Repeat: 1999.
Early 90's
When I was a kid, I thought it was common practice to mention one's grandfather's name when making an introduction to someone you've just met. After all, whenever my 5-year-old self spelled my name in kanji; half-proud and half-bragging, disappointment always followed. Well, for one, my handwriting sucked, and no one seemed to be interested in what meaning my name held too. At the end of the day, what they were always dying to know—or verify—was whether I was truly "Chairman Li Yelong's only grandson".
On the first homeroom period on my first day of elementary school, I casually asked what his grandfather's name was during one of my ex-classmate's self-introduction. I did not get the opportunity to learn what his grandfather's called though, since everyone showered me with funny frowns and scrutinising eyes in an instant, as if I was some kind of a rare specimen from an unidentified extra-terrestrial region, estranged and deserted on planet Earth. It was just one little mistake, sprouting from the buds of overwatered naiveté and curiosity, but the aftermath was catastrophic.
The impression I left that day had transformed me into that one snobbish who only wanted to befriend those whose family belong to the highest level of society; those who were born in a golden crib with a silver spoon in their mouth. Quite ironic, wasn't it, that my own innocence was the one cause to the severance of a number of bridges between me and my ex-classmates? In the end, I wasn't successful at building any meaningful relationships in elementary school. Curse this introverted nature of mine. But actually, it was most likely just an excuse. The truth was, I gave up. I mean, being alone wasn't half bad. Seriously, it wasn't bad at all; I would go as far to admit that I honestly enjoyed and preferred solitude once I got acquainted with it.
You know how they say close friends call each other with endearing nicknames? I had one too—one that would possibly stick to me for the rest of my life like an ungrateful parasite. Obviously, I wasn't completely happy with my nickname. It lacked the endearing aspect, humourless as deadwood and was too long. "The next heir of the Li Hospital". This nickname had determined my future by default, but elementary schooler me, being the kid who always looked up to my parents and their professions, didn't mind—not once.
Although over time, as my beliefs and perceptions altered, I began to harbour strong negative emotions towards my one and only future; supposedly my own, but chosen and controlled by others for their own selfish gains. Hearing this audible name tag again and again like an old broken radio didn't help either. Doesn't it sound like a flat, uncharacteristic description of a certain product you'd find at your local department store? Well, each and every human is an individual; why was it that of all people, my family found it so extremely difficult to understand?
Even though they avoid me (and I never once condemned them for avoiding me, as it was probably the right choice to do so), at least people other than my family didn't care what my future should look like. Or so I thought.
"Looking at his stellar grades, I bet he's going to rank first in his class again next year. He should have no problem at continuing the legacy." I thought my calm, kind homeroom teacher was an ally. But she never asked me what I wanted to do when I grow up. She just basically shoved me into this pit of doomed timeline where I was willing to manage my family business. And that was the day when I lost respect for teachers.
"He'll surely become a world-class successful physician surpassing his parents in the future!" What did they—my grandfather's white-collar colleagues—even know about my life that they thought it was righteous of them to slam such an onerous burden on my shoulders when I didn't even have a single clue who I was all about? Why does the society have to smother other people with unwelcomed attention and crushing expectations? Especially why do this to those who were still very green, out and about, far from understanding how the world works?
This too shall pass.
This too shall pass. Sometime later, maybe tomorrow, maybe next year, or maybe when I enter high school, everything will surely be better. I'll become used to all this labelling, all these societal expectations, all this ridiculousness the world revolves around in the same way I've adapted to loneliness—and I'll finally be freed from this pain. Right?
1997—1998
It was silly, loud and noisy. I thought I'd have a hard time accommodating to this kind of environment. But I managed to actually like it. Strange. Is this how it feels for everyone when they're surrounded by friends?
I wasn't quite sure why, but I somehow gained such an unusual motivation to join the football club at my high school and met a bunch of people who were there genuinely because of their passion for football. The first meeting, followed by the next meeting, and another had grown into something I would never even dare to dream about. Friendship. The whole training sessions and tournaments led me to connecting with others, and the number exceeded my fingers on both hands. I got particularly close with two boys of my age: Hiiragizawa Eriol and Yamazaki Takashi. This probably looked nothing like it on the surface, but no words could ever express my gratitude to these two for accepting me to be a part of their life, and so I never bothered to tell them how much they meant to me.
