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(Pt. 1)
I - Paradoxes
It was a dull afternoon in late autumn when you could watch the remaining brown, yellow and orange leaves being blown away by the wind leaving the tree branches bare. I strolled down the city streets with my twin sister, Snowflake, obliviously watching a brown, crippled leaf flutter across the path and against the footsteps of the bustling crowd. Reflective thoughts conquered my mind: I am not supposed to be here, I do not want to be here, at the other phase of this dying orb is where I long to be.
I paused at the thought and closed my eyes. sinking into a powerful contemplation. I could perfectly remember that years ago, though it must have been a similar dull afternoon in late autumn, on the other side of the world, rain had gently caressed my cheek and one of the red roses I had thrown before me--on that black velvet box that had been buried six feet underground, beside that block of cement where “Angelyn Leshathé” was engraved.
It crossed my mind that a decade had passed, I had been standing perhaps right through here, heels over head, in a black raincoat too big that the prickly rose I had been holding was hidden under the sleeves. An innocent eight-year-old child—just as I had been—whose face had swollen from three days nonstop weeping was leaning her head against my right shoulder, her eyes ablaze with much confusion and fright. That particular girl had had indeed the most intimate relationship with her mother; and, next to her father, she had been the one having the hardest time letting go.
It also crossed my mind that only ten years had gone by, Father, clothed, as ever simple as he had been, with a shirt and a pair of slacks, had stood next to the little girl, with a poise showing fearsome courage. But I could remember exactly how that young man had grimaced at the horrible scene before him. Obviously, he had simply been hiding his misery and, too, was in the throes of great loss.
“May she rest in peace," is what I had uttered back then--at the other side of this world--to break the dismal melody the tender drops of water were playing.
If twenty-four years had gone by too fast and were not enough for those who had deeply loved her, what more could a hundred months offer?
All of that flashed in my mind like a spooling sepia film, and tears fell instantly down my cheeks. The details were magnificently real--too painful.
"Yue." A hand rubbed my back. "It's time to go."
I opened my eyes and looked at Snowflake. I faintly nodded.
I watched the sky grow darker as Snowflake drove down the road. My eyes then shifted to the buildings. I was imagining what could lay beyond those facades. It must be the sun; it had to be the sun. All those ten whole years, I had never seen the sun set at this side of the world. But when Mother was still alive, Father had always taken us by the bay every weekend. I remembered well what it looked like on the other part of the Sphere: the sun's pinkish-orange rays would shine on everything. From red-laced pink clouds to purple puffed-up ones, the beams would paint the sky with the colors of the rainbow and would glisten on the crystalline waters, creeping down on our cheerful countenances.
I loved that scene: natural beauty of creation devoid of any city’s insinuation; and I had hated it when the vast illumination would slowly fade away and be replaced by its reflection on the moon.
You're as beautiful as those panorama of lights, Mother, I thought, sighing. Why did the sun have to set so soon?
I rested a cheek on my arms horizontally lain on the open window and smelled the odd scent of dried leaves. “Psst…Snow!” I broke the deafening silence. “Remember our little squabble?”
“What could make me forget?” She giggled as she nudged me with her elbow. “It was frickin' stupid!”
I lay back in the car and started to chuckle myself. But a glance at the window was all I needed to stop.
“I was trying to admire that tremendously beautiful view…beyond those buildings,” I whispered to Snowflake, “and you brayed at me for doing so.”
“I know,” she whispered back. “I remember.”
We drove by an endless cemented pavement edged with successive lampposts. Each turn we took; each intersection we crossed; each shop, or building, or house that we passed by; all were too familiar, and I kept asking myself: How could all these things remain the same after everything had changed?
Finally, we reached Father’s penthouse which was just twenty minutes away. Snowflake and I were silent as we go up the building.
"Father?" I called as I opened the door.
It didn't surprise me that it wasn't locked. Father always left his door unlocked when he knew he would be having guests.
"Father?" I repeated.
Snowflake pushed me in. "Just get inside, creep." She laughed and entered as well.
