Intermittent Thoughts

Catch Up

2011-10-13T17:50:00.002-04:00

Hi all,

It's been quite a while from the last time I've written in this blog. In no way did I entirely forget about it; I have just been swamped from juggling many things on my plate at the moment and haven't really found the time to sit myself down to write up a decent enough post.

So, what exactly have I been up to this past month? Between the span of August and now, I have been continuing a summer job I acquired in May as a Community Development Worker for the Vietnamese Women's Association of Toronto (VWAT). This association is a non-for-profit organization who provides free social services for those who require it (you need not be Vietnamese). Embedded in these services include, but are not limited to: community housing, immigration papers, counselling, translation, adjustment for newcomers (immigrants), etc. Moreover, aside from these services, VWAT strives to foster the growth of the Torontonian community, reaching out to children, youths and seniors with the hopes of one day becoming a nationally--and possible an internationally--recognized association. For more information, please feel free to visit: http://vwat.org/ and their Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/VWAToronto

During my summer employment position there, I was responsible for numerous tasks: writing letters to funders and politicians, asking for their continued support; leading a senior group in their community gardening project, taking them to different places including the Toronto Botanical Gardens; planning and teaching the weekly Canadian Citizenship Classes for anyone who wishes to obtain permanent residence in Canada both in Vietnamese and English; planning and leading a summer Day Camp for children between the ages of 5-15; and performing other administrative duties including the planning of the annual Mid-Autumn Lantern that just took place less than a month ago on September 17, 2011 at the Harbourfront Center.

Albeit only a temporary position, I've learned a lot through my working experience at VWAT and had the fortunate opportunity to develop quite a repertoire of skills whilst working with individuals off different age groups. It was undoubtedly a rewarding experience and if given the chance, I would not mind returning next year. I've met a lot of new faces, some of which I've established a close bond with and that's what makes working fun--being around people who bring enjoyment both into the job you do and into your day overall. I would add quite a bunch of photos, but for privacy purposes, I'll have to reserve photos of individuals.

Aside from this, with the coming of September, University returns once again and I am back for my third round out of five. Instead of the common five, I am taking six courses and they are proving to be a mouthful. There are a multitude of readings, assignments, and upcoming midterms that finding some breathing room is quite rare and difficult. Nonetheless, I am still kicking and I am excited to see what this year has in store. With that being said, it's evident that I have less time to write leisurely so my novel has been somewhat put on a hiatus. I have been intermittently writing and ideas are still pouring through, but it will take a much longer time before anything new gets posted. I hope to get a couple more in before the New Year.

On a final note, I have been asked to do an article soon so do keep an eye out for this. I have promised the person that after my mid-terms I'll work on the piece. I will also try to write more often even if it's a minor blurb. Anything is better than nothing, right?

I hope all of you are doing well and I thank you for popping by from time to time.

My best wishes to you all,

Nhan

Brand New Decade

2011-09-01T22:12:00.004-04:00

"...A birthday is a gift within itself, a blessing; a present of a new year filled with new hopes, dreams, accomplishments, and memories.

A few of days ago, I had the privilege of turning twenty, the end and the beginning of a decade of a life. I say it is a privilege because there are many out there who do not even live to see a few years let alone twenty.

A birthday is a gift within itself, a blessing; a present of a new year filled with new hopes, dreams, accomplishments, and memories. I remember as a child, the coveted part of birthdays would stem from seeing a large, colorful birthday cake followed by an array of presents. Now as the years have unfolded, such things prove insignificant and instead, what replaces them are wishes to spend your special day with loved ones, wishes to see the smile on their faces and have the exact expression plastered and mirrored on your own. Needless to say, a birthday cake and presents are always nice, but materialistic possessions no longer take precedence over human presence and memories; the latter simply has far more meaning and greater longevity. After all, the greatest gift of all now, for me, is the gift of a friend.

Many who have reached this milestone before me disclosed an infused feeling of finally growing up. As for my own experience, I really cannot vouch for the same sentiment. Either this is in part due to me "being quite mature for my age" (as quoted verbatim by others) or it's simply the fact that we are constantly growing up with every day that passes us by. I'll admit this much: my perspectives on life, values, and people have changed significantly. I would delve into details, but that would subject this post to be an unreasonably tedious length to read, so, in a nutshell: quantity has been blissfully exchanged with quality. Less is the new more and this will be the philosophy I'll carry with me in this new decade.

The 20s--it really is arguably the most important decade in one's life, well for me at least. I see my post-secondary graduation looming in the distance; I'm also entertaining the possibility of securing a solid career, the meeting of meeting a significant other and the potentiality of marriage and kids further down the line. This doesn't only apply to me, but for those I know as well. It's exciting more than anything; I'm dead beat curious to see how things will unfold, but at the same time, I'm in no rush at all.

So to conclude, the question everyone asks me on this day: What do I want for my birthday? I think I've answered the question indirectly already, but I'll do it again. What I want for my birthday is a solid body of friends, or friend who will remain by my side and love me for who I am rather than what I can give. One that will meet me halfway rather than allow me to traverse the distance on my own; one that will treat me like a dignified human being deserving of their time, thoughts, and care. On a more tangible scale, my one birthday wish remains the same as it had throughout the years that have passed: to see you once again and to welcome you back into my life, my long, estranged and lost father.

Book Review: Sing You Home

2011-08-24T11:34:00.006-04:00

Book Review

Sing You Home - Jodi Picoult

Rating: 5/5

I don't know if I have mentioned it before, but Jodi Picoult ranks herself as one of my all-time favourite authors; it is actually because of her, after reading My Sister's Keeper, that compelled me to attempt to become a novelist myself.

Sing You Home is Picoult's latest work (she's written so many books that I've lost track of what number this one would be) revolving around a music therapist, Zoe Baxter, who after ten years of experiencing difficulties in trying to get pregnant due to infertility complications and multiple miscarriages, might finally receive what she has desperately longed for--though not without a price to pay. After a horrible turn of events, her marriage with Max disintegrates; an unexpected friendship then blossoms into love, one that is frowned upon by those closest and dearest to Zoe; and Zoe finds herself in a myriad of strife on both religious and legal fronts revolving her potential child.

Sing You Home explores the present potent issues surrounding the world today about Religion, Love, Marriage, Family, Alcoholism, and Parenthood, all notably in the context of homosexuality. It is a book that makes readers question what really constitutes the concepts of "right" and "wrong", if there really is such a black and white answer or rather, a continuum of indistinguishable shades of grey instead. The overall tone and diction of Picoult's latest work proves to be an thoroughly engaging, realistic and an easy read. Readers will find themselves immersed in this story from the get-go and will find it slightly difficult, if not very difficult to put down for this is one of those stories that captivates and transport readers to a different world of fiction. The plot and story line of Sing You Home is also very well developed and the legality theme that predominates most of Picoult's works serve to be similar yet distinctively engaging in its own way.