Unfortunately, good things always happened at the cost of something equally bad. Everything from the past never left and it still had free access to trample on my pride and dignity with the pressure of labelling, societal and familial expectations daily. Worse came to worst when adolescence hit the ground. The girls who used to criticise me for being too cold and unfriendly suddenly started acting a bit too nice. But that wasn't the problem. The problem was what came after—the speculative rumours and gossips containing factual information spiced with imaginative fabrications for dramatic purposes.
"Over there, that's Li Syaoran."
"The grandson of Li Hospital's chairman?!"
"Yeap, he's the real deal, I tell you. My kouhai who's in the same class as him said a lot of personal butlers and maids work to serve his family."
"Whoa, that's sick. As expected of rich people. They could use cash to wipe their asses too."
"The scariest thing about him is that he always landed full marks on every single exam, no matter what the subject is."
"No way! Seriously? I can't believe it!"
"Well, neither can I… But it's a hundred percent possible if you have endless zeroes in your bank account, you know what I mean?"
Was it bad that hearing it didn't bother me more than it bothered Hiiragizawa and Yamazaki? It was them who confronted these two seniors, and as predicted, it didn't end very well. The four of them got into such a vicious fight that their cheeks and eyes looked more purple than an aubergine the day after. And if that wasn't brutal enough, one of the seniors got his arm broken. The teachers who found this out clearly wasn't happy, nor did the principal. They were punished and had to sweep the school's whole grounds, cut the grass and clean the school's lavatories for an entire month. They told me that they regretted nothing, but I still thought it was really dumb of them to resort to their impulsiveness and caused multiple problems for themselves. They should've stayed silent and pretended they heard nothing more than some clink and clunks of a few rubbish bins falling.
For me, the most horrifying thing about rumours and gossips wasn't the insides, but how they really did bounce from an ear to another more quickly than the sound of speed and how they spread within a community indiscriminately, much like an epidemic disease. I knew very well that no matter what I did, labels, expectations and judgement would always be constantly thrown in my face regardless of whether I liked it or not. But if I could just make one request, I wished people would talk about me in a quieter tone whenever I was present. Actually if it wasn't too much, it would be much less troublesome if they could just talk behind my back, but some people suffered from incontinence. Probably lost their jaw brake (otherwise called politeness) somewhere.
"Hey, hey isn't that him? The second-year senpai who got confessed to by a third-year beauty senpai last week at the cultural festival!"
"Oh! I know! He's Li-senpai, right? I heard Mika-chan from our next class confessed to him too yesterday but got rejected!"
"Didn't you know that they say everyone who confessed to him always got rejected?"
"I heard. But isn't it true that he's single?"
"Yeah, but something's definitely off. How come is he still single? I mean, look at his face, brain, and family background. Isn't that weird?"
"…Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
"…He has a secret girlfriend?"
"I knew it! That must be it!"
"Shh! Tone it down, girls!"
"Oh no! He's looking this way!"
"Oh my goodness, did he just smile to me? Did you saw that?!"
"Yes, yes! He smiled to me too!"
"No, he was only smiling when looking this way!"
"You're wrong. He definitely smiled to me, not you!"
What else could I do other than rolling my eyes? I had just finished my yakisoba pan and it tasted so damn fine, I couldn't help but smile, and was just trying to locate the nearest rubbish bin around, but then what? I suddenly became a creepy skirt-chaser who wanted to hit those squealing girls off in the school canteen? Damn it, I should've just gone to the library at recess period. But again, eating was prohibited in the library. Tsk, it turned out that high school wasn't as worry-free as I'd imagined in elementary.
I just wanted people to leave me alone in peace—was it a cumbersome wish too difficult to grant?
Friday, 14 February 2003
Syaoran exchanged one last glance with the two guys from his next class; each side hurling poison barbs at the other, before he thanked the teacher once more time and slid the door close. A torrent of vituperation was about to spurt from his mouth when he saw two eyes glimmering with faint traces of amusement and satirical mockery reflected on the surface of their midnight blue ocean.
"Oh my god! That's quite a bruise you've got on your eye. But at least you can still walk on your two feet, so that's quite a feat. And I hope you're not getting any punishment for this?" His words clearly didn't match what his eyes spoke.
