Normani Kordei Hamilton.
"And what are you doing home at this time of the day?" My father asks upon my arrival. I shut the door behind me quietly before removing my earbuds, allowing them to hang loosely around my neck.
"Went for my jog." I reply, grabbing a cold water from the fridge, immediately chugging the contents down my throat.
"Yes, I know that." Daddy replies as he writes down in his black notebook that he uses for church and church only. "But why are you home, shouldn't you be at work?"
"I don't work on Mondays, remember?" I remind him, screwing the cap back onto the bottle.
"Right."
I scoff and walk up the stairs, readying myself for a fresh, warm shower. Before I went for my jog, I stretched myself out good. It hurt, but it was good pain.
I enter my room, a bit annoyed at my father now. Like I said, I loved him to bits, but he still annoyed me. I've been working at the diner since I was eighteen, and I'm turning twenty one soon. I've always had Monday's off, why is he still in the dark about this? Because he doesn't care.
Ashlee is off to college in another city, Arielle is working as a secretary to a law firm, and here I am, working at my mother's friends diner. Guess who the least favourite is.
I take a quick shower, seeing as I just want to rest today, and make my way to my closet, looking for a decent pair of pyjamas to wear because there is no way in hell that I'm getting out of bed today.
When I pull my Hello Kitty short pyjamas out, a large object falls onto the floor, and upon further inspection, I see that its my mother's diary.
I bite my lip, picking the large book up, deciding whether or not to put it back before I give up and put it gently on the bed before pulling my clothes on.
I lock the door behind me, plug my phone into the charger, and flop on the bed, getting comfortable to read about the next chapter of my mother.
I never ever finished my mother's diary, although I've had it for about six years now, because I never want to get to the end.
I never want to stop reading about my mother's thoughts. I know that I'll get to the end someday, but that day isn't coming anytime soon, so I store the book away in fear that if I start reading, I won't end.
I open the book to where I bookmarked the last place, and blink a few times before settling my eyes on my mother's handwriting. It was neat, but it could make one very dizzy.
May 13, 2007.
Dear Diary.
Today was one of the most amazing days of my life. Today Derrick and I went to Mani's ballet recital, and I was so proud of my child.
I smiled, touching the picture attached. It was of little me in my tutu and tights, smiling brightly with my medal.
But then I realised that I shouldn't be proud, only because I was living my life through Normani.
I hated these moments. These moments when my mother doubted herself and her worth.
Normani never wanted to be a ballerina, or do ballet, I put in her in that class. Even though she's doing well, and has a passion, I decided this path for her, when clearly she's destined for much more.
I frown, trying to figure out what my mother is exactly trying to say.
My baby isn't a dancer, she's a singer. I knew this when she was crying once, and hit one of the most excellent and effortless whistle notes I have ever heard. That's when I knew that she was a singing prodigy. I always wanted to be a ballerina when I was little, but due to certain things, I couldn't be. So I lived my life through Mani, up until now. It ends here.