I would definitely recommend this book for others to read. Presently I have flipped through a few pages of The Postmistress by Sarah Blake and I am taking my time with it. I also have to begin Jodi Picoult's previous work before this, House Rules, which I highly look forward too. After this, I might settle down and write some more of my own work if not head out to the bookstore and peruse around for another good read. My eyes are set on Lisa See's new novel, Dreams of Joy and The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo series. What do you think?

As usual, thank you for reading! Wishes for a good day!

Book Review: Lake of Dreams

2011-08-20T12:29:00.004-04:00

Book Review

Lake of Dreams - Kim Edwards

Rating: 3.5/5

Lately I've been taking some time out to read a couple of novels to gather inspiration and insight into the writing style of other established authors in attempts of refining my own for my debut novel, hence the reason for the lack of posting. The more I write, the more serious I am with my work and the more compelled I feel to make it an astounding piece of work.

In any event, Kim Edwards is best known for her phenomenal #1 New York Times best-seller, The Memory Keeper's Novel, a debut novel that I thoroughly enjoyed reading a few years ago. Lake of Dreams is Kim's second and latest effort--a story about a woman's--Lucy Jarrett's--homecoming and her journey there as she discovers family secret that changes the way she envisions her family, her surroundings along with the people around her, and her very own self; it leaves her with an adamant desire to seek out the truth once and for all because with this truth, Lucy feels she can finally bring her unstable life back on track. Amalgamated with this revelation is the conflicted emotional battle Lucy experiences between her present and past lover, the former currently away on work in another country and the latter, an unresolved flame that has yet to be burnt out completely.

Lake of Dreams highly draws upon and revokes the Suffrage Movement notably during the First World War--a movement by women in fighting for their right to vote in state elections. The overall diction of Kim's second piece is very detailed and refined, however, can prove difficult to understand at times; there are sections where the story feels a bit stretch and the vocabulary used might not be the easiest to read. Moreover, the story can be a bit hard to follow given the vast number of characters that are involved (which Kim was kind enough to add a genealogy tree at the end of her novel for those confused, like me). With that being said, the emotions and development in Kim's characters are raw and genuine. The personal conflicts each character faces reflects the commonplace ones we experience in our very own lives, which contributes a great deal to the relatability of this novel.

This review might be a bit biased given my indifference--or at times lack of interest-- to historical novels, but nevertheless, Lake of Dreams was a good read. I definitely learned a thing or two, but for me, The Memory Keeper's Daughter felt like a more compelling piece of work. I am still a fan and I look forward to what future novels Kim Edwards has in store for the mass population.

See you in the next post, everyone and as usual, many thanks for reading!

Novel: A Moment Like This [Chapter 34]

2011-07-25T22:46:00.002-04:00

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For other sections, click below:

A Moment like this

Nhan Ngo

[34]

January 4, 2010

If had I known then all the things that I know now, I can vouch with complete conviction I would have done things much differently. For instance, if I had known from the very start how consuming the ‘intelligent’ and ‘nice’ label could ferociously become, I’d have kept a much quieter profile.

If I had known that the number of elementary and high school friends would dwindle into not even a handful, I wouldn’t have been so emotionally invested. I wouldn’t have to be treated as if I magically owed everyone something, or be reprimanded for changing, for finally deciding to do things for myself. I would have saved so much time and so much energy, both that could have been geared towards other things.

If I had known I’d be in University of Toronto, provinces away at the age of eighteen, alone for the most part, on the brink of failing and losing my scholarship, all while holding a disdain for the majority of the subjects I am taking and questioning my competency to break into the medical field, I would have told myself to change direction early on and begin to take the courses that I like versus what my family wanted. I could have even kept my artistic talents, something I was both good at and thoroughly enjoyed rather than lock them up away and wonder whether or not “I still got it”.

If I had known my grandpa would pass away during my time in Toronto, I might not have even left Vancouver. I would’ve even been willing to endure further with my past and compromised my acceptance letter into UofT, my scholarship, and my chance to start over, all for a last chance to be with him in his final moments.

If I had known Thomas was not my father, I probably would have been more focused—or maybe not, but at least by now I’d have a better idea of who my real dad was. With all the CIA-like work I’ve been doing over the past decade or so, I’d probably figure out his identity by now had I not been given a false lead from someone that I had entrusted my complete confidence to.

If, if, and if—this is a far cry from wanting to have the ability to time travel to the past and correcting your mistakes; this is a silent wish for a future version of yourself or some sort of device to come and delineate to you all the possible outcomes—or all the possible consequences and ramifications for that matter—that can arise from your present decisions and actions so you have a clearer sense and understanding between right and wrong. Life then would be simple at its finest.

But at the same time life would be rendered mundane, monotonous and prosaic. If you knew everything that was to take place in your life, what then, is the point of living? To live doesn’t necessarily mean you’re alive; to live is about thriving in the unknown and immersing oneself in all the possibilities that are out there with a grain of salt and a leap of faith. If all the things that have unfolded in my life thus far have not happened, I wouldn’t be where I am today; I wouldn’t have learned the things I’ve had or experienced the emotions I’ve encountered, I wouldn’t have met other people who are slowly shaping to be the best things that’s yet to ever happen to me. I wouldn’t have felt the potentiality and thresholds of the human person, the cruelty that can be imposed and afflicted on it and the insight of how to endure them. Life, as I know it, is an endless perpetuating cycle of daring and tempting fate along with the innumerable chances imbued within it.

School resumed again today. It’s now the second semester and it is to last from now until mid-April, which gives me about a little over three months give and take to kick things back into gear, get my marks up, and salvage the remainder of my scholarship if I want to continue pursuing my studies here for the next few years.

It happens every time school resumes: this adrenaline rush to do good, to try hard, and to put out my best effort. If only it lasted. Normally it would only take a month at most before I convert over to procrastinating and being lazy. The “I’ll try harder next year” mentality would domineer, seeping its way through and once the end of the school year commences, regret hits. I think it’s safe to say though that this pattern is very well commonplace amidst the majority of students and not just a unique habit of my own.

Earlier today, the entire sky outside was a resplendent shade of white. It was as if all the clouds have been abashed, the aftermath a blur of snow swaying uncontrollably with the wind. Looking at each flake more closely, they actually look like tiny cotton swabs. The tree branches were bare, some scathed white; it was definitely a Winter Wonderland out there and I was afraid to be outside to taste the bitter cold elicited by the spectacle before me, but I had no choice. I find myself hypocritical sometimes—come winter I’d turn up the heat and wish for the warmer days of summer; come summer, I’d wish for the heat to subside and bring forth cooler weather. Maybe if the years transitioned only between the flux of spring and fall, I think I might be satisfied then.