Syaoran curled his lip, refusing to have anything to do with his blatant lie. Seriously, he could've used some effort to cover up his lie, but instead, he had to dramatise the 'worried' tone in his voice and his body language; an act that even any elementary schooler wouldn't be impressed on. But Syaoran knew it was of Eriol's nature to do just that. Eriol was generally a nice guy, but there was more to that; he had a twisted mind which made him seek thrill and excitement in picking on other people. And Syaoran knew he was high on the list of his daily targeted victims.
Thanks to his distraught mind, most of Eriol's jeera and taunts bounced off his ears and that was how the two boys left the school without violence erupting. When Eriol hadn't been able to successfully spark off some reactions from Syaoran, he finally gave up. This time, though there was still a hint of sarcasm lingering in his breath, he asked with his normal voice range, "I thought you weren't the type to get impulsive?"
"Oh, shut up." Syaoran spat.
An airy snort belched out of Eriol's nose; and because of the freezing temperature, it became apparent as condensed steam, a physical proof of his ridicule, which aggravated Syaoran even more.
But Eriol's words rang true. At the very least, Syaoran believed it was true. He wasn't someone to display any sort of rash and reckless behaviour like getting into an emotional fight with the two delinquents from a neighbouring class. Dealing with normal people was already a pain for him, so he logically would avoid purely obnoxious people at all cost, right? Well, today he found out that anger was an extremely powerful drive; enough to reach the pinnacle of his self-restraint within a mere few nanoseconds.
When he saw what those two ruffians were doing to Sakura, it was like a storm just suddenly brewed in his mind. All of his nerve wires were cut off, and the fuse just blew shortly after that. Even without looking at how grave the wounds he had inflicted on those two guys; each at least four stones bigger than him, Syaoran knew he went over the line. As he was sending blow after blow to their cheeks and nose, Syaoran had subconsciously directed his bottled-up, ready to detonate fury to the two unfortunate sacrificial lambs. He found what they had done to Sakura sickening and unforgivable, but it still didn't justify his scapegoating action.
But at that point in time, he had lost his moral compass, sense of justice, or whatever it was called. His heart, soul and body were desperate on liberating Sakura from the agony that had been shackling her for the past few weeks. Really, he just wanted people to leave Sakura alone in peace, and nothing more.
"You know what? I'm not sure what you're thinking, but I think you went overboard." Eriol chimed in, slicing the silence.
"I know. I'm just throwing all the blame on those guys. Go judge me, Mr. Jury."
"What are you talking about?" The blue-eyed boy knitted his brows, genuinely bemused. "I'm saying that you went overboard with what you've said during the violent brawl that transpired this afternoon at the school garden. Is that clear enough, Mr. Defendant?"
"What I've said?" Syaoran pointed himself. "What about those?"
"I didn't expect you to be so dumb as to not being aware that you've let Kinomoto down this afternoon. You were screaming, shouting lies, making a false declaration in front of the many people watching you wrestling with those two gigantic guys. On top of that, Kinomoto was there, practically on the first row of your wrestling stage while you were making some pretty upsetting remarks."
"Upsetting? Sorry, but I really don't understand what you're implying. Sure I lied, but I did that for Kinomoto."
"Are you dumb? You think she'd be happy? After all of what you've done today?"
"She'd surely be. I'm finally not getting in her way anymore." Syaoran's voice trailed off as his head gradually dropped.
Recognising that he was witnessing once-in-a-lifetime revelation, Eriol stopped in his track, heaved a sigh and shook his head in disbelief. "Then, you're saying you're satisfied now?"
"Uh-hm." Despite the feeling of his throat being strangled with razor tape, Syaoran managed to reply with a barely audible answer.
"…Then why are you making such a depressed face?" Eriol asked; though he knew Syaoran most likely wouldn't know the answer to his question. Never once in his life had he expected that the stone-faced Syaoran would allow himself to get carried away with his feelings. Yet there he was; with his back facing Eriol and eyes cast down, Eriol might've not seen the expression on his face, but it didn't take a genius to deduce from his shrinking posture and croaky hiccups, that grief spilled out of the corner of his eyes all over the snowy ground.
