January begins cool and dark with occasional drizzling rain. It was just light enough to not discourage people from taking the street but was just enough for officials to consider postponing New Year celebrations. But to the relief of many, it didn't and so New Year passed with little trouble. Now, all talks were about back-to-school, the political tension between North Korea and Japan and the coming election. In all normal. Xochitl spends the afternoon in self-imposed isolation at the big window overlooking the back garden. Now and then a passerby would be spotted, their umbrella peeking over the shrubs. The fog provided a perfect canvas as she drew, then erased, then did it again. A repeated, boring, comfortable pattern. She would have been content with this when Ryuuzu talked, disrupting her thoughts.

"We're lucky," he said before taking a seat beside her. His knees almost touched her.

Seeing the confusion on her face he continued. "We got to start school two days after the others."

She tilted her head. He scoffed or she thought he had. It sounded more like he laughed airly through his nose. "The locals, they start school today. Most public schools do. Or so, Shuu-san told me."

A hum in consideration. Since when he was friendly with their neighbour? Finding the face to the name was easier than usual. A picture of a friendly face came to mind. Tall, crooked nose from too many footballs to his face and a nice smile. They never talked.

"Oh. I never noticed."

"Of course, you wouldn't."

He didn't mean to sound mean, but Xochitl took it as. She scoffed.

A lull between them. Ryuuzu continued. Talking about the dull weather, yesterday's dinner, and Sunday's sermon. Filling the space between them with words. Leaving no room for silence to permeate. Any other time she might have ignored him. To keep whatever act she had between them alive. Despite how draining it may be.

Looking through her peripheral to gauge his current emotion. Xochitl saw how he knitted his brows, deep in concentration as he too drew on the window. She continued to stare. He had changed. His hair got longer, and now his Adam apple was more prominent than ever, aiming to pierce the skin between it if Ryuuzu was to shift his head further back. It must be uncomfortable, Xochitl thought. If she was to lean closer (which she did) she could see, there around his mouth, had gotten darker. Fine thistles of fuzz in unorganised patches began to grow. It appears he would start growing his hair sooner than Hitoshi.

She wanted to reach out to touch it. To know whether it was the same feeling as her father, as Hitoshi. But she didn't. Too shy. It made Xochitl wonder when she had become shy towards Ryuuzu.

"How's Henri?"

A shrug of her shoulders. "He's good…but he has changed."

"How so?"

"I have an idea about what it is, but I hope it isn't so."

A hum. She saw him opening his mouth but closed it. Beginning to draw before erasing it. Another lull. Ryuuzu continued, and she was happy he didn't pry any further. She wouldn't like what she would have said on the matter. He told her about his exam result, he had come first in his class. Xochitl wasn't surprised. Ryuuzu was the smarter of the two, she told him this. He smiled. It felt long since she had seen such a smile. The teasing smile, the stiff polite smile worn exclusively at church and meeting visitors (and families) was all she had seen. But this one, the one which wrinkled his nose and birth those laugh-lines around his mouth and creases at his eyes. It had been a while since she saw this. Xochitl decided that she liked this smile and also thought (deep—deep— down) that she missed it. She told him her result. He in return had told her she had done well. Amazing even. She said she doesn't know about that.

"Perhaps I should go to those Juku, Hemera goes and she did well," said Xochitl. "Her second next to my fourteen makes it look small."

A slight slap on her shoulders, it could be written off as being playful. " Don't say that. Don't compare yourself, you did great." Ryuuzu looked at her and she maintained his eye contact. Then another playful push. "Thinking of joining any clubs this term?"

Xochitl groaned. Another playful nudged to her side. (He had gotten braver from seeing how positively received the earlier ones were).

"Have any recommendations?"

Ryuuzu paused. Looking up in consideration. "Art club. You are always good with your hands." He makes several gripping motions with his hand to highlight his point.

Xochitl hummed. "I suppose so."

"I know so." he continued, eyes not leaving his drawing. "Your sewing has gotten much better since the move. And mother no longer has to supervise you to cook." A wiggle of his eyebrows can be interrupted as Ryuuzu being coltish.

She huffed as she furiously erased her drawing. Ryuuzu's too. " Cooking is…difficult. When you're sewing you are always there. You hardly ever leave. But cooking takes time and I forgot." She stumbled over her words and she knew she was losing confidence with each word. While Ryuuzu's smile and cock-ish persona grew larger.

She tried to go at it again. "I forgot…I got distracted."

He hummed, raising his hands in defeat. "Okay. I'll take your words for it."

Xochitl is not convinced. More importantly, she wanted him to see him being uneasy just as she was from his teasing.

"What about you? You're not even allowed in the kitchen."

"I am allowed!" Xochitl gave him a coy look. Ryuuzu continued in flustered fury. "I can cook," his voice cracked. Though it could have been due to pubertal changes.

"Rice?" she started, "Everyone—even a fool—can cook plain rice."

He began to talk, to contest her statement. However, his voice cracked even more. Soon he resigned to simply frowning. Xochitl smiled, revelling in her victory. But she should have known it wouldn't last. Being apart for so long had dulled her memories of their many banters. Ryuuzu had the most wins. He would have won them all if it were not due to the interference of their mother and Hitoshi.

"True, but even the fool doesn't need supervision."

She could have made another smart rebuttal. She would have. But she made the foolish decision to make eye contact and that was her downfall. Ryuuzu laughed. An ugly, boisterous laugh. A laugh that even frightened her. A laugh that let his nose spray mucus. An infectious laugh. Xochitl fell prey to it in seconds.

When it appeared they would finish, one of them made the mistake to look at the other and start again. It reminded her of that memory or was it a dream? Of the two of them just laughing, laughing. A carnival of laughter. Through heavy breath, teary eyes and sides that burn at every breath. The two return to a mirror of before.

The rain was beating on the window.

"I missed this."

It took Xochitl some seconds to process his words. She looked at him, and there passed the wet eyes, an emotion she didn't have the correct words for. But one thing for sure she knew it wasn't joyful. It leaves a bitter taste.

He was waiting. For her to react. To talk. But that shyness from before returned, and with invisible hands, grasped her throat with a tightening grip.

He was waiting.

He breathed a sigh and began to get up.

Ryuuzu's legs had gotten cramped from sitting too long and so had fallen when he tried to stand the first time. Almost falling on top of her. And so, had given her the chance (unintentionally) to feel the hair on his face. They felt sharp. Like after shaving and the hair began to regrow. It must have felt uncomfortable for him to sleep, she thought.

Ryuuzu was on his feet and—

"I missed this too."

They stared.

The rain continued to beat on the window.

He held out his hands, and she denied the invitation.

"I have not finished drawing," Xochitl explained.

He nodded, "See you at dinner?" He was asking for something more, she could hear it, so she said: "Yes…you won't be busy after?"

A pause. "No, why?"

"Would like your help on a little project…Even a fool can be helpful sometimes."

It had the desired effect as Ryuuzu smiled.( The one she liked!). He said yes.

Xochitl found Hitoshi in his room. Brown boxes scattered about. She watched him rearrange the books in one box, before getting distracted by one. He read the cover and flipped through the pages before closing it to read the excerpt on the back. He laughed, one that was filled with wistfulness. He turned and gasped at the sight of her. His hands on his chest as if he doesn't his heart will make an escape.

"You want to kill me?" He joked while signalling her to come inside. Hitoshi cleared his desk, giving Xochitl a space to sit. He continued with his packing. She knew he knew she would talk when she was ready.

Hitoshi hummed a song under his breath, a rather popular tune that many were raving about. She doesn't fancy it and she knew her kohai would have agreed with her.

She continued to watch him. He looked like father when he was young. Albeit, a taller version. (It must be comforting to know what he would become of him in the coming years, thought Xochitl). But there was something other than his height that set him apart from their father. For most of her cognitive life, she had this realisation but had difficulty proving it. It wasn't recently when they had moved and made the first visit to her grandparents that Xochitl had found her answer. Her grandparents' house has given her privy to many of her father's pictures, something the house in Belize lacked. In most of them, it seemed her father had not (as yet) the proper instructions on how to smile. All of the photos' structured faces looked back at her. As if he was saying: "Get over it and take the damn picture."

