The Odd Between The Evens

Chapter 3

6:28 AM – Saturday – Himawara's Residence

40 days left.

Nausea. Vomiting

From my bed to the sink, from kitchen to school.

It is a constant feeling of throwing up or getting dazed.

Almost on a daily basis, I attempt to shrug off the blanket and make the most out of a regular day. Entitling myself as "functional"

Even though I wanted to just lie down and let the roots ache, I must do things to please my mom. She and I share the same bed; she used to tell me some bedtime stories even I am way done with that. Might as well, try to make up to that. 

Looking at her, it's like a cozy bungalow with a nice hearth on it and you just snuggle a cushion and waiting for you to sleep. It is a warm embrace.

I still ponder on it why her company is never enough for me.

Maybe, I am just a selfish prick. Not grateful as I look.

8:00 AM – Saturday – Himawara's Residence

I decided to get up and went to Copper. I took out my sketchbook and my laptop. Every weekend, I create few clothing designs and I freely gaze on it. I publish it on my online "fashion" free-blog under my pseudonym "Fuyu".

冬 - fu·yu 

win·ter /ˈwin(t)ər/ 

- a boundary between the rest and the beginning. 

I get it from an online Japanese translating website. I am half-Japanese but I got no idea of how to start a conversation using my dad's language. In addition to that, I can't even say a single Japanese phrase.

When I was five, my dad left me and my mom. She told me that my dad is undeniably lovable. But a lost soul finds its own way home, that's why he went back to his "first home"

The moment that my mom told me that sad tale, I try to start studying basic Japanese. Phrases and words from anime, Japanese sitcoms with subtitles on it, and searching the web for translation.

Just for me to cope up.

Fuyu, out there, is a certain and mid-strung fashion-critic. Even though he doesn't have that much of an experience, he tends to give unnecessary remarks about various bloggers. Since I am "anonymous", I assertively showing my amateur designs.

"Cookie! There is someone I wanted you to meet" Mom called me.

I went down and a jolly grin was already at the door. Her brown-eyes and wide smile are rather familiar to me. Holding a home-made cookie, I walked to her and lend my hand for a welcome.