyes widened in surprise. It was the first time in 4 years since I initiated playing in the amusement park. 

 

"Why not?" his eyes twinkled in excitement as his lips curled up into a loving smile.