At death’s door, she was like a kite with its string lost.
She made herself run errands all day long. She made breakfast, brought her son to school, bought groceries, did the washing, picked up her son from school, made lunch, hung up the laundry, swept the floor, made dinner, did the dishes, took a shower, checked her son’s homework, and put her son to sleep…
Her husband was the perfect guy. He loved and cared about her. Everything he did was for her. She was touched by his actions, but couldn’t repay him. The best she could do was to do the chores for him, so as to let him have a good rest after work.
Callouses gradually grew on her smooth, pale hands, and her rosy cheeks slowly lost their hue. The twinkling look in her eyes she once had had long been gone.
Her son had already grown up and was in his active years. Instead of staying at home with her, he liked to go on the streets and hang out with his friends. Meanwhile, though her mind was occupied with thoughts of her son, she didn’t voice them out.
Her husband was in his middle years and had lost his past vigour. During the holidays, he would sprawl on the sofa and watch the news. He looked down on soap operas nowadays, criticising them as rubbish. Because of this, she didn’t dare to confess to her husband that lately she was hooked on a TV series.
With her son at school and her husband at work, she was the only one at home.
This was the moment when she felt the freest, yet at the same time the most restricted.
She chose to fuss over running her errands, as she could no longer see anything else that was important in her life.
Having a choice also meant not having a choice.
She was now old, her back crooked and her pace slowed down.
Her son’s life went by quickly, and with the blink of an eye he was the peak at his career and started a family of his own. Sometimes he would bring his two children along to visit her. They were energetic kids, and never did they stop moving around.
She really couldn’t catch up with them.
Her husband took a step beyond the veil before her. Before she could even spill tears, his body had already been cremated. Their son had decided that he would be buried naturally, which was fashionable at the time, since he claimed it was environmentally friendly. Her husband’s ashes didn’t carry much weight. Some of them found their way on the soil, while some of them were scattered by the wind.
She really couldn’t catch up.
She could neither pick up her family’s pace, nor with the times changing.
She could neither figure out why her grandchildren didn’t like to spend time with her, nor the benefits of natural burial.
She was deep in thought, and before she knew it, her body was failing to catch up with her mind.
She was sent to an elderly home.
Her son would occasionally pay her a visit, yet her daughter-in-law and her grandchildren never showed up.
The old woman next to her was always looking blankly at the postcard placed on the bedside.
Beneath the clouds and the blue sky was a colourful kite that was dancing in the wind.
She loved that postcard, and would sometimes steal glances at it.
The old woman passed away.
The caretaker said that the old woman had wanted to give her the card.
Day and night, she would spend hours looking at it.
Her eyes would wander at the kite, then at the blue sky, then at the clouds, and finally land at the string attached to the kite.
Littérateurs would write countless heartfelt and delicate prose about kites, along with every sentiment travelling through their minds. Youngsters longed for flying high up in the sky and travelling around the world. Toddlers loved to draw clouds. They loved and were fascinated by their protean nature.
They didn’t know how captivating the string of the kite could be.
But she knew.
After having attended to their duties, the caretaker passed by her bed to discover that she was missing.
She probably went to the garden to look at kites, the caretaker thought, without realising the thin thread of string sitting on the slightly warm bed of hers.
She was a thread of string who needed no kite. She was in high spirits and full of vitality.480Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkopiVaGHTa
