"Mother, I could never be lost up there.
That's my mountain. I was brought up on it. It was the mountain that led me to you.
When I was a child, I would come down and climb a tree. . .and look in your garden.
I'd see the sisters at work and hear them sing."
When Maria reached the age of six, she lost both of her parents. Her fairytale-like world crumbled into one full of poverty and misery. The house they lived in was sold by her uncle, her mother's possessions were also sold while her father's were burned.
She cried a lot at their burial. But a slap changed her life indefinitely.
"Stop crying you silly girl," her uncle told her, "You did nothing but fucking cry for the past weeks. Crying won't revive the dead. Quit being annoying and be quiet."
Maria still sobbed, which earned her more slaps. Her freckled face now red with tears and hand marks, it's too much for such a small child. After some time, people were gone and her uncle told her to go home. But that place was never her home, her home is dead- both six feet underground.
Afraid that she might get slapped for crying again, Maria ran up to the hills where she used to have picnics with her mother. Sitting at the bottom of the tree, she gathered her exhausted knees to her pale and bruised arms, and rested her sore face at the top of it. For a six year-old girl who just wants her parents back, the slaps and the pain make her feel hopeless, lonely, and bitter. She always thought they'd be always around, she even drew to her mom how she will work hard in the future so she could bring her parents on an adventure around the world; she will learn how to cook so mother could rest with all the household work she's doing; she will do well in her singing lessons so she could sing her father's headaches away; and she will grow up taking care of them until they die of old age.
All of these thoughts didn't make Maria cry- no, as her uncle said, Crying won't revive the dead. But instead, she stayed silent and tried to calm herself down. She had never done this before, so she almost fell into a puddle of sobs when she heard something.
Singing…
She hasn't heard such a thing since her parents died. In fact, she can't believe she forgot her mother's advice. But now that she remembered, she began mumbling while sobbing:
Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens….
Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens...
She sighed when her current position made it hard for her to breath, so she slowly straightened her legs and continued:
Brown paper packages tied up with strings.
These are a few of my…. favorite things.
Her chest feels a bit lighter now, she stood up and smiled. Her mother's words worked! Oh how she hopes she can run to her, hug her, and tell her what she just did. She was about to resume the song when she heard the distant singing again.
Maria, the ever so curious child, climbed the tree to look for where the voices came from. Her sight reached the nuns at the nearby convent, singing while working. Some are doing laundry, while some are washing the dishes. The others are hanging clothes to dry while there are those who bring dirty dishes in for washing. And for Maria, who's grieving for the loss of her parents, the sight feels like home.
Oh how she wished to be a part of that…