Trapped in the middle of the anguish of letting go, self-loathing and losing his own sanity, Syaoran was crumbling. But in the end, he knew he had done what he needed to do. The genie couldn't be bothered to grant his cumbersome wish; that was, for people to leave Sakura alone in peace, so he protected her with his own way, the best he could, even if that meant putting himself in a course of great suffering—both physically and mentally.
Saturday, 14 February 1999
"Uhh," his fingers stopped in the air; hovering around the antique cash register as the clerk tilted his head. "Pardon, miss?"
A sheepish titter mixed with anxiety slipped out of my lips. "I'll take one for each to eat in."
"…Right." He nodded, slow and steady at first, but hasty before his head came to a halt. "All of them," he painted a big circle in the air above the cold, dewy bakery shelf display. "One for each?"
"Yes, except for the black forest and the cheesecake…"
"Well, yes, of course. Because we've already run out of them."
Heaving out a sigh of embarrassment, I promptly fished my wallet—unusually looking fat and rich—out of my rucksack. Okay, calm down, me. There was no way he'd believe I'd be the one devouring all these cakes and macaroons, no matter how sweet and appetising they were.
"Miss, here's your order," the clerk was back with a pile of cakes on a single tray and when the tray hit the cashier counter, it made a heavy thump that almost reverberated throughout the tiny coffee shop. "One strawberry shortcake, one matcha brownie, one fudgy mocha cake, one coffee and walnut cake, one mango layer crepe cake, one pineapple cupcake, one Irish apple crumble tart, one peach pie, one raspberry mille-feuille…"
Wait, wait, wait! Did I count everything right? There were twelve slices of cakes, six cupcakes, and ten different flavours of macaroons, right? It shouldn't cost more than 3500 yen, according to my best ability to calculate. But hey, how very bold of me to have such a high level of faith in my own maths.
"…and one coconut macaroon. Everything will be 4120 yen."
"Hoeeeee!" I should've known better. My numerical skills—notorious for its top betrayal moments—are not to be trusted, ever. My hand trembled as it gripped the last note present in my wallet, but I really appreciated it for making its way, though slow and unsteady, to the little tray on the cashier counter.
"That's an exact amount." The clerk commented as he carefully examined the heap of bank notes and some pennies on the little tray. "Thank you very much."
Slightly bowing to the cashier, I almost shoved my face to the towering layers of cakes. The real challenge would be to try find where Yukito-san was with my sight completely blinded by cakes. Relying on my ears that picked up Yukito-san's distinct voice, I headed to my northeast. "Yukito-san, sorry for waiting. The blackforest and the cheesecake are already sold out so I bought you everything except those..."
"Oh my! You said you wanted to treat me for accompanying you, but isn't this a bit too much?" I mean, I could eat triple of this size, but I was talking about the price."
"No worries, Yukito-san! You've accompanied me to the hospital for so many times, even with this number of this cake wouldn't be enough to thank you." My vision was finally revived as I handed the tray over to Yukito-san. Crouching on the floor like a balled-up hedgehog, there he was, a stranger with a lump of scarlet on both cheeks; and he looked like he had just committed a grave sin and now cowering, seeking for atonement.
Eyes squinted against the fractal flares crowning his messy chestnut hair, glimmering orange at the sun's reflection, I intuitively picked up something familiar about him. My maths skills might be up there in the list of infamous betrayers, but intuition was my strength, and I knew I could count on her. What was it about him that was familiar though? Could it be his hair—which was of the same colour as my dad's—that triggered my perception? Or could it be his gruff voice when he grumbled—which closely resembled my brother's? Had we met before? No, wait, there was something else.
I must've been staring at him, hard. Hard enough that Yukito-san resisted his urge to tuck in. "Oh, I was just helping this boy picking up the things that he dropped."
The boy stood, awkwardly scratching his nape and deliberately avoided making eye contact with Yukito-san. Now that he was standing, I could finally pinpoint where my suspicion laid. "Oh, that uniform! You're from Tomoeda Junior High?"
He speared his gaze into my eyes and my blood curled straightaway; it was as if his pair of ambers were alive. An intense disoriented flame roaring passionately with solid-rock resolution of sweeping everything that got in its way, borderline bloodthirsty and persistently glaring at the heavens from deep within a dark, dark chasm seemingly cursed and without an end. Oh, what had I done? Did I just wake a beast from its slumber?
