Silence (Source of inspiration: Nor Farahzlin)
I pushed open the front wooden door of my apartment and stood still, as memories of what had happened last year came flooding back like colossal waves crashing turbulently against the grainy shore.
My whole being shook involuntarily as if I was momentarily held in a vicious rapture. I fought the overwhelming urge to break down and cry. Silence. The apartment seems devoid of any sign that my father even existed. Ever since his death, I could not shake off the feelings of hallowed emptiness and melancholy.
Standing here, right now, I could almost picture my father sitting languidly amongst the plethora of cushions on the three-seat sofa. In the wee hours of the morning, he would usually be watching 'Whose Line Is It Anyway?' with the volume at almost full blast and laughing lightheartedly at something which the comedian had said. I, being the ignorant adolescent that I was, had enjoyed coming home so late back then. Despite many naggings and reprimands from my mother to come home earlier that is. He of course, had something to say to that.
"Lin? Why are you home so late? It is not advisable for pretty, young girls such as yourself to be gallivanting around town at this time of night…." His deep baritone voice laced with a hint of amusement.
After a refreshing exchange on the restrictions of young girls on coming home so late, he would mantle two mikes to the television; insert one of our many karaoke compact discs. We would sing our hearts out so loud and so very out of tune that it will rouse my mother from her slumber grudgingly. She will start off muttering incoherent sentences about needing her sleep and soon enough and ironically, she would snatch the mike from me and start singing a duet with my father. I can veraciously say that my apartment never did have a quiet moment.
Perhaps that was why the grave silence left after his death affected me so. My house which had always been so full of life is now dead. All there is left now is a deafening silence to which distant memories seemed to reverberate not-so-vaguely in my mind. Albeit so, like my friend always says—what's gone is gone. One cannot bring a dead person back to life. What's been done cannot be undone and that loved ones dying is just part and parcel of this weird thing we call life. I shall cherish those moments with him and forever his name shall be etched, deep within the confines of my heart.
A/N: This is actually a piece I wrote for English class, the last essay I wrote before my major exams. So yeah, just felt like putting it up here. It's short, I know. Haha. But feel free to give any comments. :