1 Guilty

The sound of the bird of death woke me up in the middle of the night. The sound of the bird was so loud, it so scared me until i can't get back to sleep again. I walked over to my mother who was sleeping in the living room, I don't know since when she chose to sleep in the living room instead of her room. It was clear that she had been sleeping there about a few weeks ago.

One of the myths , if we hear the sound of the bird of death is near then someone closest to us will die. It's just a myth, but some time after we hear the voice will definitely be followed by an announcement that someone has died.

I'm looking my mother back, i have some complicated feeling when I see her. I won't to tell but that's feeling always scared me. I have never given any happiness, I love her but I have never said it once. I lay down and hugged her from behind, my tears start to fall "Mom I love you!!" i just say it on my heart.

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The morning came, the sound of the frying pan rubbing with a spoon woke me up. Every morning my mother always makes fried rice for breakfast. The most delicious fried rice made by a mother's hands.

Everyone started to wake up, we queued up to take a shower turn before starting the activity. I started my activities and went to the office at 6.15 am.

It's always a tough day at work, when we're dealing with people who hate us. He's the head of my unit. He's always looking for trouble with me, somehow he hates me so much. He made me uncomfortable at work, trying to slowly push me away. But I have to endure, I want to be a useful human being by having a job.

At 4 pm my work was finished, the sky was still so bright when I left the building where I worked. The highway is still not too crowded because normal working hours stop is at 5 pm. I crossed the road and then stopped one of the means of transportation that we called "Angkot".

I arrived in front of the alley of my house, my house was at the end of the alley that led to another main road. I walked down the aisle until I saw my mother serving customers at the stall we made in front of the house.

I don't know why every time I see her I always feel sad, I'm afraid that I will never be able to make her happy. I feel guilty that I haven't been able to make her rest at her unhealthy age anymore.

I walked up to her and greeted her, I took her rough hand and smelled of oil for me to kiss. Kiss parents' hands in my country is one of the cultures, not only culture but it is a custom in religion.

I changed my clothes and helped her in the shop. I'm sure her legs are very sore from having to keep standing in front of the frying pan. Not only sore, also she has to endure the heat from the oil that often hurts her hands.