DEAR DIARY
 

It is said that when one dies, their precious memories flashes just before their eyes. Then my death would take about an hour, for the memories longing in my head to come out in front of my cold body is more. Then one day, I saw them. It was not me that was dying.

I can see him on the ventilator, struggling between existence and after life. His face, full of scars and blood. I used to tell him all the time his face was flawless. He would punch me in my arm and say “I got your genes mommy!” Will he ever say that to me again? My precious child?

I always knew my genes were flawed. Rage, rage. Rage flew in my veins, not blood. My thoughts, built on rage, a thirst to fight against injustice. My son, have my flawed genes taken you to where you are now?

It was as though yesterday your little arm wrapped around my little finger, not letting go. I have cut my nails that day just for you. Until then, I used to bite them off. I didn’t want my unhygienic lifestyle to take away your precious life. I changed my routine for you; waking up at noon was just a memory from that day onward. Your cry for my love became my alarm; your little laughs became my fuel for the next day. Your giggles and your actions became my favourite sitcom. And now, you are lying here on that bed reeking of medicines. Is this a horror movie for me? Or are you just trying to scare me, my beloved?

Remember the time you introduced me to the coolest band ever? You danced to the beat while I stayed on the corner, figuring out the lyrics. Your favourite band. And for that birthday I got you their posters. I wanted to get you tickets for their live show, but beloved, my card was running low for I spent them to run our little family.

Our little happy outrageous family. Remember Daddy? The man with stubbed beard and three piece suit? He used to play with you every evening, running behind you with a little soccer ball, trying to introduce you to his field of work. You kicked the ball so high, it broke the kitchen window and knocked down our dinner. You and daddy laughed so hard that my anger flew away in that second. Now here we are, years later, holding hands as though we have just met, praying for your survival.

I remember your first swim. We were in that little resort down your favourite beach. We had seen the sunrise that day! How old were you? Seven? You wore that t-shirt with Mr.Bean’s teddy on it. You loved that t-shirt; you even pointed it whenever the show came on. You forced me down to the beach that day while Daddy went to his business meet. And when we came back, he was by the poolside, with a swimsuit ready for you. You jumped in with daddy, and he helped you swim. Daddy changed your hairstyle that day, remember? You wore your hair that way for years to school, until I cut it off. You were mad at me for a week, but it grew out to be even cooler. Your hair looks like how it was before I cut it off now. Beloved, wake up and see for yourself. I am not lying.

I remember the time you broke down when that girl you loved so much said ‘yes’ to some other guy. You locked yourself up, while I peeked in through the window. You didn’t see me that day, but I stayed by the window all night long, waiting for you to stop crying. You eventually fell asleep. I walked in silently, kissed your forehead and scuffled your hair. Your face was still wet, and I was mad, not at you, but at that girl, for leaving such a perfect boy. My son. You secretly went out at night to the places where you and she talked, and I followed you silently to make sure you were fine. You never knew that, did you? Daddy came along with me sometime, and he cried with me sometimes. We love you son. You are perfect to us. Wake up now.

Do I see a dip in your heart rate? Why am I hearing loud noises from the machine? Why is your face turning blue son?! Are you giving up on us? Remember the day when we all went to the park and threw the ball! Remember the time we drove away, just us two, when Daddy went for his work! Remember the day we flew to Paris and tasted wine though it was illegal! Wake up son!

Why did they beat you up?! My precious boy, what did you do? We know you are innocent, but do we worry for what you have done? Everyone says it isn’t your fault. It was theirs, the monsters that beat you up for trying to save a girl. A girl of your same age; a girl you never knew.

I knew my flawed genes were dangerous. I should have cut them off. Did I bring this wretched fate to you? Am I your murderer? Son, I am breaking down. Come, hold me.

I see doctors running in to see you. They are looking at their watch and mouthing words to each other. One nurse is holding your hand. Is everything okay son? Son, are you listening to my thoughts?

I see the doctor coming out now. They are saying they have done everything, but they couldn’t succeed. I see the nurse that held your hand now look at me with pity. Should I slap her? My outrageous genes, stop eating me up! My son is gone. And he has taken a part of me with him. And now I know that he is listening to my thoughts. Son, I love you. Son, Goodnight and God bless.