Scintilla

I jerk awake to a sudden thought of death, my mom stirred beside me, deep in slumber. I stare at our ceiling and welcome a sight. Stars- in the closest form I could see them, breathing in, as I try to calm myself. I squint my eyes, wondering how it would feel to see the actual glittering ones, instead of these glow-in-the-dark spin-offs.

My grandma used to read me poems about stars. How they scintillated like jewels, adorning the beautiful vastness of a vacuum universe. I never told her this, but as a kid I've always imagined her night sky descriptions to be a dark velvet blanket filled with two hundred pairs of her eyes. Because eleven years after her death, the image of those passionate irises still haunt me.

Eleven years ago, I was seven.

Three years before that, I was four.

Year 2020, I was four years old, my grandmother sixty. I was too young to remember much, but the history books-- well, history modules tell me that this was the time that redefined the world. The beginning of a new era, a new normal.

There was a pandemic. Others would argue however, that it was mainly the pandemic but also a series of unfortunate events that slippery sloped into a whole uncontrollable mess.

From bush fires, oil spills, riots, to prejudicial killings, and genocides.

My family must have been super strong to survive the mental and emotional strain of all that. My family aka my mom and grandma.

Now, we live in an apartment complex by the province. This used to be a temporary residential building for those who lost their homes during a riot-caused fire in the city. But my mom decided this place was safe enough to settle in.

But my reality- at least the reality I grew up in had always been the same. We stay inside 24/7. I don't remember ever going out. Necessities were always delivered to our front door. The only other world I have aside from this is online.

The bed shifted as I got up.

" Astra? " The panicked voice of my mom got through me.

" Don't worry mom, It's just that I had a bad dream. " I said, as I tried soothing her back to sleep.

" What time is it?" she asked.

" Around four in the morning. I'll be out cooking breakfast." I said as I walk out the door from our bedroom to the rest of our studio apartment, a statement and a promise.

I have a confession-- scratch that. I have three confessions.

(1) I hate my life.

For the past seventeen years I have been living in the comfort of a routine, which didn't entirely suck. Every MWF, I would go to online school, writing essays, doing online laboratory simulations, and attending web forums. Tuesdays and Thursdays were for learning and doing life skills, such as cooking, cleaning, sewing etc, which were taught to me by my mom. Saturdays and Sundays were dedicated to meditation and entertainment. This was the world I grew up in. As you can see, It's pretty much perfectly balanced. So no, I never found it draining.

Routines are good. They keep us organized and efficient. I must admit, that sometimes I let myself get bored of the predictability, but I never hated it. How could I hate something that kept people functional and useful?

But I guess as humans, we live to experience awakenings.

Mine started out with an advertisement. It was a Saturday, and I was doing my scheduled entertainment session, when I saw an ad popped at my feed. I normally dismiss ads because they're hard to say no to, but this one caught my attention.

Aurum Antiques

FAST ECOINS

Have a lot of BNN memoirs?

We purchase anything from giveaways to journals.

For online transaction, email us @ antiques@aurum.co

Find us at Recto Building 53 St. Ovad City, Maharlika 8000

For once I encountered something that did not ask me to consume, but to sell something. Which was new. I got intrigued and asked my mom if we had something from the Before New Normal/ 2020s or way before that. It didn't seem impossible but it's just that we had to leave a lot things behind when we moved here and it's not like I could still come back to get them.

I was too young then, but I remember sirens blasting, red and blue lights dancing through the windows and around the walls of my parents' bedroom. I remember my mom shoving important documents and clothes to her suitcase as she told me to hurry and get my favorite pillow. "Astra honey, go and take Kiss, we have to leave. "

My grandmother followed suit, exclaiming " Where the hell is your husband?", while carrying a suitcase and a box- like the ones people carry when they quit their jobs or they get fired.

The box is exactly how my young mind remembers it to be. " Ah. Here it is" my mom exhaled as she laid it in front of me. " These are your grandmother's, " she said, but I already figured. I opened the lid to find a stack of notebooks. No, not notebooks but journals. My grandmother's journals.