How could I rip apart this silence that had been haunting the little space between us for what seemed like a century? Think, fast! An apology would do, add to that a slight bow and I would get a ticket to an escape from his razor-edged stare of him.
"F-Forgive me if I acted a bit too friendly! You're a senpai after all."
The fiery blaze in his ambers mellowed, it was still alive and crackling, but this time, they glowed tenderly and radiated genuine warmth. I must've been mistaken about his nature; there was no way a beast or a monster would have such a sincere look in their eyes. If a wolf in sheep's clothing was a pretentious devil hiding in the shadow of what looked like kindness at first sight, then he was the perfect embodiment of the complete opposite; a sheep in wolf's clothing.
I smiled, in reply to the magic he showed me with his eyes. "Uhh, I'm currently a sixth-year grader and I will be attending Tomoeda Junior High this April— that's... If I pass the exam, though..."
"Don't worry, Sakura-chan. You did your best, so everything will be just fine!" Yukito-san said.
"I know, but I just can't help being worried..." Brushed against the smooth, velvety fabric of my fleece gloves that my dad had made from scratch for me last week, my cheeks bloated—a spontaneous reaction that had been carved into the deepest part of my brain since very young. All my families and friends including Tomoyo-chan and Yukito-san were well aware of this and thought it was a cute habit. Though I'd prefer it if I could somehow kick this habit. I mean, it was just too childish. And my brother always made fun of it, saying that I would never grow out of it even when I turned 25 and then someday I would lose my control and do it in front of the big boss of the company I would be working at. Of course that wouldn't happen—that couldn't happen for the sake of my self-worth. But, wait… Did I just do what I think I've done in front of a future senpai?! Did it happen because my brother's malicious hex had just taken place?!
"Ahem," while hypnotising myself that the last ten seconds were mysteriously lost between the ridge of space and time, I forced myself to stand upright, pulled my right hand out of the pink mitten, naked and extended my it. "My name is Kinomoto Sakura. Please take care of me if I happen to do well in my entrace exam."
His grip was uniquely redolent of sentimental good old days; admirably firm yet gentle. He was considerate in avoiding using too much power that he'd squash my hand. And very chivalrous too, in the way he held my hand like he'd taken an oath of honour to protect a damsel no matter what distress she was in upon his sword. Was it because he was a senpai? Yes, that must be why. An older boy tended to be very well-mannered towards girls after all. Yukito-san was just as courteous. But, something was different. Something felt different. This feeling. The feeling that made a second ticked by a hundred thousand times slower as if reality distorted into a slow-motion montage. What a peculiar feeling—what was it called, I wonder?
"Li Syaoran, second year student." And with that, he smiled brightly, not losing to the golden sunbeam. "I'll be sure to take care of you if we meet again sometime in the future."
I was certain that I looked like a total idiot, mute and stiff. My right hand, poised motionless in the air, I couldn't even raise it just a little higher to wave him goodbye when he walked away to the door. I probably even stopped blinking, all because my brain, muddled and already aching, was still reeling in astonishment from all these paralysing emotions.
"Sakura-chan?"
I jumped as Yukito-san's voice shattered down my reverie. "Was it love at first sight?" He plainly teased as he munched his fifth macaroon.
"Hoeeee!" Heat flooded my entire face, I shook my head vigorously. "N-No, no, o-of course not!"
Yukito-san chuckled, "Sorry, sorry. I didn't mean to fluster you. But I think I understand now why Touya behaves the way he is to you."
"Oh, onii-chan is the worst! Did you know what he did to Kero-chan the other day? He put tapes on his paws and placed sticky notes that read horrible stuff like 'My name is Keroberos and I am fat and ugly' and 'Hello, I am the most gluttonous cat in the world'. He didn't stop there. He went so far as to videotape him walking in frenzy as he laughed like a madman!"
Small giggles slipped out of his mouth as Yukito-san nodded at times, signalling that I had his full attention and he was carefully listening.