It was there she made the discovery that her father, irrevocably, lacked it or rather had not had the space for it in the first place. This softness that Hitoshi possessed. With the discovery, Xochilt couldn't unsee it and even found it funny how crazy that she hadn't come to the conclusion sooner. It was in Hitoshi's smile. His slowness in ordaining his judgement. His openness. She thinks it must have been owed to how he was brought up. Due to their mother being busy with school and their father with whatever he was busy with. Hitoshi had spent most of his formative years under the supervision of his tías and primas[1]. Letting him develop this subtle femininity which, somehow, compliments his virility. Xochitl remembered when she was younger, about five when she had not yet understood the traditional structure of a family unit. Had said to Hitoshi how a wonderful mother he would be. She remembered how he blushed. She also remembered the reprimand she had gotten from señorita Yoselin. Saying how embarrassing her words may be for her brother.

This said softness that Xochitl adores. This said softness her father admires. This said softness her mother loves. This said softness that Ryuuzu respects. This said softness might have led Hitoshi to say something to Ryuuzu, which prompted earlier interaction. It must have. Ryuuzu wasn't the one to do such a thing without a push. Besides, she noticed they spend most of the visit with their grandparents glued together. Hitoshi must have said something then. It must be that. There were no other explanations.

Xochitl wanted to ask flat-out what they had talked about, but remembered how quickly he had shut down her previous queries: "It's personal," he said. She would have to be a bit more mindful if she wanted answers.

"Thinking of boarding?"

It took some seconds before the older boy processed her words.

"And miss Ma cooking? No."

"So why the boxes?"

Saying this, Hitoshi appeared to just become aware of his surroundings. A somewhat doltish smile bloomed on his face. "Too many books, thinking of giving some away."

She hummed. While he returned to sing under his breath.

"I'll miss you when you go."

He stopped. Turned and looked at her. On his face an emotion which speaks volumes, no spoken words could match it.

"You make it sound as if I'm going away. I'll commute to school. It will be like it is now."

"But even now, I hardly see you." She looked at her hands in her lap. "I miss our talks."

Hitoshi walked over to her and sat on the bed, adjacent to the desk. "We're talking now," he offered.

"It's not the same. You've forgotten about me." Xochitl could see how the words she had said hurt him, and she wished she could take it back.

"I am just busy, that's all. I could never forget you, even if I try, which I do."He made a start to poke her nose but she batted his hands away. However, he was satisfied. He got what he wanted when she smiled.

She waited, let the mood pass before speaking again. "But you still have time for Ryuuzu though."

"..."

He sat up. (She didn't realise he was hunched over, to make easier eye contact with her). He picked up on it, her unsaid question. She sees the realisation set in. His eyes easily told her.

"I spend the same amount of time with you both. My timetable tells no lies," he tried to joke but failed.

Xochitl continued. "What about Christmas?"

A sigh. He struggled for words. Finally, he said, voice neutral: "That's different. It's personal."

Hitoshi got up and returned to his packing. She knew he would say no more on the matter, yet she continued. The unspoken words and his actions had proven her suspicion right. He told Ryuuzu something. However, now, she wasn't too certain it was about her—them: the rift. He would not guard it so jealousy not when it concerns them both. Not if he wanted them to reconcile. This was something else. Something else which she had missed.

"Ryuuzu has changed."

"Physically yes, but otherwise no," he answered.

Uh?

He sighed, before finally giving up with his packing and facing her. "You remember that time when you asked if Ryuuzu asked about our chats?"

Xochitl said yes. (Of course, she would remember something that hurt her so.)

"It's not that he doesn't care. But he thought he would be impolite. " He continued to ease the confusion on her face. "To him, if you want to share such information with him, you'll do so. However, if not, It's your decision and as such respect it."