"What are you going to do with these anyway?" my mom asked.

" Just... sell them." I answered, dismissive in my curiosity.

That night I ditched my scheduled optimum sleeping time and decided to wander through my grandma's journals.

What I was surprised to see were that these journals weren't written anywhere near 2020. The journals were of my grandmother's teenage years. She never skipped a day, it was like reading her life's summary. Mostly passive entries of mundane daily activities, but there were definitely days worth reading. Some pages were filled with confessions, some were about the places she went to without her parents' permission. Her constant crises, things that gave her joy. The sea, the night sky, her fears and uncertainties.

Then I got hungry, not for food but I made myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich anyway. I was hungry for the feeling my grandma so often talked about it most of her entries, I was hungry for excitement.

Which my life was totally the antithesis of.

(2) My second confession is that I love my mom.

Remember when I told you that we had to leave a lot behind?

Well one of them was my Dad- well, the memory of my Dad.

He hadn't been home for a week the night of the fire. Which wasn't unusual because he was a nurse and he had been staying at the hospital since the outbreak, rather than risk being a vector and bringing the virus home to us.

But two days after we have been relocated to the province, quarantined because of the pandemic, my mom received a call saying that my father had just been brought to ICU and is being intubated because he caught the virus.

He never recovered, so there's that.

I was four years old then, so I only remember my mom wailing, followed by a very long fast and self isolation.

My grandmother, being the strong wonderful woman that she was told the young me " You should always be by your mother's side, you're all she has now. Love her, Be there for her."

Which as a kid I interpreted as " Hug your mommy, so she eats again"

My mom went back different. Paranoid.

What happened had not only cost her a husband, but also much of hear courage. She suddenly feared going out, and with that came my grandmother's ability to go out, and my ability to go out.

Life went on. The government started offering temporary solutions. Online classes, online jobs, online gatherings, online everything. " We'll work with what we have," they said " ... for now."

Three years later, I saw my grandmother get taken by paramedics out of our house as she struggled with her final breath, I never saw her after that. My mom and I mourned for her, but she never went after her, what could a seven-year old do?

Ask questions, of course. " Mom? Where's granny?"

" She's gone. "

" Outside?"

" Yes."

" Can I go too?"

" No."

'For now' became forever. Promises were forgotten, everybody adjusted into the new norm, it's safe, it's comfortable, it fit perfectly.

News broke out last year, the very last coronavirus patient has finally recovered.

With the virus gone, I asked my mom " Can I go out?"

" No"

It was irrational, but I love her.

What is love without willing sacrifices?

I decided to heat up some water. I turn on the holographic TV for a bit of noise as I began making breakfast.

(3) I want to live.

This is by far my most selfish confession. 'I hate my life' sounded entitled, but this is just pure greed.

I take responsibility for it. Before I read my grandmother's journals, I only had love for my mom, now that my disposition has been compromised, I have awakened to the feeling of lacking. My boredom has become hatred, and my wanting has become the need to leave, to live.

I made coffee and drank it as I watch the holographic TV in front of me.

The sun will rise at 6:17 am, it showed on the lower right corner.

I checked the time, 6 am. I decided to get ready.

Then I wrote a note.

" I'm sorry, I had to."

I walked out of the room holding the box of my grandmother's journals, towards the building gate. I welcomed the pierce of the heat without the barrier of our windows. The sun's rays hit toward my direction. I did not walk away, instead I stared back directly at it. Absorbing it's full glory. Energy surged through me, is this how it feels to be alive?

Then I placed the box beside the gate, carefully into the mail basket, and went back inside.

I just entered the unit when my mom walked out of our room. She looked at the note I put in the fridge, and then at me.

" What this?"

I answered with a shrug. I sat down on the sofa and switched the channel to Daily Astrology.

I guess I'm stuck with these kind of stars, for now.