I looked around, and my eyes could never miss that paradoxical ornament: There was a big, yellow vase sitting in the middle of the room. It was full of flowers, which were bright and colorful, contrasting with the dull colors of Father's room; and I could tell that Father most certainly was not the one who bought or requested it.
"Wow," I heard Snowflake say under her breath as she closed the door behind her.
"Yes, wow," I echoed.
I walked up the flowers--stunned. These were not those common beauties I had been forced to believe 'ordinary' within those ten years. Gumamelas and Sampaguitas--flowers I had not seen for far too long than what I thought I could not bear. I smiled as I scrutinized them, gently feeling the textures of the petals. My fingers slid down the stems and on the vase, from prickly to smooth. I closed my eyes and smelled the flowers. The bouquet had love and care painted in its arrangement. Whoever sent this must have really adored Mother.
“Where did all these flowers come from, Dad?” I asked as I held up one of the floras. “They're like magic.”
“They’re from your grandpa,” Father said as he came out of the kitchen, wiping off bits of flour from his face. “Grandpa Bob.”
"Dad!" Snowflake ran to him.
"Hey, honey."
Father hugged Snowflake and kissed her on the forehead. When Snowflake pulled away, he hugged me as well.
“You can stay and rest in my bedroom. I know it’s been a hard day for you two,”—he looked at Snowflake—“especially you, Hon. There will be guests tonight for dinner, so go on. Get some rest. I’ll be in the kitchen.”
Snowflake and I reposed in Father’s room. How comfortable were we. It was peaceful, and the serenity helped my thinking to stop for awhile and let me relax. I lay on the bed. Snowflake plopped beside me, her blue dress puffing up a bit. She pulled out a receptacle from her bag and began applying make-up. She asked if she could do the same on me, and I allowed her to.
“Take off your glasses,” she requested, “and close your eyes. Pink shadow? It will perfectly match your black dress.”
“You’re the expert.” I smiled and closed my eyes. I felt the brush lightly touch my eyelid, and for a moment there, my mind began to wander again.
I could see myself bonding with Mother and Snowflake, still so young and still so innocent. I started to miss the way she would strike our hair with a Goody brush when we were seven. I started to miss the way Mother’s sable hair draped over her shoulders, contrasting greatly with Snowflake’s and my white-blond hair. I could still remember the aroma of the lemongrass shampoo, sometimes rosemary, which would fill the room every time we would raffle that veil of ebony silk before bedtime. In fact, I could remember the scent so well, the childhood memories it roused were so real. We were the three missus-keteers wearing our best nightgowns.
“Mom...” My sister would start to ask apparently silly questions. Mother held her in her arms. “Mom, if I die, will you cry?”
Mother had never seemed to mind her ridiculous inquiries, and she would always give Snowflake a satisfying answer. “Of course, my dear, but I would never want that to happen.”
“Inay *,” I had asked next while twisting Mother’s hair around my finger, “when should I expect people to die?” I was always more curious in sensible things and was believed to show more maturity than my sister. “And if someone I love dies,” I had added, “what would be the best thing to do?”
Mother’s face began to look weary. I had felt as if I had asked a sillier question than Snowflake, it only brought up silence. But Mother, having stared at me for a minute, carried me on her lap with Snowflake. Then she hugged us both, very tight.
“Of course,” she had said as a tear fell off the bridge of her nose, “—of course, you would have to cry for awhile, if you really love and dear that person. But then, you have to be strong…” she said with a lower tone of voice. “And soon let go of your despairs; but never the moments you’ve cherished with that person.”
Tears had fallen down the bridge of Snowflake’s nose as well. I guessed, she was deeply touched by the sight of a weeping mother.
But as for me, I had been reflecting each word Mother had said and, apparently, was too busy to cry. I knew that there was something significant about her late night speech that a four-year-old child could not easily comprehend. And I would only figure out what she really meant three years later, after that particular conversation with her, when Snowflake and I had exchanged warm embraces under the moonlight, trying to console each other beside the glimmer of stars on the gentle rush of the waters flowing underneath our soles. We were shedding tears for our dearest mother.
Evidently, she had known about it all along. I found out that the medical consultant told her so. And if it were not for Snowflake’s inane question, I would have not asked my own asinine question, and Mother would have not given us the advice we needed to overcome the tormenting depression our juvenile minds had entertained.
