On the Either Side of the Page

1. Faye

Opening my eyes, a pain shot through my head. I lifted my hand to ease my throbbing forehead but something seemed to hold it midway. A weird wire attached to my left hand, I see as I struggled through the blinding light peeping from a somewhat unfamiliar window. A new room even, I'd say. It was white with few pale stains on some of the corners. The place stank so...so medicinal. Synthetics and floor cleansers. A wave of beeping reached my ears, sounding like the machine they use to monitor heart rate. I've known that from years of memories that never missed to repeat themselves every single night. Replaying the nightmares had become part of my daily sleep routine but this had not happened that particular night. That morning when I woke up, I had a headache but not a very usual one. It was stinging and I felt dizzy like I had been sleeping for what felt like days, perhaps weeks even. I didn't have my regular stream of tears as I shot open my eyes. Instead, I felt calm having rested for who knew how long.

I had been resting, but because of what? And then I remembered. I recalled being called downstairs by my father to help in the fields. I was coming down with my dachshund girl, June, when my head felt heavy and my breath shortened. I reached for the handrail for support as I descended when suddenly I slipped a step and all went black after a hurting impact.

And now, here I was, probably in a hospital cell. My body was too weak for me to move, so I decided to ring the bell that I had noticed upon waking up, to call someone. I stretched out my right hand and clicked on it. Not too long after that, a middle-aged woman in a white uniform opened the door.

She stood there as a hand on her shoulder seemed to have stopped her in her tracks. That's when I heard his voice again. My father.

"You're awake?" He sounded tired, no, rather exhausted both physically and mentally. His almost bald head hung low as some of his beards already crept up on the surface. We might be poor but he was a gentleman and preferred clean-shaved. Seeing him in such a horrible condition in dirty clothes and dark circles, broke me yet left me much more puzzled. What had happened to me?

Two hours passed by in silence. Silence not just from the lack of words but from the thoughts that clouded my mind. He sat with eyes downcast before finally leaving with the food tray he had brought. The sun had started setting and I had noticed it wasn't that early in the morning after all. The orange flames spread across the sky with a hint of purple in them. The distant chirping of birds, returning could be heard, and the grumble in my stomach as well. I was hungry but at the same time had lost my appetite hearing from my father about my condition. Looking out from the window at the beautiful nature, the room felt like a prison, keeping me from my freedom. The doctor had informed us that I could be discharged in a week or so. It was too long, though.

Slowly, after getting rid of the saline and my dizziness, I rose to my trembling feet. My father had returned to our fields, probably because he hated seeing me in this condition. But I could see there was something beyond that deserted emotion that had captured his face. Did mom leave him like this? Whatever it was, I was glad that he was gone. Partially because he wouldn't ever have allowed me to go out. But the reason for my smile was I could put it off. I could loosen up my cheeks, ease the wrinkles around my forest green eyes and drop my happy face. I was tired-no, frustrated, actually-from this façade.

It's been eighteen years since I landed on this planet and I still haven't figured out my interests. Although I liked writing in the beginning, the present conditions no longer seemed to support me. With the constant fear of running out of funds and my father's struggles with it, I was left with no choice but to choose between my passion and the necessities. And I went with the latter. At first, I was disheartened leaving behind my aspired course of literature but after today, it won't matter to me. I will not have to regret not fulfilling my life's greatest desire. After all, a girl with the dreams of becoming an author need to express herself in the first place, let alone the thought of being eloquent. Why did this have to happen to me?-is all I could think of that moment. My heart was pounding badly against my chest while I stepped out of the average-sized hospital building in my favourite yellow frock with white flowers all over it that people often thought to be daisies. But I had a special name for those-Fayes. After my name, of course.

My mother named me Faye because I was the only the girl in the whole city of Gerbera to have green eyes that reminded them of fairies. Or so I was told by my father. It wasn't very long after that my mother left us for some unknown reason. My father tries to avoid her name at all costs. I don't know what happened but I do know what would have happened instead. Had my mother been alive, my life wouldn't have been such a hell. The doctors said, it was due to overstress and depression. My father was definitely shocked but also had a look of it being obvious. He knew it. He knew it would happen if he kept being drunk everyday and cursing at me for our misfortunes. He knew I would suffer I was blamed for simply living my life. But he was right somewhere. If I had left with my mother, he would been happy. Or better, if I hadn't existed at all.

My feet sank in the only white blanket that covered the ground underneath the starry darkness overhead. The strong winds that blew some of the snowflakes to my eyes left me shivering badly. It never used to be so chilly in Gerbera. But that particular quarter of the year, the month of September, it was different.

My thoughts clouded my mind once again when the coldness around myself decreased a bit, as I sat on a bench under a withered cherry tree, resonating deeply with it. My hands hugging my upper body, trying to keep my shaky breath steady as the cool winds brushed past me.

However, there was something else that concerned me rather than my health. The doctors had told me personally not to take too much stress as I had just woken up a whole week after my surgery. A surgery to remove my brain tumour. My father was under dept. That, I knew for it clearly showed on his face. His troubled mind, his deep sighs, dull eyes, it all spoke of his current mental state. I don't know how he managed to save me or even why. Despite being his biological daughter, I was nothing but a burden to him, after all. Well, maybe I was something more than that. Maybe he never hated me that much.

That day, I felt loved. Maybe a tiny bit, but still did.

I decided to take a short walk across river Haya. It was not that far from the hospital so I knew I would be back before anything went wrong. There were a few cherry blossoms on the other side of the river visible from where I stood, distanced by a wooden bridge with golden handrails. Not made of real gold but definitely a sight of wonder. The gold shined across the flowing water with little multi-coloured fishes that would leap occasionally splashing little droplets on me. I laughed at it-at life that lay before me. Walking up on the bridge, I traced my hands on the few inscribed words on the gold plates. They read a story-the story of this river Haya. I had always been fascinated by the tale. A simple yet curious girl named Haya, with an unattainable fate she desired for. But to me it had always felt achievable, only if there weren't any wars. When she was alive, her heart demanded to see her husband who was out fighting in the battlefields. She waited here, yearning for her love to return. For that one day she would be free from this torment and be safe for ever in his arms. She kept writing letters for him but never sent them for she was too afraid of the one news that might reach her ears instead of his reply: his death. The legend had, when her ink dried, she mixed her tears in it to express her love and longing. But he never came. She now rested in peace where the river flowed. They used to say the river would one day make the lovers unite. And I believed that.

I smiled before taking another step to walk down the bridge, but instead stumbled on something. Luckily, I was able to steady myself in time. Turning back, I leaned to brush the snow off the thing I struck my foot with. It was leather-bound book with a name engraved on it: Haya!

At first, I thought of it to be too unreal to even have found something out of a folklore, but then I registered the fact that it could very well be someone else's who was probably named Haya.

I picked it up and opened it only to find empty pages. Flipping over a few dusty yet fresh smelling pages, my gaze landed on one particular page with some words on it. They were: A gift from the waters.

My eyes welled up. Not knowing how to react, I barely spoke, "Haya." It must have been quite strange for others to know but since, I had always believed in fairytales and myths, it was quite like me to trust in the words for it was definitely a gift. At that moment, I could only feel blessed enough that my unsaid feelings had finally manifested. That I finally had someone-or something-to express myself to.

And thus, that day I decided to make it my diary. And also a friend and an invaluable present to a girl with aphasia.