The Colors In Her Voice

☆Chapter 11☆

I've heard, read and seen a lot of instances that the passion for writing is usually born out of some tragic incident that has happened in one's life. Now, I couldn't be one hundred percent sure about its accuracy but something was ignited within me to write a piece.

I was sitting on my couch in my living room with all the study books sprawled across the coffee table while I scribbled something in a hardcover diary placed on my lap. My dream of becoming a singer has always encouraged me to write my own music but nothing had really inspired me up until now.

What I saw the other day at the restaurant gave birth to a lot of questions in my head. The most domineering one was why mom would lie to me about her employment status. 'Why did she lie to me about being the hotel manager?' All these questions kept swirling in my thought process and I couldn't think straight. 

I had seen my mom waiting tables that day. Not that I was embarrassed or anything but it broke my heart to see her working with such hard determination and yet she has always displayed a carefree attitude whenever around me. 

It was then it occurred to me about her not meeting my eyes every time I'd ask her about her work. I was not mad at my mom, in fact I was far from being mad at her. It was just, I was upset that she had lied to me. She could have gone with the truth and I wouldn't have judged her anyway.

Today, I decided to confront her about this situation. I needed answers regarding this to not go insane with my own fatuous theories.

The pencil in my hand kept moving at an uncanny pace like the words were falling out of me naturally. It was my first time writing a song or anything for that matter. 'What inspired Mason to write?' I wondered absent-mindedly.

I put my pencil aside, leaving the song incomplete. I don't know what stopped me but I couldn't find it in me to finish it. Never in my life had I imagined myself to write something as tricky as a song, let alone be impressed with what I had come up with.

My eyes roamed around the lines and read them silently.

Just as I shut my diary, I heard the door open. I craned my neck to get a small peek of my mom's profile but before I could do that, she walked right into the living room.

I saw a brown paper bag in her hand and furrowed my brows in confusion. I was about to ask her regarding it but she spoke before I had the chance to. "Hey, Blue." She gave me a huge smile.

"Hey, mom," I mirrored her expression.

"Looks like you are studying. Am I disturbing you?" Mom asked me and sat down on the loveseat across from me. 

Putting the bag and her purse on the coffee table, she sighed heavily. I saw the weary lines clearly evident on her face and yet not a single complaint about her exhaustion. 

I felt bad to get upset over such a petty thing but I had to talk to her, to resolve whatever was going on and her need to lie to me about it. I didn't want to stay in the dark for so long.

"Nope, not at all," I assured her and she nodded her head.

Her eyes fell on my diary and she smiled, looking at it wistfully. "I remember giving it to you on your 8th birthday," she said, reminiscing about the day. A small smile formed on my lips and I looked at it too. "It was funny how you were so obsessed with diaries and all you ever talked about were diaries. Every time we went shopping, you would stare at the different types of diaries in awe and sigh in content. Ironically, your shelf is still filled with empty diaries." My mom looked at me with a feigned disappointment and I laughed thinking about the diaries stocked in my room. "Weird, I thought you wanted to be a writer or something but never even realized that you belong in the world of music." She seemed guilty now.