"If you don't focus on your grades, Lian, those inch-away dreams i hear about so much can't come true."
"Yeah I know Ma, I will, I promise."
It's not that I don't know how to improve my grades. I try-I really do-it's just that everytime I do, I feel like I can't focus. As if i shouldn't focus. Almost as if there's something else I should be doing outside my small room. Outside my apartment. Outside New York.
I wasn't always like this-disoriented is how Ma calls it-but ever since father disappeared, things changed.
Ma said things would be okay, That she could manage and pay the mortgage. But we came to find out that it wasn't only the mortgage father paid every month. Amongst other things, father had-I'll put it this way since I don'tknow how else to-secrets. many of them. But as most juvenile books I've read say, ''we'll get to that later." Father was far more important than I thought, which is something I try to think less of everyday. Clearly, that hasn't worked out for me at all.
Father was a good man. Hard-working. Came home everyday at the same time. Occasionally brought home take-out from the corner. But slowly, he began to spend longer hours at work, which meant less family time. One thing I remember about father is that he loved us. He loved Ma too. Sometimes I feel like it broke him down just as much as it did us when he sacrificed time with us for work. Despite thatI don't know if I miss him. I don't know what there is to miss besides the only memories I have of him which I just stated. Besides one.
I noticed he was frequently on a phone call with his co-workers (I assumed) trying to pick up extra shifts for whatever reason.
Before I knew it, father started spending the nights at work. He stopped speaking about his projects, especially those he was most proud of, although they were made years ago. We adored that about him, though.
I don't know what he did exactly either. But I knew it was important. Because on my birthday, June 16th, 2019, my father disappeared. And the last words I ever heard from him-which seemed to be towards his boss-were exactly: "I will make this up to you."
Ever since 2 American police officers walked up to our old doorstep to deliver the news that I may never see my father again, that has been my whole mindset. Those seven words. I will make this up to you father.
I try not to get caught up in old memories. old memories. If you don't know now, you'll figure out later that my biggest pet peeve is using 2 synonyms back to back in a sentence. Same exact. Super awesome. Whole entire.
And now, old memories. On the other hand, I find oxymorons quite funny! New memory. Pretty ugly. Organized chaos. The list goes on. Oxymorons are everywhere, just like Ma.
And just like that, I woke up from my 8th-I could bet on nine-daydream today. Closing my laptop a little so that I could see my clock that Ma bought for me from a beach shop in 2017, I realized the time was 12:03 A.M. I don't have school tomorrow, but I can try and practice this algebra. I should practice it.
I shut the notebook, and slide it inside my desk drawer. I walk out of my room and slowly grab my way to the bathroom since all the lights are off, and the hallway doesn't have any windows. I shut the door, turn on the light which somehow caused a ringing sound that gradually gets annoying the longer I stand in front of the mirror. I shut the door, deliberately leaving the light on.
Back inside my room, I check the clock again and it's 12:09 A.M. I open my desk drawer, and pull out a magazine that I bought from the grocery store about a month ago. Tip-toeing my way back to the bathroom, I hold the magazine in my hand.
