Another hour passed with me cleaning up my room.

By cleaning, I meant picking out things I no longer use and placing them into a box so I can easily send them in the attic later.

I'm a neat-obsessed-freak when it comes to my property so my room is always spotless. Kendra had even got furious when she saw me calmly listing and sorting out some documents a teacher had wanted me to help her with according to the student's initial and their years. That took three good, boring hours.

The attic door is in the ceiling of our second-floor hallway. I yanked the rope to unfold the stairs, making sure they were secure before climbing up with the box in my arm and tugged out the chain of the attic's sole lightbulb. The thick dusty air tickled my throat. I tip-toed across the space and skimmed the cardboard boxes labeled with black marker in block letters. I placed mine among the other boxes.

I was about to turn back to the stairs when I noticed an unmarked box in the farthest corner. There were thick layers of dust around it as if it has been there for ages. The box itself was empty, except for one thing at the bottom.

It was an old black knitted scarf. Definitely not Mom's.

She wont wear anything black. She thinks that the color was for grieving and overly depressed people.

I picked it up carefully and realized something was wrapped inside. I slowly unfold the scarf, and found a wooden-framed photo of Mom and a guy I remembered seeing in my dreams when I was a kid. My memories were hazy but I'm sure it was him.

My Dad.

I was only two years old when Dad left. When we were younger, Sonia and I would sometimes ask about our Dad. The only answer we got was that he left for good. To where and why, we don't know. But we've seen how much it hurts Mom to talk about him, so we stopped with the questions. It was the unspoken rule between us siblings.

In my heart - even when I know it was dishonorable of us - he was like a dead person. Someone who doesn't exist. Same goes with Sonia. Whether it was true or not, we couldn't dare to find out. 

I had never felt my my father's absence. How can you miss someone you barely knew. Back then, I did, however, felt something stirring inside, a strange ache, everytime I watch kids of my age interact with both of their parents, and not with only one. 

It was probably for the best that we were still too young to gather any memories with him. Between Mom and Sonia, I had grown up with enough love. And when Daya joined our family, everything seemed and felt perfect.

I, we didn't need him.

But still, now, as I trace my finger down his face in the picture, I wondered. What really did happened? Was he alive?

Footsteps climbing the attic stairs alerted me that someone was coming.

I quickly rewrapped the frame and put it back into the box. I don't want Mom to see that I've found it. If she knew, the photo will probably disappear soon along with all the other evidence of Dad's existence.

I hurriedly stepped away from the box to avoid suspicion from whoever was climbing the stairs now. 

"What are you doing?"

I whipped her head around and exhaled the breath I didn't know I was holding as I saw the head of my dear sister poking into the attic.

More than four hours left and I'm out of idea for a better way to kill time other than spending it with my family.

Sonia came down from her room after changing into a more confortable wear and wiped off her layers and layers of make up. She usually would be at work from afternoon till late midnight, but seems like today she was able to free her schedule. 

I opened my mouth to speak but stopped when I looked closer into her eyes. They were red, hollow and heavy at the edges. Her dark circles still visible underneath the concealer cream she'd been wearing.

She's overworking again.

"How was work?" I started, not knowing any other topic to start from. "Tiring, but someone need to get our financials going." Thankfully, she wasn't sugar-coating anything. 

"Sorry I couldn't do much to help."

"Don't worry about it. You only have less than a year left, anyway. Right, Sis? Or are you planning to continue studying?" "Of course not."

I couldn't recall the last time Sonia went out with her friends or dated or did anything wild and crazy. She was always working to help supporting our family. Her thought was never on herself.

When everything went downhill, she tried her very best to lessen the burden she think she caused. She felt guilty because in her mind, everything was her fault.

We never blamed her though.

Sonia had always been there for me and it hurts me to see the once carefree teenage turning into a lifeless doll. She had gotten way too mature and wise for her own good. Behind the smile she always shows I know she's suffering. 

Mom, Sonia and I were each other's pillar during hard times. We love and cherish each other's presence and wouldn't want to trade it for anything. We quarreled and got annoyed of each other sometimes, sure, but that was it. 

As the oldest between the two of us, she took all the responsibilities. She works part time jobs when she was in her teen years but never complained. I've learned alot of things from her.

She was my role model. My idol.

She's a great daughter, a supportive sister, a caring mother and a diligent worker. 

I wish she knew that.

I smiled when the memory hit me. Once when I was an elementary scholar, I remember helping my mom organizing photographs - every neat-freak 's hobby -, I found one of her as a teenager, surrounded by four others. I stared at the picture and innocently asked, "Who was babysitting me and Sonia?". Mom explained that I wasn't born yet, and for a child, it was startling to know that she had lived a life before me.

Without me.

For most of the springtime of my life, I was actually pleased that Mom never remarried nor dated anybody. First, because of my fantasy that Dad would someday return and reunite with her, then our family will continue living in total bliss.

Second, because I was selfish. Mom showered all her attention on us, her family. So I didn't want some stranger to come in and take her away. Just imagining that happening was hard. 

But now I regret those thoughts. Because things were changing.

Slowly but for sure.

Daya, who was sitting on the carpet noticed me leaning on the door frame and smiled. "Aunty!" Mom looked up at me and smiled. 

Daya gestured me over to show her drawing of me entering what looks like an airplane.I was wearing my favourite casual long-sleeve ombre brown dress, just the way I like it. Although, my face only consists of two dots for the eyes and three line, two above each 'eye' and the third for the mouth - don't expect much from a kid -, my hair was tied into a ponytail with a few pencil on the 'forehead' which might be my usual side bangs. Even in the drawing, I was holding my camera.

Remember when I said she's good? 

And I had to remind myself that she's still five.