Rainbows and light Sunday,
Bring out your love and high,
Vianna desu.
[still copycat. I know.]
This afternoon, when going back home from school, I saw boys playing mini-football in a field. I saw little kids running around with their moms holding a plate of supper (uhm, is eating at 4 p.m also called supper?). I also saw two siblings sharing talks with their father in their front yard.
It took me to wonder. Aaah, it is 'family time', ne?
That time, I really--and I mean really--am grateful for the family I have. How we would sit together around the table, chit-chatting while and after meal, laugh as if we're the only existence in this world.
It is a routine, something that happens and goes by everyday. Unnoticed. Natural. And mostly, I forget how precious those times are.
Precious, yes, because when there are people I can talk to, I feel relieved. I mean, I can talk about almost everything to my family--what happens at school, what my friends do, what my teachers say; everything. Telling 'reports' after school to my family has become a daily routine for me.
That's why, when I'm left alone, I get frightened. Uneasy. Upset, even.
The silence enveloping the whole house, as if it's eating me out--slowly, painfully. With no one to talk to. With no one to laugh with me. With no one to be there, just be there with me.
No one.
It's scary.
I have experienced that kind of silence--I know very well what I'm talking about. For weeks I was left (almost) alone. Sure there was my sister, but she was barely at home. Most times, I was alone. During that time, the house seemed bigger, darker, colder. Not to mention the worry I felt for my parents too.
But, well, that time is over. I just wish, I deeply wish, it would never come again.
And I tell myself, repeatedly, to be grateful to God. I remind myself how precious these moments of togetherness.
We know it's precious if we have lost it.
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