Weekly Writing Piece:I stared at the picture of our family, and they stared back with soft smiles and blank eyes. My stomach churned while thinking of them. I felt my eyes grow dreary.
I rubbed my fingers across the only photo of my wife, with her arms folded, her face tired, and her smile slight but sincere. I remembered her voice as vividly as it was when she had bid her last goodbye to me. It hurt to know that the already faint smile she had always adorned across her face would soon grow to a frown because of my absence. I remembered giving one last look at her gaunt face before I boarded the ship. She crouched down beside our daughter, wrapping her arms around her and struggling to keep the weeping child still. Even my wife who never cried had a tear stream down her face. They watched me board the large ship with only a small brown briefcase in hand. I was herded onto the deck along with other men and women, all dressed heavily for the trip. I held onto the railing, laying my briefcase against my ankles. I searched around the crowd of people below me, hoping to see the two of them again. There were many other women in thick coats similar to the one my wife wore, along with many other little girls dressed warmly from head to toe like my daughter was. I failed to find them. It was too late, My heart sank as the ships horns bellowed into the night. Ship crew in dirt-stained shirts and overalls came to pull up the platform of the ship that was the very last connection between me and my home. I felt the ship slowly lurch away from the port, and already I felt my heart grow heavy. I missed them. And now, being miles and miles away from them. The feeling has gotten worst. I looked at my daughter in the photograph. I frowned and breathed heavily as I remembered how ignorant she was of what happened. Of why I left, and about how harsh the world was in general. I remembered the innocence of her misunderstanding as we road the train to the port. She sat leaning her face against the window, staring at the blur of trees and shrubs pass as the trained rolled forward. She turned her head to look at me and she asked "Where are we going?" A brief silence filled the air after. And quickly her mother reassured her and said "We need to bring your father somewhere." "Where?" she responded. My wife and I exchanged looks. I then answered with, "A big ship, getting ready to sail off to the sea. Your father's going on a trip, not too long, not too short. I'll be back in no time after I work." Another wave of silence hit our small train compartment. The little girl just stared up at us both, she was expressionless, her large brown eyes blinking. After a small while, her lips curled into a smile and she let out a burst of laughter. Moments like this usually lifted my spirit, but not this time. This only meant that she had failed to understand. "You're silly daddy...." she said giggling, her voice trailing off as she turned her attention back to the blurred green scenery outside the train. I smiled grimly and pat her dark colored locks. My wife placed her hand atop of mine and managed a weak smile. Both of us knew that there was no way to tell her, she would have to find out when it happens. Although I had chose to work for the both of them, I felt like I did more damage to the family having left, more damage than I would've done if I were to leave our family poverty-stricken and weak. It was too late to go back, I was already thousands of miles away from them. I am sailing in the middle of the ocean, my briefcase being my only companion on this journey, and with this photograph the size of my two palms as the only thing I have left of my wife and daughter. I am like my wife, the one who never cries. It is rare for me to get so wound up to actually shed a tear. From when I was a young boy, to where I am now, it has always been about work. There was no time for a man to cry, a man only worked and cared for a family. But for just this once, I shed tears. Not one, not two. Nor three. I let them stream out of my eyes as I breathed heavily. I held the frame of them close to my chest and I laid my head onto the table.
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AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. Archives
February 2016
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