She doesn't know what to do with this sudden revelation. What does Hitoshi want her to do with this information?

"All I am saying is that what Ryuuzu said to me is not my secret to share, he, at his own time, will do so. I know so. You can also try to be a bit more open and drop whatever it is between you two. You are more alike than you know, both of you are too stubborn."

She was missing something, that she was certain of. The current conversation proved such. It irritated her, it was heightened more by this bitter guilt which planned to swallow her whole. The guilt of not understanding her brother. The guilt of not realising what it is that he can share with Hitoshi, but not with her. (Albeit there is—was?—a rift between them). The guilt of not beginning to grasp, even now. Xochitl thinks she should have realised it, after all, she and Ryuuzu were of the same navel string!

Perhaps it was nothing but childish ignorance which pushed her to say: "If we didn't move—" (since surely, it must have been that. It was the only explanation. It was what caused the rift and it must have caused whatever it was with Ryuuzu). "— nothing like this wouldn't happen."

Hitoshi said nothing. He's like a mother waiting for their child's tantrum to run its course, after denying them sweets before dinner.

"It must be father."

The older boy closed his eyes, denying her from reading his emotions.

"It's father why we move."

A pregnant pause before Hitoshi talked. "It wasn't our father who decided to move," he wet his lips. "Initially, it was supposed to be just me and him, but mother said otherwise."

That doesn't sound…It wasn't right. Was it? Mother wouldn't do such a thing. Tearing them—her—from her home to implant them here where everything couldn't be more confusing. Different. She wouldn't do that to them—her. Would she?

"Why?"

He laughed, though it didn't sound joyful. It was a laugh that said: "Isn't it obvious?"

"Don't you know your mother's past?"

This time Hitoshi returned to his packing and Xochitl retreated to her room.

Nothing made sense, earlier conversation, Ryuuzu, her mother. In Xochitl's room, the picture of her grandmother watched her. Her silence was no longer welcoming. All her life she asked her mother so little about her past. Most she had gathered from family dinners and gossiping relatives was that it was much too sensitive. Best leave forgot. Nasty times one of her older cousins once said.

Xochitl had asked her, indirectly, about it once since here in Japan. It was after she had 'captured' her grandmother's picture. Leaving her mother in a mad search for it. Through the informer Hitoshi, she ended up in Xochitl's room. When the older woman held it in her hands, perhaps prompted by this fright of being ripped apart from the only familiarity she had in this house. Had compelled Xochitl to ask her mother about her grandmother. She remembered, long fingers—coarse and hard—ran over the picture.

"What was Nana like?" Simple question. It wasn't so for her mother. It took longer than she anticipated for a reply. For the first, the older woman struggled for words.

"Nice?" she sounded unsure. She shook her head and closed her eyes. Trying to remember. "Tired." Her mother continued. "You know, people who knew her at twenty were surprised to see her at twenty-five. Rapid ageing had taken hold of her and laid waste to her face. I think, if I was not in the constant company of her, I too wouldn't recognise her."

"It was horrible." The 'It' was anonymous. Not only tied to her mother's ageing but something else. Something which still rubbed her raw and drew blood from whatever wound she had covered so beautifully behind this flawless woven title named mother. Something which still haunts her now.

In the end, her mother leaves the picture on Xochitl's night table

She sat on her bed, her grandmother's picture in her lap, her eyes looking outside her bedroom window. The rain continued to pour. The rain. The rustle of the wind on the leaves. The never-ending sounds of nature. Their murmur, their whisper. It was saying something. But what is it? In the end, it was lost to Xochitl. Then she thought to herself it was like the wind and water words. Spoken words were just like those. They, too, made no sense[2].

1: English at time really be lacking, I wish there were a word which mean female cousin. I mean there is one, cousiness but that's hardly ever use.

2: The line was inspired by Kendel Hippolyte, a St Lucian poet and playwright.

This August would be one year since starting Mono No Aware. This is the longest project so far that I had ever started and I am joyful and a bit shock about it.