And now, with the day drawing to a close, I’m safely indoors, warm and cozy in a pair of grey sweats with a white tee, the previous wintry setting replaced by a gradient dusk from black to navy blue to orange. An arm comes up gently from behind across my back and Amadeo pops by beside me with two mugs of white herbal tea. He was in a pair of trousers with a striped polo tucked into the waist. I’ve noticed lately he’s been dressing more formal now compared to the raggedy clothes he had with him before. It suited him really well and the fact that he was once a homeless man is slowly becoming more of an illusion rather than a memory.

“For you,” he handed me a mug and I can see the wisp of white steam swirling on the top. We’ve just finished dinner, an unusual late one because for some reason neither member felt like eating at around six so we postponed it for an hour and a half.

“Thanks,” I said with a smile and the two of us looked out quietly into the city, watching the sun slowly fading away and bidding its farewell for the night.

“So, how was your first day back?”

“It’s as if the professors don’t understand the meaning of taking things slowly at first,” I answered. “I mean, I just got back from a holiday.”

Amadeo chuckled. “Well, if you were to compare it to high school, technically they have two months less to teach and double, if not triple the amount of material to cover then so I really don’t blame them.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“How have your marks been?”

Horrible, I had wanted to say, but instead I lied and told him they were adequate. I know I had promised Amadeo I’d tell him everything, but I didn’t want him to worry about the possibility of having my scholarship revoked. He looked so tired as of late from the long hours he’s been putting into the bakery job that I didn’t want to add on to the strain. Yesterday he announced to me over dinner that they were willing to keep him on the team full-time now. He had offered to chip in with the rent and food now that he has some steady income, but I did not relent. Of course it would help, but I told him to save it instead for when I return back to Vancouver early May.

Speaking of which, I still haven’t crafted out a well induced plan yet should the worst happen and I end up losing the remaining monetary grant to study here. Breaking it to my mom would be easy; she’ll be disappointed, but simultaneously happy that I will be closer to home. It’s Emmanuel, Evelyn and mostly Amadeo that I am worried about. In Emmanuel I’ve found a brother I never had. Growing up as an only child, you sometimes wish for a sibling here and there and here one was, even if not by blood, it was the closest thing to it. With Evelyn and with each passing day, I find myself growing very fond of spending time and being with her, but the closer I get to that point of liking her and admitting it, the quicker I stop myself, reminding me that it’s not the right thing to do because not only is there a possibility I might not return to Toronto, I’m not ready. I thought I was, but with Abigail’s arrival a week ago proved otherwise; I’m still shaken, scarred to say the least.

And finally there’s Amadeo. My rental contract with the tenant of this place ends the exact same time second semester does. Where would he go when that day comes? If I return, will he save enough to find a place to stay until then? If I didn’t, what will he do? Will his job be able to grant him a shelter from now on or will he be out on the streets again? What then would happen to us? Suddenly what just felt like an illusion a moment ago now reverted back to being a vivid past time.

“Don’t fret too much,” Amadeo began again, mistaking the real source of my worry. “The common pattern is that your marks will drop during first year, but they’ll rise again from there once you get the hang of it. The most important thing is that you don’t become disheartened and quit. Universities tend to try to weed out as many first years as they can because they want to ensure their graduates are ones who can endure.”

“I know,” I said. “Don’t worry, I won’t quit. I’ve come too far to do so anyway.”

“That’s my boy,” Amadeo smiled. “Oh by the way, I have something to show you,” Amadeo places his tea cup on the coffee table and bends over the sofa to grab something in his jacket pocket, but before he could show me what it was there were a few knocks on the door. I walked over to open it and when the door swung open I froze, my eyes widening with shock to see my mom standing in front of me. Her face was pink, whether battered from the weather outside or from the anger that masked her face or both I hadn’t a clue.

“M-mom?” I stammered. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the very same question,” she spoke sternly and walked in without a welcome.

“Mom, I can explain.”

“You can explain in the car. Thomas is waiting for us downstairs. Grab all your things. We are going home, now.”

I winced at the mention of Thomas’s name, but my mom didn’t notice this. Instead she and Amadeo were facing each other. The latter gave a curt smile and walked over.

“My name is Amadeo,” he extended a hand.

To my surprise, my mom didn’t shake it; she was always so polite, but clearly not tonight. Understanding the decline of formalities, Amadeo retracts his hand and places it into his pocket.

“I know who you are,” she merely said. “And I’m disappointed that an adult like you doesn’t know better to tell a child to return home with his family rather than keep him here.”

Amadeo smiled, unfazed. “I believe Brendan is way past the age of a child and is old enough to make his own decisions.”

“You are in no position to demarcate to me what you believe or do not believe about my son. You barely even know him,” my mom replied evenly.

I felt guilt-ridden seeing my mom talk to Amadeo in this kind of way. He was innocent and had absolutely nothing to do with this. The realization made me really want to step in, but I didn’t know what to say. Amadeo, on the other hand, kept a calm composure and did not seem to mind the slightest. He straightened his posture before speaking. “Then why would you assert your disappointment just now if my position proves null and void? I’d surmise from this you wouldn’t see your own personal family affairs to be contingent on external input so have I not been giving you exactly just that?”

My mom opens her mouth, but no words come out and I stare at Amadeo in amazement. Whenever my mom and I would disagree on something, it would take me at least an hour with an essay to assert my opinions and get my mom to try and accept them, yet here all it took Amadeo was a mere couple of minutes and sentences. I ought to learn a thing or two from him.

“Mom,” I called out and she immediate turned at the sound of my voice. You can tell on the spot she was furious, the most I’ve ever seen her.

“We are going home, now.”

Amadeo and I shared a glance and I quickly nodded, subliminally telling him that I am able to handle this on my own. He understood and walked away into the hallway. I waited until I heard the door to my bedroom close. “I’m not going back to Thomas’—”

“No, Brendan. We’re going home,” my mom repeated and it took me a moment to register what she meant. When I did, a syringe of rebellion injected itself into my bloodstream.

“No mom. I am not going anywhere with you. I’m in the middle of the school year, for Christ’s sake.”

“Look at you. Just a few months and you’re already talking back. We can forget this year and you can start again next year,” my mom said as if it was the easiest decision to make. I shot her an incredulous look in return.

“I’ll pretend you didn’t just say that and I am not talking back. Has it ever occurred to mom that I’m less than two years shy from turning twenty? I am not a kid anymore. I can perfectly take care of myself.”

“Perfectly take care of yourself? You lied to me and tarnished my reputation, Brendan!”

“Well forgive me because—wait what? Tarnish your reputation? What on Earth are you talking about?”

“Katherine gave me a call yesterday and she confided in me everything.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh for the love of—”

“Rejecting her hospitality, publicly degrade her and storming out of her house despite her attempts to convince you to remain at home? I expected better from you, Brendan. How could you disrespect an adult like that after everything I’ve taught you? I’ve never been more humiliated in my life.”

I let out a long breath in disbelief. “Are you done, mom?”

“I beg your pardon?” My mom looks at me as if I slapped her in the face.

