Q&A

Disclaimer: I am a frustrated writer.

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What makes me happy?

That simple question has been swirling around her head the whole time she was walking back to her place. The streets were dark, the air was warm but refreshing, and she was alone. A little time for herself, she thought. Perhaps she ought to think about simpler things during this period. Her mind was completely blank as she struggled to look for an answer to her question. Being alone could be even more frustrating sometimes. She did have the tendency to chew over petty things.

Turning right at the end of the street, she's now only two minutes away from home.

Home or house?

Another hard question. Wow, since when did something so simple turn into something so complicated? Well, it's not like people asked her these questions everyday. She decided to ignore that one for now.

Stepping inside her house, she wiped her feet on the doormat. She turned around and locked the front door and lazily walked along the hallway. Catching a glimpse of her dad sitting on the rolling chair watching TV, she sighed. Oh well, I have to greet him.

"Hi dad."

"Where've you been?"

"Church."

He nods and returns to his program.

She then proceeded to her room and changed her clothes. That first question was still nagging for an answer. She ignores it for the nth time and takes off her shoes.

Her mind was so preoccupied with even more random things that she didn't even notice her door was half-open. Huh. Dad could've seen me. Oh well.

Ah, yes. She's very passive. For now.

While she was brushing her hair, she heard a fine tune coming from outside. Probably from a radio, since it was a bit muffled. She paused for a moment since the slightest move made the melodious sound inaudible. Wanting to hear more, she tied up her hair and walked out of her room slowly. As she followed the sound, she realized it was coming from her dad's room.

He left the radio on. Well, he always does.

The music was from the fifties. It was similar to those songs from the movie Breakfast at Tiffany's. She normally didn't like old music, but this was actually an exception. It was nice. Old, but new.

She stood in front of her dad's half-open door at the end of the unlit hallway. She moved in closer to the small opening, trying to hear it better. It was a song about a couple dancing on their wedding night. It described how the two moved across the floor, with their arms moving gracefully against one another. It was beautiful music.

She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes and imagined the whole scenario described in the song.

Listening to something simple like this was refreshing. It made her smile, thinking that the song was so innocent and true.

And just like that, the song was over. It faded out and the radio host's voice was back up and loud, forcing her eyes to open. Her face was back to a stoic expression and she realized she was back in the 21st century.

Reality may be as bitter as it may seem, but it felt lighter. It was a tad easier to deal with.

Suddenly, there it was -- complete with marquee lights, in big, bold, yellow letters, the perfect answer to her question.