In the garden stood beautiful orchids later will be a reminder of a curse they casted on me.
Cream background dotted with yellow polka dots with a violet middle inside. Trailing obediently in order on their black, rough trails. Releasing the mesmerizing sweet scent of vanilla overlapping a touch of clove. Infusing with the scent of the unknown.
A scent intensified by my destiny waiting for me at the end of the trail. spilled in my head, like a broken crystal glass of crystal clear water.
The invisible bleeding drenching my heart will continue for years.
As they stand in a straight line before the front entry of the house. Their beauty and scent evolve in memory against their beauty and scent.
The sound of mother gaging as she hangs her head outside over the stones that made the steps of our home.
Her weak sound and frail body could barely move. As she throws up on the stones below.
Oblivious of what was happening to her, feelings of sadness and worry engulfed my little heart.
As she threw up with an audible gag over the stones below.
The sound of water splashed on the stones as I splashed a bucket of water to wash the steps.
The smell of vomiting that in later years of my life I will get to smell it again.
When it was time for me to experience my mother’s dreadful days. When I got pregnant with my first child.
She spent all day right through the night in the same place.
She couldn’t lift up her head, and she couldn’t eat.
Her sound of morning sickness calmed down in the silence of the night.
Until the sun rises again the next day.
All the morning mist from the night on the orchid blooms dried out from the heat of the air. Long after, mother starts her day of discomfort and sickness.
All the suffering to carry a child was all worth it when she gave birth to a boy.
The son they wished for. And here we are: the long-awaited prince of the orchard garden has finally arrived.
But the wicked witch that imprisoned our hearts and deprived us of joy. Was laughing at us.
She cast her curse the minute our precious boy entered the world, and he cried.
A cry of tears that will drown the man whom he was born to.
He was the sapphire of his father’s eyes. He was the aorta that kept him alive and smiling.
The orchid’s curse blew the precious sapphire in thin air with a strength of wind that no one could stop.
Father will spend the rest of his life never to heal, never to sing praises of pride, never to have joy again.
A man’s pride and joy are buried under a pile of lies, deception, and betrayal. And a sister’s heart split in half, never to be put back in one whole heart.
In hindsight, something stroked me when the cool autumn breeze from the window touched me on the face.
I cried as I sat in my room. my bed unmade for days. For the son God has gifted father with, the divine answer to his silent prayers taken by the darkness of ignorance.
The sweet fragrance of the beautiful orchids contaminated the air I breathe.
Splitting the earth we were once walking on without fear. Sending a havoc storm in our lives mercilessly. A storm that will never die away. The storm that has wrecked my heart and my father’s heart for the rest of our lives.
I’m still waiting for the storm to die down. As I wait, only few sweet memories left for me not to cherish but to drink the pain coating them with.
Lying next to him as he sleeps in the mosquito net. waiting for him to wake up so I can cuddle him.
The few-month-old little man. That put a smile on my face every time I remember him As much as it sinks my heart in the heat of the lava of sadness.
He would happily sit on the window sill as I held him from behind, standing at the window.
Expressing his happiness with sounds, kicking his tiny little plump, soft feet without socks.
The walks we took in the garden late afternoon until he fell asleep on my shoulder.
His reaction on his face to the grass bricking his bare feet as I held his hands, teaching him how to walk.
A reaction funny and cute that made me smile.
His determination to crawl on the grass under the tree where we used to sit on a mat facing the kitchen every afternoon, eager to explore.
His tantrums when he is not happy, when I sit holding him on the floor next to the window.
He cried, flexing his body backwards, protesting for not putting him on the window sill.
The fragrance of the orchids was so sweet but could not calm my soul and soothe my pain.
How many more years do I have to endure the scent of a curse? Will we ever get a chance to have our stolen treasure return to us where it belongs?
I dream of the day when the rainbow appears with our precious treasure reaching out to us with his arms stretched out to us.
I dream of the day when I will see Father finally allow himself to cry tears of joy. To see his face light up, like the full moon on a dark night.
But life is not in our hands. Our journey on rough seas is not under our control. My heart aches for Father to live on to see the day he has been dreaming of.
And I pray God will not let Father’s boat sink before he could hold his stolen sapphire in his hand. As father continues to sail on rough seas in search for the stolen sapphire that shed so many invisible tears within his golden heart. Injuring his soul.
An injury that never healed. An open, raw wound father patiently with a brave heart continues to carry with honor.
A father intoxicated with the scent of the cursed orchids. Lost in his thoughts in silence. Drowning in the tears of his love and compassion for the son who fulfilled his wish and gave him a short period of happiness, that turned toxic in the mist of the darkness and unrealized dreams.
A sweet fragrance was whispering the bittersweet melody of a love that blossomed in the shadows and withered in the light.
