Trigger Warning: This chapter contains suicide. I touched on the event that lead to it and slightly described what happened. I left a ‼️ line so you can skip it.
I heard the strumming of an acoustic guitar on our terrace. I followed it and saw the man I admire singing with his eyes closed.
"Dad, what are you playing?"
"I'm trying to lay some composition on my new song."
"Genius!"
"You'll be like me someday, Our Jihoonie. You're still 7 so you have more time."
"Guys, dinner's ready."
Mom peeked at the terrace, wearing an apron on top of her cashier uniform. She arrived home a couple of minutes ago from the grocery she's working in and prepared our food right away.
I sat on the dining table and laid there the food that I am secretly so tired of.
"Ugh."
"I'm so sorry, Our Jihoonie. A bread and some butter is not that bad."
"Yes." But I already had it for breakfast and lunch. There's no milk or juice neither to make it appetizing.
"If only your father would find a job, you can eat pork ribs someday."
"I told you, I am self-employed. I will make it big and sell records of labels. And I will treat our son to the fanciest restaurant."
"Stop daydreaming. Better hurry up and make money. Our son needs to go to high school soon."
"You stop talking like that in front of Jihoon."
"He needs to know how useless his father is-"
Dad slammed the table and walked away. I fixed the plates and bread scattered on top.
"I'm sorry about that. Here, have your father's bread."
"Mom, why do you hate dad?"
"Oh no, Jihoonie. I love him. It's just that I love you more than this whole world. I care for you. So I want to give you all the best."
I appreciate both my parents. My mom usually works overtime and prepare everything when she gets home. While dad works on his music every day and night. He just leaves the terrace whenever it's meal time.
I became independent, too. I go to school alone and do some chores around the house.
After all of that, I go to the terrace and watch my dad play the guitar.
I really love his music. He lets me listen to it and asks for my opinion. Before I noticed it, I decided that I want to be like him. I want to create music, too. I want to sing, to play instruments.
"Soon, very soon, Our Jihoonie, I will make you proud." Dad patted my head while we stay on the terrace again.
"I am already proud of you."
"Haha! You'll be prouder."
"How?"
"I got it. I got the funds. I'll have my own studio. It's really soon, trust me."
And he told the truth. Dad got a small space just along our street and made it into a studio. He got all the instruments I can't name and a computer where I watch him do things and magically create a full song.
But mom became angrier at him. She even told me to stop visiting to the studio and focus on my studies.
I told her that dad makes really good music. I even forced her to listen to it but she only scolded me.
After 3 months, dad finally released a mini album. He made everything, he wrote it, he composed it, he sang it, everything.
That's when mom started ignoring my father and her stopping me to go to the studio became stricter.
