How Everything Ended (One Shot)

How Everything Ended

I was happy.

Then I was not.

I was happy.

Then I was not.

I was happy.

Then I was not.

Then I was not.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I just turned 18.

I awoke at the sound of laughter coming from our dining room at 5:40 in the morning.

It was my mother and father looking through old photographs together.

It was the perfect moment.

Everything was in place.

So, I took that opportunity to ask permission to leave the house and stay at the mountains for the night.

Seconds after I spoke, my mother stopped laughing and rose up.

And my father looked at her with daunting eyes.

Then my mom, a gentle-looking yet strict woman, finally spoke, "Ask your dad."

Then I immediately turned my head towards my father with pleading eyes, and then my father, a strong principled man, said, "Ask your mom."

And I was left there. Confused.

The scene in the dining room passed by in a blink of an eye. I didn't know what to do.

I sat in the living room for hours.

Then, I decided to ask permission again at 2:50 in the afternoon at their room, beside my own.

My mother then shrugged and said "It's your dad's decision."

Then he said, "Yes."

I was shocked. It was a yes, for the first time.

Then I went out of their room, started packing my things until the sun started to set and it was time for me to go.

Then my mom opened the door and said, "Nobody's going out. Who said you can?"

And I was left there. Again. Hurt.

Another no for me. What's new?

But that kind of "no" hurt me the most.

The kind of "no" that was an almost "yes".

It was a simple rejection, yes, but it added to the scars that had been there all over the years.

Now, that's how everything started to end for me. Or so I thought.

I was 7.

I was 7 when I fell down the stairs just right before my alma mater's doorstep.

With my mom.

Then she grabbed me by the hand and told me to get up.

I rose to my feet and swept away the dust and blood along with the pain on my knees.

I was 7.

I turned 10.

My friends were excitedly planning what to do during our field trip.

Everyone was happy.

They were scanning through their iPads, pictures on the screen with places they would visit first.

They were talking about what souvenirs they should buy.

They were arguing on who would sit by the window side.

And the list of things to do went on.

Everyone was happy.

Everyone except me.

I was never allowed to go on trips with friends for my mom and dad feared that I might get lost.

I have always been lost.

Now, I'm 12.

It was the day I would march on my alma mater's isle as a graduate.

I was scanning through the crowd and found no trace of my father in the shadows.

He said he would come.

But he never did.

It was a small thing for him, it was the biggest for me.

He never came until the end.

I was 12.

16.

I built my name and my image.

I gained titles.

I garnered awards.

I received medals.

I was acknowledged.

But I was never happy.

Because never did I ever hear my mom and dad, "We are proud of you."

That was the only thing that would make me happy.

"We are proud of you."

I was only 16.

Already 17.

I continued building my image.

Lots of people respected me.

Lots of people adored me.

Lots of people looked up to me.

But I was never happy.

Because my mom and dad haven't acknowledged me yet.

"We are proud of you."

Back at 18.

"You don't respect us. You're beginning to go astray. You don't make us proud."

That's what my father said on the day I locked myself up when I heard my 99th rejection from them.

"Why are you crying? You're hurting us."

You're hurting me. But it doesn't matter to you anyway.

And that's how everything ended.