“I should be the one to beg yours,” I shot back. “So far this whole conversation has been about you. What about me? Did you ever take a minute to think to yourself to hear my side of the story before jumping the fun?”

“You lied to me, Brendan.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I did and you know what? I lied to you about other things as well. Remember July? Well, here’s the deal, Thomas didn’t drive me when I arrived; we didn’t explore the city together. I was left stranded at the airport by myself for two hours and eventually took the taxi home because he had to work and your confidante refused to pick me up.”

My mom takes in a breath, trying to digest the newly found information I was relentlessly throwing at her.

“The only degrading that was done was on the both of us,” I continued. “I tried to defend you as much as I can, taking blows after blows, but I never knew you carried and hid so much shame and disappointment to a point where I couldn’t even counter anymore. Yet despite this, I tried to stay; it was Katherine who pushed me away, but I lied and told you everything was okay because I knew this was the price of living with another woman’s of dad and didn’t want you to worry.”

My mom clenched the handle of her black leather purse, the victim of her disappointment—me, Thomas, Katherine—remains unknown.

“So I lied, mom. Big deal! Comparing them all to that one lie you committed of not telling me about the other man you slept with who has the possibility of being my father, I’d think all of mines would be deemed insignificant.”

My mom flinched at the word slept. “I lied for your own good, to save you from all the trouble and take it on my own.”

“Well then that makes two of us, doesn’t it?”

“Brendan,” my mom lowered her tone. “Thomas is your dad.”

“You don’t know that,” I asserted. But I do, I had wanted to say, yet kept to myself.

“I do, Brendan. He’s your father,” my mom assured and I looked away at the erroneous connection, struggling to compose myself. “You don’t have to worry Thomas is—”

“Is not my dad!” I snapped and cut my mom off. I couldn’t stand seeing her delude herself anymore.

“Brendan, listen to me,” my mom walked over to coax, but I took a step back.

“No mom, you listen. Thomas is not my dad and I have the results to prove it,” I revealed with surprising firmness. The colour drains from my mom’s face. She looked completely vulnerable like this and it pained me to verbally attack her more, but I had to. After all as the saying goes, the truth hurts.

“The night the three of us argued at your hotel room and I left early, I went to gather some samples and shipped them off to a paternity test clinic the following day,” I explained. “The results came back a few days ago and Thomas...well, Thomas is not my dad.”

As I said the words, reality hit again and I could feel my hands begin to tremble slightly. It felt like I’ve never really grasp the complete impact of the words even though they have been the only ones I haven’t been regurgitating since New Year’s Eve. The purse in my mom’s hand dropped to the floor and both her arms drooped by her side as she knelt down where she was, unmoving, eyes distant as if her soul had been displaced elsewhere just now.

I knelt down beside her. “It’s okay, mom,” I assured. “You see we don’t have to deal with this anymore. We don’t have to deal with Katherine and her contempt towards us. When she finds out the result, she’ll leave us alone and can live a happy life with Brian and Thomas now. We can be happy too without being plague by this.”

At the mention of Thomas, my mom looks up at me with fearful eyes. “Don’t tell Thomas,” my mom warned in a whisper. “And don’t tell Katherine or Brian or anyone else either.”

I furrowed my eyebrows together. “Why not mom?”

“Just don’t,” she firmly commanded. “I’ll let you stay here for the remaining school year and for as long as you like. All that I ask is for you not to tell Thomas. He’d—” my mom stopped and shook her head, entertaining a thought.

My eyes blinked a few times, aghast. I had won and gotten what I wanted, but I was confused now. “What is up with you, mom? First you and Thomas don’t see each other for well over a decade and I find out you’ve been conversing with one another behind my back. You come here unannounced during Christmas and the two of you acted as if you’ve seen each other yesterday and if I’m not mistaken, I’d even go so far to say you guys were rekindling your past romance as well. And now here you are, initially adamant on forcing me to return home with you yet upon revealing that Thomas was not my father, you’re protecting him? What gives? They’ve been thinking we’re home wreckers, mom, Katherine and all her friends. Don’t you see, that’s not the case anymore, unless...” I let my words linger in the air, unwilling to entertain the possibility that whomever my mom was with other than Thomas also fathered a previous child.

“No, no, Mark did not have previous love child. That I made sure,” my mom read my mind and spoke more to thin air than to me. So that was his name, I thought to myself—Mark. Why did that sound so familiar? Wait... my stomach instantly lurched at the recognition of the name. It can’t be...

“Mark?!” I got up from where I was in disbelief. My mom looks up at me, confused by my reaction. “Please tell me,” I emphasized each word, “that he was not once part of your group and is currently friends with Melanie, Jessica, Timothy, and Katherine?”

My mom didn’t answer, but her eyes stretched open to its full capacity, the fear in her eyes magnified and that was more than enough to tell me that I was right. With the nonverbal admittance, I stammered back a few steps and struggled to maintain my balance. My dad, my real dad was right in front of me a few months ago. But wait. I put my thoughts on hold for a moment.

“Does he know?” I asked. My heart was beating quickly with suspense as I waited for an answer.

My mom immediately shook her head. “I never told him.”

“But Katherine knew and...” I spoke quietly to myself, yet my mom was still able to hear and her jaw dropped. Although like me, she hasn’t a clue as to how Katherine found out, she was still able to surmise the ramifications. This explains why Katherine was able to boldly claim she knew much more than I and she did. I was in a swamp full of crocodiles yet I foolishly dared to plunge in anyway.

Surprisingly, I wasn’t interested in that. Instead, I was thinking about Mark and putting some pieces of the puzzle together. That explains why he looked uncomfortable and didn’t join in Melanie and Jessica’s taunting, why he didn’t look me in the face throughout the whole mockery, why he kept the photo with my mom still in it, why he nervously apologize to me and my dad at the end before promptly leaving, why he...stood out. My mom may not have told Mark, but he knew...he knew there was a chance, a possibility and so did Katherine. It wasn’t rocket science what can happen when two people slept together.

“And what about Thomas? I know he knows you were with another guy, but does he know it was Mark?”

My mom tilts her head down with shame and shakes her head. “I tried to tell him, but he never wanted to know...Brendan—” my mom attempted to speak, but I shook my head in disgust, knowing now that Katherine’s confidence was no longer a bluff, but more real and potent than ever imagined.

“I need you to leave,” I said without looking at my mom.

My mom gets up after a moment and her upright posture at the door a while ago changed into a slouch, all form of energy drained, her trench coat and black dress pants with it as she picked up her purse and looks at me with pained eyes, but it didn’t deter me the slightest.

“Don’t tell Thomas, Brendan. Please, just don’t,” my mom pleaded with me. Her tone of voice brought back a mental image—embedded in my mind with courtesy to Katherine—of her on bended knees doing the same for Thomas many years ago, begging him not to leave. I closed my eyes to try to scrape away the humiliating image. When I opened them again, there were no longer any signs of sympathy or empathy.

