Chase You

07; the epitome of a golden family

Sometimes I wonder whether my craziness comes from the environment I grew up in, or it just ran in the family.

My mother wasn't the most giddiest person, unlike Karen, who was always bouncy and hyper. Dad was pretty happy, well, that's until you made a disagreement with him. He has anger problems, and it can get bad super quickly. The short amount of time that it takes me to snap my fingers would be how quick his mood can turn upside down.

It makes me question why my aunts and uncles are so different from my parents. They're jolly people, and sure, sometimes you get sick of them, but we have to see them on a monthly basis.

Since mum went out of my life, we haven't been the closest of relatives to her sisters.

I believe that mum left because Dad did something terrible. I never knew the story, I didn't know why exactly she didn't bother to say goodbye to me before taking off. It hurt as hell not knowing the true story, it hurt coming home one day and seeing the dressers and wardrobes in my parents room all open and pretty much empty.

Dad wasn't home at the time, so I was left for a couple hours and I was driving myself insane by coming up with a bunch of theories of why she left. She was happy with dad, what changed?

Sure, they had their quarrels every now and then, and I believe they made me crazy. However, they loved each other very much, and I know that because I know what it's like to love someone.

Loving someone meant they were on your mind all the time. It meant thinking about them when it isn't necessary all, like that time when Dad and I were at a cricket game a couple hours away from home and mum was spending the night with her friends. All of a sudden, Dad starts talking to me about how mum would love the landmarks in the area, and how she would love to go to the small French market nearby.

Love was when, even though countless arguments, you would both feel guilty and you'd be quick to forgive.

Love was when it felt like you had just seen the other person for the first time, every time you see them. I knew mum and dad looked at each other that way quite often; they just had this awestruck, starry eyed expression painting their features.

Two years ago today, the thirteenth of December, I remember putting up the Christmas tree mum and I bought from a nursery nearby. We had bought so many decorations and dad wasn't happy with how expensive it got, but he loved Christmas, so he quickly got over it.

Being the only child in the house, I was content with all my parent's love and affection; smothering was nice. However, back then, I didn't realise that it would soon be over and dad and I would be sobbing our eyes out like mad. I've never in my entire life seen Dad cry, never. So waking up everyday, watching as he cries into his breakfast was heartbreaking. Most the time, I waited until he left for work before I can go downstairs to grab myself food because I didn't want to see him in such a tearful, vulnerable state.

Endless evenings, mum would sit by the piano, flipping through musical pages for different Christmas carols and I would sit next to her, singing. Even though I was tone deaf, she didn't seem to mind that much. Dad would be standing nearby with his camera, capturing memories to cherish.

So as I held dad's old camera in my hands, I teared up a little. I was sat in my room while everyone was downstairs, putting up the Christmas tree.

We kept that tradition; putting up the Christmas tree twelve days before Christmas was something I've grown up with for sixteen years with mum and dad, so Karen and Casey didn't seem to mind when we asked them politely to hold off the tree until this day.