THE VIOLINIST AND THE BUBBLE TEA ENTHUSIAST.

1 | HOW DIFFICULT IT IS TO LOVE SOMEONE WHOM DEATH CAN TOUCH

1 |  HOW DIFFICULT IT IS TO LOVE SOMEONE WHOM DEATH CAN TOUCH

Misaki's life was a monochrome hue. The past had left her shattered and broken. She remembered the last conversation she had with her older brother before cancer reached his heart and took his life, before it took him away from little Misaki.

" Look at the sky Misa, look at those stars. So far away, millions of light years away from earth yet, they still shine."

"But ni-san there are no stars above. There are just clouds"

"Ah but Misa, just because they are shrouded by the clouds doesn't mean they cease to exist. They still persist. They still shine, not caring a slightest bit about the clouds that cover them."

Misaki had been too young to understand the meaning of her ni-san's words.
She still couldn't understand what he wanted to say. Maybe it was a metaphor, she thought.

She remembered the day of her ni-san's funeral. Many people had showed up.

Misaki was merely 8 years old when her brother was taken away from her. She was too young to have had an introduction to death. When it was her turn to step up and speak the eulogy she had prepared for her ni-san, she got out from her mother's embrace and walked towards his coffin.

Taking a shaky breath, her voice a mere whisper, she said "How difficult it is to love someone whom death can touch."

It was at that point when her father, who was intoxicated, lost it and started blabbering about the money he wasted on Shouto's treatment.

When he looked into Misaki's sad and empty eyes, he walked away without uttering a word. He never came back. Misaki had hated him ever since. She thought of him as a pompous being who cared more about money than his own progeny.

But what Misa did not know was that her father was having as difficult time as her, perhaps even more to accept the fact that his son was gone, that he was never going to see Shouto again, that his son was dead. He had started to doubt himself. He cursed himself for not earning enough, for not being there when his son was all alone in the dingy greys of the hospital, for not being a good father.

He drank all his doubts and worries and anger replaced sadness.

He started shouting whimsical things that he never meant, that he never wanted to say, things that had once crossed his mind when his son was in therapy but he had quickly swept them aside, mentally judging himself for allowing such thoughts to emerge.

Perhaps when a person is intoxicated, his actions and words symbolise the same thoughts that he swept aside. The same thoughts that lay in the deepest part of his subconscious, id. Though we never mean any of such thoughts,and we tend to forget them, they are never completely erased. They lie submerged in the id until a proper route is opened through which they can come out.

But when Tazaki Amada saw the sad and empty eyes of his daughter, a part of him broke. No body deserved to have empty eyes like hers. No one deserved to have had their older brother taken away abruptly. Tazaki blamed himself. He blamed himself for the emptiness in his daughter's eyes and the despair clearly visible in his wife's eyes.

He thought if he stayed any longer, his family would only suffer. So he left without a word. He never came back.

Tazaki's wife, Akira Kame tried everything she could to bring things back to normal. It was hard considering the fact that her son, Shouto had passed away, and her husband had left without a word. She tried all she could to make everything all right even though deep down she felt despair. She hated the muffled sobs that came from her daughter's room. She hated the fact that she couldn't do anything about it.