“You’re in no position right now to tell me what I should or should not do,” my eyes flickered with anger with every word that came out from my mouth.

“Brendan, I begging you,” my mom said with desperation, her eyes welling up with tears.

“Give me a good reason why I shouldn’t.”

The lips of my mom presses together into a thin line, a sign that she was debating whether or not to reveal to me something else that she clearly knew and I didn’t.

“Mom,” I sternly called out and looked directly into her eyes, my patience gone. “What else are you hiding from me?”

She looks away.

“I can’t handle any more secrets, mom. You owe it to me; you owe me the truth!” I raised my voice and she turned to me again, eye to eye, a teardrop falling down the right side of her cheek.

“Because Thomas is sick, Brendan, fatally sick. He has Hodgkin’s Lymphoma and he’s in the final stages.” she finally said.

I didn’t know what that was specifically, but I did know it was a type of cancer and the connotations behind it, especially when couple with the words: final stages. I let out a sigh and stretch the length of my face with one of my hands. Once again, things decide to topple into my plate all at once. I needed time to think clearly, but to do that my mom needed to leave.

“Well then I suppose that is your problem and his to deal with and not mine seeing as how I have no relations to him whatsoever.”

“But he thinks that you do. Don’t you see? It’ll devastate him.”

Despite being disorientated and quite furious at her discarding how I felt, I gave what my mom said a thought. I didn’t want to be the cause of someone’s death, even if wasn’t my fault in the first place.

“Alright,” I conceded. “I won’t tell him.”

My mom lets out a sigh of relief.

“But I’m not going to act as if he’s my dad either,” I continued. “He can entertain the thought all he wants, it won’t be reciprocated.”

“But this was the reason he wanted you to stay over his place all these months,” my mom countered.

“And I garner that this was also the reason why you even allowed me to come over here in the first place given your ludicrous compromise?”

My mom hesitantly nods and I opened the door, gravely disappointed.

“Well then I repeat what I said before: that this is your problem to deal with and Thomas’s. I’m already doing the both of you a great favour, but I cannot say the same for Katherine. If she already knows this much, I can only imagine what else and I figure it’s only a matter of time before everything spills out. By then, you can assure yourself that I will make sure not to be involved.”

Surprisingly my mom does not say anything and obliges with another nod, understanding that I wasn’t in any mood to negotiate further. She lifts the handle of her purse to her shoulder and walks past me. “Thank you,” she whispered and walked away. I didn’t say anything and closed the door, looking at the ceiling as if it contained all the answers I was looking for. This would be a very good time for my future self to pop by.

When I gazed back into the living room again, Amadeo was standing across from me in the hallway, shaking his head sympathetically. I merely shrugged my shoulders and straddled over to the windows overseeing the city and gazed out. Amadeo followed. The skies were pitch dark now, thick flocks of snow cascading down from the clouds to the ground. I welcomed the thought of taking a walk alone, but I knew that Amadeo would never allow it after what happened during New Year’s Eve and I wasn’t in the mood to convince him otherwise.

“What’s on your mind?” Amadeo asked me.

“Too many to name, but from a general standpoint, two words: why me?”

Amadeo didn’t answer immediately, but when he did, his voice was soft and comforting. “I’m very sorry to see you go through all of this, Brendan. You don’t deserve it.”

“That’s what I tell myself, but God seems to differ.”

“Perhaps He has something great for you waiting in the end.”

“Perhaps, but we’ll never know.”

“God wouldn’t give you anything you cannot handle.”

I pressed a smile. “You sounded just like a priest there.”

“Maybe I am,” Amadeo joked. “I am unmarried after all and I don’t have any kids.”

At the mention of the word ‘kids’, the smile on my face wiped itself off. Amadeo notices this as well. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

I shook my head. “I know you didn’t, but you shouldn’t be the one to apologize, I should. The way my mom treated you just now was unacceptable.”

“But she didn’t know, so I don’t blame her the slightest.”

“No, but I did. And you should blame me because I should have told her from the start instead of having it get to this point. Now I’m just a mirror image of her, lying and holding secrets.”

“To try and protect the ones we love from harm,” Amadeo extended. “Trust me, I would know.”

I turn to face him. “I want to, I really do, but somehow I don’t think the ends justify the means here.”

“Maybe not or maybe so, but the fact of the matter here is that we’re human, Brendan and humans make mistakes. Some more than others, but we’re never perfect. The only thing we’re perfect at is being imperfect.”

I nodded. “

“Remember when I doubted you after all those months of running into each other down on Bay Street?” Amadeo asked.

“Of course I do, why?”

“Don’t you think the same charade is happening here between you and Thomas, irrespective of whether or not he is your dad? Right now it’s only you and your mom that knows the real conclusive results. Katherine has a hunch, but she doesn’t have the evidence.”

“I don’t quite see the correlation.”

“Before this, you and Thomas were in the same predicament. Neither knew about the certainty of your biological relation. Not to mention, Thomas knew longer than you have and has been trying for months, or years even, to try and establish a connection with you, regardless of the possibility that you might not be his son. What and how much more can he do to get you to believe that he genuine cares about you? Just like you, surely you must have asked that when I was being a stubborn a-hole in your rear?”

I hate to admit it, but Amadeo was right.

“And if it’s any consolation, this old man here can vouch that Thomas really cares about you.” Amadeo continued and played his ultimate trump card—the beady eyed smile that brought a sparkle to it and more wrinkles around their corners. When things began to change and unravel for the better between the both of us, Amadeo’s used that on me quite a few times—to convince me to eat when I wasn’t hungry, to relax and join him for a little bit of television when I was studying for hours on end, to accompany him on walks, and things like that that. Sadly, it worked every time, including now and Amadeo knew this because I could see the smugness permeating through on his face.

I rolled my eyes. “With what coupon?”

Amadeo held my glance. “The one saying that I would have done the absolute same if not more persistent and annoying to win back the person I hold dear to my heart.”

I remain silent and Amadeo takes my cell phone and hands it to me with a cheeky grin.

“I hate you, you know that?” I took the phone from him and dialled my dad’s cell phone number. Just then I remembered my mom telling me Thomas was at the bottom of my condo waiting and I immediately hung up.

“I can’t call him.”

Amadeo frowned. “Why not?”

“He could still be driving my mom to wherever. Remember she said he was waiting for us?”

“Oh, right.” Amadeo slapped his forehead. “Silly me, how could I forget. Maybe a text then?”

I let a breath escape my nose. “You aren’t going to let me slide on this one, are you?”

“You sure as hell bet I’m not.”

Groaning and switching over to the texting panel, I typed:

Hi Dad,

Would you like to grab dinner this weekend?

Either date is fine.

Let me know.

“There, happy?” I said and showed the message to Amadeo before I pressed Send.

“Overjoyed,” Amadeo smiled.

“Didn’t you say you had something to show me?”