But I had been innocent. I had known nothing of this thing called 'death' until my own mother passed away. So I just hugged her back then, very tight, and tried to imagine what it would be like to die. I just thought and thought as I felt my right shoulder become drenched with Mother’s and sister’s tears. More questions stimulated my mind each more minute I thought: What would hurt more, your own death or the death of a loved one?
“Yuenish,” Snowflake said; the brushing ceased. “Open your eyes,” she commanded. And so I did. She was staring at me with a sad smile. “You’re crying.”
I watched a faint figure of a girl hand me a handkerchief. I took the cloth and hastily wiped away my tears. We hugged each other and cried.
It must be rather absurd and a waste of time to let your tears flow over a reflection of a woman whose absence is still arousing a feeling of despair. That’s how some people think, but I guess for us, there was nothing wrong to weep. Especially at the time you were missing that person the most.
“You’re finally crying, Yue,” Snowflake jokingly remarked.
We both laughed at her comment. I blew my nose, and she continued applying make-up on me.
“What do you suppose is Father’s motive for tonight?” I asked Snowflake.
“How the hell am I supposed to know, Yue?” she retorted. “Maybe a special dinner commemoration for Mom?”
Our conversation yielded into silence. I just waited for Snowflake to finish what she was doing then we lingered in the kitchen.
The kitchen had always been a humdrum place for me, and it was the least expected division of a house that you would find me in. In contrast, whenever, wherever, this room was the heart of a home for dearest Father.
Why? Well--who could ever deny such food delectability? Every heavenly delicious meal I had ever tasted in my life was conjured—fried, or baked, or simmered, or sautéed—by this handsome young man.
Our father, Darwin Leshathé, was a famous chef. If he wasn't signing fan-books for his popular novels, he was starring in a cook show that had reached international reputation.
Like him, I knew I ought to write, too; I showed potential as young as two. But, on the other hand, no matter how much my father wanted it to happen, Snowflake would never follow his steps on being a master cook.
They always used to fight over what Snowflake would be when she grew up, but it was of no use. She had insisted on being a dancer, swift but graceful, just like Mother. So when Snowflake's defiance had gotten under Father's skin, he finally gave in and let Snowflake move into New York to study at Julliard University. But I stayed in another penthouse here in Seattle.
Father’s apartment was more luxurious than mine, of course; but I was quite overwhelmed with the plush surroundings Father had provided for me when we entered college. We had always lived a plain life despite of our family’s fortune—just settling in a simple house in Snohomish. We moved because Father thought he would have had more opportunities to work in this city. And he was right. Offers were profuse here. Everything even began to be all about work--work, work, work. And not before long, Father had begun to be too busy for us that he pretty much gave us everything we wanted in substitution for his absence.
I must admit, it was very hard for me to grow up and look for my place in this world without the guidance of a parent--harder for Snowflake still; but somehow, we did make it, though Father became too indulgent and allowed Snowflake’s attitude to take a remarkable change the previous years. Permitting his lack of family time to be replaced by money, money itself turned my sister into a spoiled lady, who most of the time, if not always, got her way.
I had already told Father that there were certain things he should have been doing himself. He should have stopped thinking that entertaining gadgets and the latest fashion could be alternatives to his obligation as a father—as our father. But he would always rationalize. For instance...
“Sunshine, dear, look at yourself. Do you act like your sister? She’s just like that, moody and sulky. Period. Maybe she’s having a harder time entering the adult world unlike you. You’re too mature to think about being in at all. Besides, I spend Christmas Days with you guys, right?”
His statements were stark incongruous, too inexplicable that I already ceased in convincing him. And why would he describe me as if I did not care about being a teenager at all? He just didn't know. He just didn't know…
Snowflake went to the living room and turned on the television. I sat on a high slim chair in the kitchen, drinking hot cocoa. There was no wall or division that separated the living room and the kitchen so I could perfectly see what Snowflake was watching.
Drama.
Hating visualized entertainment, I realized that there was pretty much nothing more to do but to pretend like I was attentively observing Father cook when my mind was actually wandering in my own radical world where I was Jash Bagabaldo, a young teenage proxy of the FBI.
