My name is Shine . . .
It was five years ago when my father died . . .
I was thirteen back then, I was still young, still unaware of the darknesss and evil that was the real world . . .
All I know back then was that it hurt . . . it hurt so much that i couldn't even cry anymore . . .
The thought of not having to watch major league on TV while eating popcorn on the couch with my father anymore cripples me.
My father was gone . . .
No more fishing by the lake on Sundays . . .
No more strolls at the socccer field with our dog Jumpie . . .
No more picnics at the hill on holidays . . .
No more Judo lessons and WWE marathons . . .
No one to call Dad anymore . . .
But what i did not understand was my mother . . .
As soon as my father was laid in his coffin, my mother wouldn't talk or even look at me . . .
I was left alone . . .
I have no one to talk to except for Jumpie . . .
My father is dead . . .
My mother hates me for some reason . . .
All my other relatives wouldnt come near me -- my cousins, my uncles, my aunts -- they all stay away from me . . .
I'm alone . .
Soon after my father's wake, everything changed drastically . . .
My mother, who once was so thoughtful as to take care of me, doesnt even cook at home anymore . . .
I thought I understood her perfectly . . .
I thought it was only because of my fathers death that she's somehow like this . . .
I thought she would, in time, be able to move on, get better and return to the way she was before -- cheerful, bright, carefree, energetic, loving, and thoughtful.
And so i took all the responsibility at home: cooking breakfast for the two of us, cleaning the house before i go to school, feeding Jumpie as soon as i came back, cooking dinner, cleaning up, doing the laundry before i go to bed, then wake up early again to do the same routine . . .
It was hard, my grades dropped little by little and i had to quit club and extra-curricular activities just so that i can divide my time between home and school . . .
I quit singing too which was, since i was young, the most important part of my life with my dad . . .
My friends drifted away from me . . .
I had to take up a part -time job at night too as a waiter at the cafe . . .
Occasionally, our neighbor -- good old Mrs. Swan -- would give us left over food during dinner . . .
It was hard . . .
But it was okay . . .
It was for mom . . .
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