Amadeo pointed a finger at me. “Ah yes, you’re right,” he walks over to his jacket on his sofa again and I couldn’t help myself but look towards the door as he did so, hoping there will not be anymore interruptions tonight.

“Now where did I put it, ow!” Amadeo winced and brought a hand to his back.

“Is everything okay?”

“It’s just my back that’s all. Old age, you can’t escape it.”

“Why don’t you take the bedroom tonight and I’ll sleep out here.”

Amadeo waved it off. “No, no, I’m fine. Nothing an Advil or Tylenol can’t fix, don’t worry, I’m fine out here.”

I tested the cushion of the sofa—it was too soft for back support “No you’re not. You’re sleeping on the bed tonight and I won’t be taking no for an answer.”

“And where exactly are you going to sleep?”

“Out here. I’m much younger so I can handle it.”

Amadeo shakes his head. “Are you kidding me? I’ll karate chop you.”

“Just for tonight then,” I compromised. “Tomorrow I’ll head out and by an air mattress or something.”

“No, that does not suffice.”

I stared at Amadeo in disbelief. His stubbornness can sometimes be a sight for sore eyes. “Bottom line you’re not sleeping out here,” I pointed to the sofa.

“And neither are you,” Amadeo pouted his lips and tiled his chin upward.

“Alright then Einstein, then what do you suggest?”

“I’ll sleep in the bed if you sleep in it with me.”

I blinked. “You’re joking, right?”

“By far from it. The bed’s big enough. It’s king size for crying out loud and it’s not like we’re a married couple. You’re acting as if you never slept beside someone before.”

“I haven’t.”

“Explain Christmas Eve then,” Amadeo crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows. “Last I checked, someone claimed to be comfortable.”

I let out a sigh. “Are you sure this is the only way to get you to sleep in the bedroom?”

“The only way,” Amadeo’s head curved upward and he closed his eyes as a sign that he won’t be accepting any more offers; it was a take it or leave it deal.

“Oh alright, fine, whatever you want. Now lie down on your stomach.”

Amadeo looks at me with a confused expression. “Why?”

“You’ll see in a moment,” I headed into the washroom to grab a bottle of Medicated oil. In the Southeast Asian culture, we used this ointment to deal with muscle pain rather than resort to pills and it works. When I walked out to the living room again, Amadeo was still looking for what he wanted to show me.

“Here we are,” Amadeo pulls out a cell phone of his own, while rubbing his back. It was a Sony Ericsson. I forget the name of the model, but it looked fairly recent.

“I was just thinking of buying you one,” I remarked. “Especially during that time when you’re barely at home and I’m wondering what you’re doing.”

“Looks like I beat you to the punch.”

“You sure did. Wait. Do you even know how to use it?” I teased.

Amadeo shot me a look to which I raised my hands in a surrendering gesture. “Just asking.”

“Okay, maybe I might need some help,” he frowned and I laughed.

“Well, I have time, but before I do, lie down on your back like I said first.”

Amadeo squinted his eyes. “What are you up to?”

“Like I said, you’ll see. Besides, I listened to you and texted my dad and agreed to sharing a bed with you. The least you could do is comply to a simple request?”

“Oh alright,” Amadeo obliges and lies down. I take a seat beside him and lifted his shirt up, poured a bit of the ointment on his back and began using a quarter to lightly scratch his back from the spine horizontally outward.

“This might hurt a bit, but it’ll alleviate your back pain for a while” I said while repeating the same pattern a few times, a red mark forming in response. Amadeo closed his eyes and didn’t budge while I did this throughout the width of his back, leaving about an inch between each stripe on both the right side and left of his spine. When that was done, I made two more lines, this time down the length, adjacent and parallel to his spinal cord. I then poured out one final amount of ointment and lathered it over the span of his back, massaging it while I was at it. Even though I might not be a professional, I knew well enough that Amadeo had quite a few knots here and there. Once finished, I slid Amadeo’s shirt back down and he sat up.

“How does it feel?” I asked.

Amadeo twists in his spot. “My back feels a tad hot, but much better. Where did you learn this?”

“My mom use to do the same on me whenever I had a cold. It was a substitute to ingesting medications I guess you could say.”

“Hm,” Amadeo gave what I said a thought. “So you prefer the eastern tradition of medicine.”

“Not wholeheartedly. I value both; I don’t think one can exist without the other.”

“Well put,” Amadeo said. “Anyway, thank you for that though.”

“Don’t mention it. It’s the least I could do. Now let’s have a look at your phone.”

The first thing I did was input my number in his and his in mine before showing Amadeo the 101’s of texting, answering a call, declining a call, changing settings and how to use the camera.

“Can we take a picture of us?” he asked with an excitement comparable to that of a little kid after I did a demonstration.

I shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

The two of us huddled closer on the sofa as Amadeo outstretched his arm and took a photo of us, his free hand around my shoulders. He then manoeuvred through a few keys and to my amazement, sets the picture as his wallpaper with ease. Amadeo then looks up at me with a gloating countenance. Someone’s a quick learner, I thought to myself.

“Ok Mr. Big Shot, try sending that photo to me through Bluetooth.”

Creases formed in between Amadeo’s eyebrows. “A what tooth?”

“Bluetooth,” I repeated. “Think of it as sending an e-mail on the computer without all the wires.”

“Why Blue? Why can’t it be green, or yellow, or sharp?”

I chuckle. “I don’t know. Ask the inventors. Come on. Give it a try.”

“Um...”

The confused expression on Amadeo’s face turn my chuckle into a full-fledge laugh. “Here I’ll show you.”

Amadeo looks on to see what I am doing, attentive.

“There,” I handed his phone back to him and fiddled around with mine for a moment. “Now we have the same picture.”

“We look great as usual,” Amadeo commented and I nodded in agreement while looking at the identical wallpaper on my phone screen with the both of us smiling. I noticed I was happy, even if I was doing poorly in school and could get my scholarship revoked. I was happy, even if I just had a fight with my mom. I was happy even if Katherine was out there to ruin my life, even if Thomas wasn’t my dad and even if Mark—someone whom I didn’t expect at all—was. I was happy and it showed not only in my smile, but in my eyes as well, the real indicator of genuine emotions.

Suddenly my phone vibrates and a black box appears with the word “Thomas” in it. Amadeo sees this too and he raises his eyebrows at the timing. I picked up after the second ring.

“Hello?”

“Brendan?”

“Hi dad,” I said the paternal label effortlessly. “I’d wanted to call earlier, but figured you might have been in the car so sent you a text instead. I assume you got my message.”

“I did,” he said after a brief pause, my guess being he was regurgitating the fact that I actually called him ‘dad’. “And I would have texted back, but there would have been too much to say back and forth when everything could be arranged in one phone call.”

“It’s alright. I don’t mind. Where is mom?”

“At a hotel for now,” my dad answered, a bit of concern traced in his tone. “She said she’ll be leaving tomorrow. Brendan listen, I didn’t tell her, it was—”

“Don’t worry I know it wasn’t. If it was, I wouldn’t send you a text asking you to dinner now would I?”