"Then I decided I'd help Kero-chan get his sweet, sweet revenge. So, on Wednesday, four days ago, onii-chan was studying so hard for his last exam, he even told us he'd skip dinner. My dad, kind as always, told me to deliver his dinner upstairs. So I did. But I 'clumsily' confused his bowl with Kero-chan's bowl. So I gave onii-chan's karaage to Kero-chan and took Kero-chan's bowl to his room. Onii-chan, who was like only 50% awake 50% zombie thanks to his sleepless nights, actually ate it in front of me. He even thanked me for bringing his food upstairs! It took him about three spoonfuls until he finally realised he was eating cat dry food!"
Seeing Yukito-san dissolved into helpless laughter, I couldn't help but get infected, though I still wasn't satisfied avenging Kero-chan. Yukito-san was wiping his eyes, overflowing with light-hearted tears, when his chortling faded out. He smiled, masking his wistful and pensive state. A gentle pat with a touch of affection of something familial, settled on my head. "You're really strong, aren't you, Sakura-chan?"
He continued, "you're not straining yourself, are you?"
I smiled and shook my head slowly, "not at all."
"You sure?"
"A hundred percent."
"That's good then."
"…I mean, I promised her." A human body could never become an enough vessel to contain so many feelings and emotions they were able to produce, and it was really hard carrying them from one place to the other, day to day without spilling them. It felt like holding a bucket full of water while walking on a thin rope—one false move, and the water would frantically disperse all over the place. Fighting back the urge to sway and tumble, I fiddled with my skirt and faintly swung my legs. "I promised my mum to never lose my one strength, that is my cheerfulness. Because when I smile, that's when my mum is the happiest. That's why…"
I took a deep breath and smiled once again, not giving up and not wanting to break the promise. "That's why no matter what happens, Sakura should always stay Sakura."
Kinomoto Nadeshiko
May, 20 1963 – May, 17 1999
Wednesday, 20 May 1999—it was a clear, sunny day. Not even a single layer of cloud painting the vivid blue sky white. Sakura felt the heat radiating from the torrid noonday sun, penetrating the thin black veil draped over her head; baking her pallid face. She crouched and placed a bouquet of pink nadeshiko flowers—graceful and refined, a perfect incarnation of her mother, next to her tall tombstone. Filled with determination, she fought against the quivering muscles around her lips and smiled. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out of from it. Realising the weight sagging the corner of her eyes, she hurriedly took a gulp to water her parched throat and arched her lips again.
"Happy birthday, mum."
Once the first tear rolled from the brim of her lower eyelids, waterfall cascaded down her burning cheeks in an unbroken torrent, flooding her jaw line, and the droplet began to bulk, swollen with emotions after emotions, clutching on her chin. When the weight of the pain had become overwhelming, it eventually fell, wetting the soil of the graveyard. Her lower limbs numb, she felt no ache when her knees hit the ground. She rubbed her forehead against the tingling hot grey stone monument, and cried. And she cried again. And again, until her voice hoarsened and strangulated by the unbearable grief coiling around her neck.
It was supposed to be a day filled with candles and confetti, laughter and warm kisses; a day where Nadeshiko was supposed to turn 36.
But instead, the Kinomoto and the big Amamiya family had to dress in all-black, attend her funeral and congratulate her birthday in front of her very own tombstone.
Nadeshiko had had a problematic liver from birth. As such, she was used to sudden fatigue and nausea eating her body alive almost every morning on the edge her bed. But as her liver failure worsened over time and could no longer be treated with pills or surgery, transplanting her liver had become the only available route to saving her life. Unfortunately, amidst the shortage of organ donor crisis, doctors struggled to find a suitable match and needed time to wait for an adequate transplant to surface. But in reality, time wouldn't wait. As days and weeks passed by, eventually her liver's condition had grown so severe, to the point where it couldn't sufficiently remove toxins from her body. As they continued to build up inside her bloodstreams, her brain had become affected, and she fell into coma—whereafter all her organs abdicated their duties, and her soul finally left for the country of clouds in the sky.
A/N: I know it's probably too late but hey better late than never, so I'm going to say this anyways: I sincerely apologise if there are any language errors. English isn't my native language—and add to that the horror of first-timer writer. Ka-boom. Double trouble.
To all my loyal readers, thank you so much for your support. Will update soon. Please review to let me know your thoughts and/or follow to get notified!