One typical afternoon, Jash was doing her homework in History when she was abruptly summoned by Mr. Tan Montenegro, a bogus officer of the institution. Mr. Montenegro was captured by the government for presumed espionage. He then managed to clandestinely pass out top secret files to Jash before his imprisonment. His letter to the girl states that the government is oblivious of the real intention of the military under General Garfield Halabuga. There was something suspicious about the spontaneous actions and orders of the General, especially the daily recruits request in South East Asia. Intrigues were aroused but soon forgotten, leaving Mr. Tan’s curiosity to lead him to spy. He then found that the wicked general was planning a worldwide invasion, which the government, being too confident with the leader’s performance, was apparently ignorant of. The files that were sent to Jash were incontrovertible facts that General Halabuga was sheer evil.
It was ridiculous—very ridiculous—I know.
A girl who had entered her teens five years ago would rather fantasize about being inducted in some surreptitious agency than to learn how to concoct a succulent dish which she might actually find practical and useful in future matters? It was a lame plot for a story anyway.
“—and this will serve about—uh—twenty-fi—why—what are you smiling about?” Father snorted with a wrinkle on his forehead.
“—nothing, Dad—I—I was just—I just remembered something,” I stammered.
“Uh-huh?” Father warily looked at me.
He started to chop some onions. His hand was too quick for my eyes to catch.
“You know,” he said as he took glances, but still perfectly slicing the onions, “people would unexpectedly turn confused when I found them interrupting me while I was just figuring out the perfect plot for a novel.”
We smiled at each other. Someone who could relate to me at last. We should talk more... but then again—his job!
“Are you writing something?” he inquired. "Is it romance? Adventure? Fantasy?"
Ding! Ding!
“I’ll get it!” Snowflake yelled, breaking up Father’s interrogation. The next thing we heard were impromptu shrieks of excitement.
"Surprise!" a female voice said.
“Yuenish!” Snowflake shrieked.
I turned around and gasped at the sight of a young woman. She was gleaming at me. I did not recognize her at first, but then I joined the jubilation and followed their wild screams.
“Ellaine?” I asked, still with a bit of doubt.
“Yuenish!” she exclaimed with a more excited smile. She flung herself toward me. “I am so glad to see you again!”
It had been five years since we had seen each other in a comic convention, and that was only an accident. With her occasional e-mails, chats and phone calls with Snowflake, I had been updated with what was happening with her.
Ellaine pushed me away. Holding still onto my arm, her smile faded into a stern expression. She pointed at me and said, “You should go online more often!”
Snowflake and she laughed as I tried to find an excuse.
“Oh, come on, Lane! You know that the Internet for me is just a source for research.”
“Aww,” she said as she hugged me and my sister, “I missed you guys.”
Ellaine Rhyth was our childhood friend from Snohomish. She was half Latina, half American. With her brown wide eyes and long black curls, mixed with her brains and being good-natured, there was always something to add to the list of why boys came running after her. Her cheekbone rising above her thick, rosy lips, she had a very charming appeal.
“I am so glad you’re here!” cried Snowflake. "Wait, why are you here?"
"“I am glad, too! And I just dropped to surprise you." She looked past us, at Father. She winked. "Uncle Darwin helped me for this surprise."
We laughed.
"And guess what?” Ellaine said, with excitement sparkling in her eyes.
“What?” I innocently asked.
“My auntie and I just moved here to Seattle.“ She glanced at Snowflake, then me, waiting for reactions. “I’m studying in Seattle University!”
Now that statement stirred up both cheerful and sulky attitudes.
“That’s just great!” I exclaimed.
“Yeah, great.” Snowflake retorted with her arms crossed.
“Aww…Snow,” I said to her as I drew her by my side. “You have your Michelle.”
She just bit her lip.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get to visit a bit earlier and be with you guys on your birthday,” Ellaine said.
“It’s ok, Lane. Two days aren’t much that difference, right?” Snowflake answered.
“So,” Ellaine drawled, turning to me. “How’s Cloud Wheeler?”