“How did you manage to convince her?”

“It wasn’t easy, that’s for sure.”

“I can only imagine,” my dad answered, “but if you don’t mind me asking, why the sudden change of heart? I tried asking your mom when I saw your text, but she didn’t reveal much.”

Actually, I did mind and was afraid that he would because I had to make it very convincing that I didn’t know he was both sick and not my father. But instead, “after arguing with mom, she made me realize that I hadn’t been fair to you ever since coming here so I wanted to make it up to you,” I lied, hoping that across the phone it came across as authentic.

“You don’t have to,” my dad assured with a calm voice.

“I want to. Will Saturday or Sunday be good for you?”

“Let’s do Saturday then,” my dad decided. “Monday you have school so you might want to get some work done the day before.”

“Alright,” I agreed. “Do you have a place and time in mind?”

“How about I stop by at your place at around six and we’ll browse around to see what appeals to the both of us?”

“That sounds great. I’ll see you then.”

“Okay. Well have a great sleep tonight...son.”

I closed my eyes at the last word, a numbness creeping in. Who knew a simple three letter word could hurt so much. Seeing this, Amadeo reaches over and clasps my hand, nodding assuringly and I did the same to indicate I was okay.

“You too...dad.”

“Oh, Brendan?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you for giving me a chance.”

I let out a breath through my nose, wondering if this was the right thing to do. I was fulfilling the wish of someone whose only relationship to me is by a thread and a figment of the imagination, someone who is ill and is about to leave this life, but was it right deceiving someone like this. Didn’t lies complicate things? Then again, everything was already complicated anyway.

“I’m only returning the favour,” I finally managed to say, “bye now.”

Upon hanging up the phone, I looked at the time and it was already ten at night. Time flies when you don’t pay attention and this applied to arguments as well.

“I think we ought to call it a night,” Amadeo suggested.

“I think we should, but you go first. I want to sit out here for a bit and will join you shortly.”

“Oh no, nice try, sport” Amadeo said and I turned to face him, confused. “I’m not sleeping until you are going to sleep as well.”

“When did that rule apply?”

“When a certain someone prohibited me from sleeping on the sofa.”

“To save your back,” I argued. “Besides, I already agreed to join you.”

“Not convinced. For all I know you might end up falling asleep here and I will not have that. Not to mention, I don’t think my back can pass for carrying you in.”

I groaned. “Okay fine, fine, I’ll go. Geez, some trust.”

“I’ll trust you after tonight,” Amadeo pulled his beady eyed smile again.

I narrowed my eyes. “And one night makes a difference how?”

“Easy,” Amadeo crossed his arms. “Actions speak louder than words.”

I shook my head and got up from the sofa with Amadeo following behind. He brought two hands on my shoulder and guided me even though I didn’t need any help. Oddly enough, the gesture made me smile.

Amadeo let me wash up and brush my teeth first and then we switched. While waiting for him, I decided to take the time to peruse through my e-mails on the laptop and as I was doing so, I remembered the photo of Thomas and I stored in the cupboard along with my paternity test. After New Year’s Eve, I hadn’t touched either of them. I slid the drawer open and took them both out again, scanning the results over briefly once more—why I had no idea—and lingered on the photograph. Pairing them side by side, the two felt strikingly disconnected to one another and I hid the former deep into the contents of my drawer and tore the latter into pieces: one—a prevention of something ill-fated, the other—a still-life recollection of a memory that shouldn’t have even been there in the first place, both—a collateral damage to both my heart and mind.

Upon ensuring the picture was rendered to fragments, I gathered them up in my hand and threw them in the small chrome garbage bin underneath my desk, imagining it being picked up and being relocated the dumps where it will be lost, gone forever, their only existence in my mind. Shortly after, Amadeo comes in a pair of charcoal pyjamas and playfully jumps on the bed with an inviting grin. I walked over and Amadeo pulls the white comforter open.

“Careful now before you break your back,” I said while getting in bed and fixing my pillow.

Amadeo frowned. “I’m not that fragile.”

“You never know,” I said and Amadeo lies down beside me.

“It looks like someone wants me to be crippled,” he accused.

“Quite the contrary, I care about your well-being.”

“Do you really?” he turned to look at me and I did the same, nodding in assurance.

Amadeo smiled. “Well, goodnight honey,” he winked and turned off the lamp on his side. “Sleep tight; don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

I rolled my eyes and turned off mine as well. “Say that again and I’ll make sure they do.” I said and Amadeo chuckled.

“We’ll suffer together then,” he mused.

“Goodnight,” I said sternly and jokingly.

“Sweet dreams,” he turned over to face the window.

“You as well,” I whispered and brought the comforter over me, the coolness of the fabric a comfort to the skin. Amadeo was right, even with two people, there was more than enough space on the bed to make it seem as if no one was there at all. It was a good thing I’m not a mover when asleep; normally I’d stay in one spot and remain in the same position when awake. There are even times where when the temperature is a bit chilly and I would turn into a gerbil, taking up just a quarter of a bed. Whoever is my wife in the future will surely benefit from that, that’s for sure.

I brought my hands behind the back of my head, staring up at the ceiling glowing in an opalescent white from the radiance of the moon outside. With the little open space of the windows, the curtains ebbed and flowed gently in ripples with the breeze. I turn to look at Amadeo. To my surprise he had fallen already and had turned to face me without my awareness, his breathing even and like the ceiling, his greying hair also glowing in the moonlight. Poor guy, he must have been really tired. Even when sleeping, Amadeo’s face had a faint natural smile adding a further conviction of his affable and gentle nature. Oddly enough, I felt more comfortable with him beside me. I felt safe, protected even in both a physical and emotional sense. But most of all, for the very first time in my life, I didn’t feel alone anymore.

And with that thought, I too fell asleep.

Personal Greeting

2011-07-13T00:40:00.003-04:00

Hi everyone,

It's been quite a while since I've last personally addressed all of you. As per usual, I would like to extend my gratitude to everyone around and across the globe who have taken their time out to visit this blog and read what has been posted here. If you have not already noticed, the bulk of my recent posts over the past couple of months have mainly focused on my novel. Entitled to a generous amount of free time granted by summer vacation, I have written quite extensively and with the most recent chapter posted, Chapter 33, this concludes the second of three sections of my story. Aggregating all of what I have written thus far into a cohesive document, I've written a total of 297 pages with about 121 000 words. That, to me, is a substantial, humble and incredible feat and it excites me to see my work being slowly bounded together en route into completion.

In light of this, I will be taking a brief break from writing any new chapters and take some time out to go back and revise my older ones. I have recently began today and have gotten through and edited eight out of the thirty three and hope to do more with the coming days. I thank you again and sincerely appreciate your continued time, support, and feedback along this journey of mines. My fingers are crossed that one day the ultimate goal of seeing this story bound into a book will see fruition. Until another time.

