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What is my purpose here? Why was I born a human? Why am I alive at all? Is there some truth to the Bible? Is God the reason I'm here? If so, then why? Why am I so useless? The only thing I can ever manage to do right is doing everything wrong.

-- 21 Years Ago --

"Mommy? Why are you crying? Did something bad happen to you?" I remember noticing my mother's tear-stained cheeks that paired perfectly with her hazel brown rheumy eyes on my 6th birthday when she'd received a call about my dad and older sister's plane going down. My sister was a phenomenal violinist and had made it to a national competition, which is why they had to travel by plane. They were coming back early to surprise us on this 'special' day. I guess God had other plans for them. Sometimes I wish I had gone with them.

If I were to take a guess, my mom yearned for that also. After staggering around to the cabinet that had the ‘juice that wasn't meant for little kids,’ she snarled at me, "Get. Out." It seemed the loss was too much for her because she began to resent me as if I were some kind of ghost from her past. After a while, she sought to mold me into my sister by putting me in all these programs to 'make me half as good as she was.' Those were all her words, not mine. Though, to be honest, I didn't blame her. 

Each and every hobby never worked out. At first, she tried the more musical path since my sister was astonishing at the violin. However, my piano instructor got tired of me. Then the dance teacher was frustrated with the numerous calls from parents of kids I frequently injured on accident. The walls, floors, and occasional student of the art studio were often covered in various acrylic paints because of my lousy technique. There was also the singing class that I absolutely refused to join since the course was made up of women in their 80s, and at that age, that was the last thing I wanted to spend my time doing. The ultimate musical hobby I was forced to try was -yes, you got it- violin. As much as I resented the thought of trying another pointless pursuit, I was afraid of refusing the orders of the shell of a woman that my mother had become. So I tried. 

And I failed. Again. And again. And again.

This section of the forceful hobby-finding took place over the next 6 years. When I'd finally given up on music and art, I was 12 and a half, and I just wanted to please my mom. I wanted to see her smile at something I had accomplished only once.

-- Back To The Present --

This thought process of mine had stuck with me up until now. You can only imagine the things I've attempted to succeed at but failed nonetheless. Ranging from horseback riding to volunteering at homeless shelters. I know I could try sports, but that was always something I had done with my dad. Without him, I'm too frightened that the only pleasant recollections I have left of my childhood will disappear into thin air as soon as I fail miserably at that as well.

There was one time I had managed to actually make a friend. I was 17 years old, and things were as dark as ever with my leering mother, who was continuously on me about not succeeding in a single talent. Her name was Mayet, and we met in a knitting class. She turned my world right-side-up when everything appeared to be upside down. Something about her made me feel as if I was being watched, not in a weird stalker kind of way, but like a guardian angel. When I was next to her, I felt as if nothing had ever happened. My dad and sister never died. My mom never hated me. I never spent the night crying until I passed out. There wasn’t an aching numbness in my chest anymore.

We got to know one another, and she coincidentally loved music like her life depended on it. At first, I was wary of her since music was never my thing, and I had begun to resent it after my mother’s intervention, but she totally altered my bad judgment of it. Could you guess what her favorite genre was? K-Pop, or ‘Korean-Pop.’ I had no idea that that existed until she had abruptly put one of her earbuds in my ear as she walked me home. Since I was in an elite school and my mom was obviously a successful businessperson, I learned Korean alongside a few other languages because I had been expected to be the company’s successor. For some reason, the music calmed me. I could tell it did the same to her because whenever I saw her without her music, she’d bounce her knees apprehensively or stare awkwardly at her lap and fidget until I sat next to her. When we weren’t knitting scarves and mismatched sweaters, we danced and talked to each other about anything and everything.

One night after attending the class for half a year together, she kissed me. I didn’t know how to respond, so I froze. Then my mom busted out of the front door of my home. Even if I wanted to, I could never forget the tear-filled dreamy eyes on Mayet’s face when my mom said horrible things to her, and what did I do? I looked away in shame. I had allowed my mom to say those things to her. Mayet’s eyes were vapid when I finally faced her the next day. They were void of any emotion whatsoever. I had also noticed that she didn’t listen to music anymore, yet when I would approach her as she sat alone, I never again saw her knees bounce, or her adorable small hands fidget. 

I wanted to apologize; every bone in my body, every cell of my blood wanted to say sorry and hold her in my arms and tell her how much I love her. Still, my mother warned me very thoroughly that she wouldn’t hesitate to deal with Mayet if I ever spoke to her again. So I admired her from a distance. 

And the pain that I used to feel returned tenfold. It gave me heartaches that hurt so much I took medicine for them. Gave me nightmares that imprinted a pair of cold doe eyes into my mind. Nothing helped, so the day I turned 18, I left that repulsive place. Now I live in a 2-bedroom apartment by myself. I continue to desperately search for something I’m good at in hopes of rubbing it into that hag’s face. That was until today when I found myself at that old knitting place. The instructor was the same, and he recognized me to my surprise. We were catching up on life when I made the mistake of asking about Mayet.

“Oh, you don’t know? I’m sorry, but she died.”

And that’s what brings me here to this rooftop. Looking down from this ledge, everything seems funny. Humans cry over lost time, but they never really do anything about the time they currently have. I should’ve stood up to my mom and helped her. I should’ve done what made me happy and stayed by Mayet’s side. I should’ve, but I couldn’t. And I never will.

Would you look at that? I’ve had a hobby this whole time; screwing up.