[OM]
𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐒𝐎 𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀
...𝓐 𝓒𝓲𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓵𝓵𝓪 𝓡𝓮𝓽𝓮𝓵𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓰
: ̗̀➛When the sun goes down and the night is in charge, that's when monsters creep out of their holes. Beware, you might get eaten.
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❛ Insight - I❜
________________ 🦋
Perspective - Jungkook
I was 12 when the memory came to me suddenly, as if the lock holding the door of my conscience closed, had been smashed open violently with a giant rock. I remember my 7 year old self had asked father a question.
"Papa? Why is mumma always crying?"
My father had looked at me with a startled expression. I didn't understand things the way I do now, given to my then young age, but now, when I brush over my memories, I notice things that I failed to notice then, like how my father had sweat dripping down his forehead and how he held a certain sadness in his eyes when he had picked me up in his arms and had wiped my face off dirt with his gloved hand.
"No, she isn't always crying. Who told you that?", he had said, faking a heaving smile.
Did he know how big of a terrible liar he was?
Even then, I was quick to reject.
"No, I have seen her. Everytime she is alone, she is crying, and when I ask her why she is crying, she wipes away her tears and smiles. She doesn't know she is a bad lier", I had said in a small voice, probably pouting, playing with my father's tie. I loved ties, they made good belts for my tiny body, and also made me feel like a ferocious pirate sometimes.
Which reminds me, I swear, the only time my mother had ever looked towards me with disappointment in her eyes was the time when I was 5 and had declared with the proudest voice ever that I wanted to be a Pirate King when I grew up, as if it was the most honest occupation there was.
Now in the name of Pirate, I recall a rather hilarious incident when my best friend, Rose was coming over our house to play with me in the yard. The day was the same when my father was fishing out some of his old clothes in the morning for donation.
My parents had made it a habit of every year to take out the old clothes which weren't being used anymore for donation and instead of them lying around some corner catching dust, they warm the body of someone else , someone who possessed a lot lesser than the fortunate.
This practice was followed religiously, which almost always ended up as a huge pile of clothes in our living room which required a lot of assistance to be kept away, and I, thinking of myself to be the pillar of my family, with my unprofessional skills, would help my mother in folding and packing them.