Snowflake laughed as I felt a slight flush up my cheeks. “Uh—h—how did you know about—ehem—him?” I stuttered.
She stood up and threw a sofa pillow on me. “How could you?!” Ellaine put her hands on her waist in mock indignation as snowflake and I laughed. “You just had your first boyfriend and you’re not telling me!”
“Boyfriend?” I asked while looking about to know if Father had heard. “Could you keep it down?”
“Don’t worry ‘bout your dad, Neesh! He’ll understand. You just turned eighteen! Enjoy your liberty for L-O-V-E!” Ellaine plopped on the couch with Snowflake again.
We all giggled.
“Ok, I am so jealous of you, guys,” Ellaine continued. “Both Chase and Cloud are cute.”
“You’ve seen him?” I protested. “How?”
I quickly faced Snowflake. I swear my baffled look never left my face.
“Oh, c’mon, Neesh!” Snowflake exclaimed.
“Did you really think that we’d never know how he looks like?” Ellaine butted in. “Puh-lease!”
They laughed and teased me.
"So, tell me, Shine. Anything happened between you and Cloud?" Ellaine sneered.
"What do you mean?" I naively asked back.
"Don't play dumb with us! Spill it out!"
Ding! Ding!
I was saved by the bell--literally.
I paced for the door. I opened it to see a woman with statuesque beauty. Her immaculately designed dark-blue cocktail dress contrasting sharply with her light brown, almost blond hair. A pair of diamond chandeliers dangled down her ears and sparkled on her shoulders, and a black purse glimmered between her hands. The contact between our eyes revealed that there was some familiarity. I had seen her before, but I could not remember when or where.
“Who’s there, Hon?” Dad hollered from the kitchen.
The woman's humble, blue eyes smiled gladly at me. She stretched out a hand.
“Good evening, I’m Theresa Cox.”
When she told me who she was, I remembered: She was a prominent journalist.
"Ah--you're going to interview Father?" I asked.
"Ah--no. I was invited by your father to have dinner tonight."
I was baffled but I told her to come. What was she doing here? I just beamed back at her trying to hide that I was confused. But soon enough, I didn't have to fake a smile when she entered with a very young man.
Theresa looked behind me and threw cheerful smiles at the two ladies sitting on the couch. She gazed at me again and began to introduce the man behind her.
“This is my son, Cloud—“
“—Wheeler,” I interrupted.
Cloud pushed himself inside and stood beside me.
The woman smiled at us, and asked, “You, guys know each other?”
We both nodded.
“Well that’s good.”
Ellaine and Snowflake were tittering on the sofa, watching me and our guests.
“Wait, what are you doing here?” I whispered to Cloud.
“I should be asking you that question,” he said, perplexed.
“I live here.”
“You what? But my Mom said she wants me to meet her fian—“
"Darwin!" Theresa screamed.
Cloud did not get to finish his words. Theresa swiftly passed by Cloud and I. I turned around to watch her. Father pulled Theresa gently into his arms and kissed her. A lot of deliberation started at their seemingly immature behavior. I was scrutinizingly glancing about, trying to pull the pieces together, but nothing seemed to fit. Cloud gaped at the startling scene; Snowflake impassively stared at them; and Ellaine, well, Ellaine was just trying to get along with the crowd.
It was a long pause before I took the guts to break the infelicitous fuss.
“What’s going on?” I asked desperately.
“Tonight,” Dad started; he and Theresa were both smiling quite apprehensively at us, “we have invited our dearest relatives and friends to announce a very special affair.”
“We decided yesterday that we tell our children simultaneously,” the women continued, “that we are engaged and to be married next month.”
No one said a word. I stared at Cloud and soon enough, we were exchanging baffled looks. Ellaine was silent, and Snowflake flounced up from her seat and wore her coat.
“Where are you going?” Dad asked with a raising voice.
"I don't wanna be part of any of the bullshit going on." She exited and slammed the door.
.......................................................................
CLICK HERE FOR PART TWO.
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anyway, Thanks so much! I learned a lot from your review. 
Even though it's a just a draft and I can't do any editing these days because I'm busy with my studies. 
I'm still finding her character a teeny bit childish, for some reason though... Maybe it's juts me?
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