Stay well and God bless,

Nhan Thanh Ngo

Novel: A Moment Like This [Chapter 33]

2011-07-12T10:50:00.002-04:00

~*~*~*~*~*~

For other sections, click below:

A Moment like this

Nhan Ngo

[33]

December 31^th, 2009

It’s eight in the evening and it’s already pitch dark outside as if it was well late into the night, the city glowing iridescently in flutters of white, yellow and orange beneath the crescent moon and interspersed stars. I am sitting at my dining table, taking the last sip out of the congee I’ve made earlier in the day, alone. After not receiving my paternity test results and Abigail’s untimely and unexpected visit, I wasn’t in the mood to concoct anything elaborate or time-consuming for just one person. Amadeo’s been out the entire day and still hasn’t arrived home yet; his whereabouts, as usual, unknown. I really ought to consider getting him a cell phone, but now with the possibility of having my scholarship revoked, I am reluctant to spend any more money.

I haven’t really done much today. After Abigail leaving, I opted to go for a walk around the city to calm myself down and clear my mind. She was so close to breaking down all the walls I’ve tried to build after graduation that it left me shaken. I remember first developing feelings for her during the eleventh grade and having them reciprocated; however, neither decided to pursue the first move until a year later for no reason other than not being willing to risk a previously established friendship. After conceding, as with any relationships, things blossomed during the first few months, levelling off afterwards, and from there begins a repetitive cycle of peaks and troughs until eventually the final plummet became so deep that any efforts to remedy proved impractical and illogical.

I still remember that day quite vividly, the day I caught Abigail cheating on me with my best friend of ten years at the time, Jason. The image of the two arm in arm, Abby’s head in Jason’s shoulder; the bartering of smitten looks and the exchange of words, it was both enlightening, heartbreaking, but most of all, sickening. I had never fallen so hard for someone before and when you do, it’s hard to find the strength to get back up. They say you never ever forget your first love, earlier today proved exactly just that.

As I got up to bring my empty bowl to the sink, a couple of knocks rapped at my door. Amadeo must have forgotten his eyes again; I’ve mentioned to him more or less a few times that there was always a spare one under a mat, but I supposed it didn’t stick. The knocking in a set of three continued a second time before I opened the door to find a rather astutely short elderly woman standing in front of me. She had short white hair which was carefully curled, her baby blue earrings matching that of her thick knitted sweater with abstract white patterns etched horizontally beneath her bosom. Her velvet black skirt extended all the way down to her ankle and her leather boots covered any remnant of skin remaining on her legs.

“Good evening young one,” she spoke in a scratchy and shaky voice, smiling so that the wrinkles on her pale white face multiplied into ripples. “Would you by any chance be Brendan Huong?”

“Yes, that would be me. Forgive my informalities, but I don’t believe we’ve ever met before?”

Her blue eyes pierced through me, understanding. “I live down the hallway way on the other end of the condo. We must not have been lucky enough to cross paths yet. Anyway, I have something that belongs to you.”

I furrowed my eyebrows together as she handed me a brown clasp envelope. There was nothing on the front except for my name and address.

“The mailman must have put it in my mailbox by accident,” she explained. “It actually came by this morning, but I didn’t arrive home until a while ago.”

Just then it dawned on me what was in my hands and they began to tremble slightly. The elderly women appeared not to have noticed and slightly bowed her head. “My apologies for the delay,” she continued.

“No it’s okay, mam. Neither of us wouldn’t have known otherwise. Thank you for being so prompt. I really appreciate it.”

“It’s my pleasure. Well, you have yourself a great New Year’s Eve, Brendan,” she smiled, her teeth a sparkling shade of white. I couldn’t help to think they must be veneers, but there weren’t any upfront evidence.

“Thank you, erm...”

“You can call me Martha.”

“Thank you Martha. You have a great New Year’s Eve as well.”

I brought the envelope into my bedroom quickly as if it was a hot piece of coal burning and searing through my hands. I could have opened it right away in the living room considering no one was home, but there was something about being amidst the four walls of my bedroom that instilled a soothing assurance of complete privacy. I sat myself down at my work desk, staring intently at the enveloped laid out before me, my breathing intensified and my palms now a tinge clammy as I unwrapped the string slowly and carefully, treating my results in the same fashion a scientist would handle a rare, delicate sample.

Slipping out the sheet of white paper, a change of pace immediately kicked in once the logo of the genetic clinic appeared. I bypassed all the unnecessary information, darting my eyes and focus to the main content, the bedrock of how everything will unfold. As I read the words carefully, the breath escaping my lips comes to a halt. I place the paper back on my desk and ran both hands through my short black slowly downwards, the heat of the palm of my hands magnifying that already on my face. I bit my lip, telling myself that everything will be okay, convincing myself that I will be able to handle it because I always had, but neither was working; the words I had just read were embossed in my mind, bright, permanent:

The alleged father THOMAS J. HUONG can be excluded as the biological father of BRENDAN T. HUONG. Based on the genetic testing results, the probability of paternity is 0.01% when compared to an untested random man of the North American population.

I didn’t bother reading the rest. I didn’t need to. Had I paid more careful attention, I would have seen the conclusive results much sooner directly underneath the company logo in larger print and bolded across the paper: Results prove that Thomas Huong is not the real father of his son, Brendan.

I leaned back against my chair, my head rested on an angle as I looked first to the ceiling illuminated by a florescent light bulb and then to the glass edge of my work desk. From the corner of my eye, a white corner protruded from my stacks of University textbooks and I reached out to see what it was, certain that it wasn’t there before. It was the envelope that Thomas had given me three days ago and I had forgotten to open it.

Having nothing more to lose, I tear open the envelope and found a photo inside. It was the very same one Katherine took out of my luggages; the one of me, an infant wrapped in a baby yellow towel, buried inside Thomas’ arms whose eyes were filled with joy and love, beaming. I toss the photo beside the paternity test result, deeming the image superficial and erroneous, but before I could even contemplate and fully immerse myself in the ramifications of this revelation, another set of knocks came from the living room. Instinctively, I rushed to place both my paternity test and photo into the drawer and rushed out to open the door, adjusting my countenance as if nothing had happened during the few walking strides.

My eyes widened as the figure emerged behind the door. It was Emmanuel. He was wearing the same bomber jacket from before with a different coloured shirt underneath as well as a different pair of jeans.

“I really don’t—“

“My dad is back from his business trip. He resigned, saying he wanted to spend more time at home with me.”

I forced a smile. “I’m happy for you. Listen I—“

“He also told me everything that happened the day he met with you, every single detail.” Emmanuel’s eyes were filled with disappointment and relief.

I let out a sigh and widened the door for Emmanuel to walk in, knowing well that this conversation will be anything, but short. Rather than spend most of the time standing by the living room like last time, the two of us walked over to the sofa and sat down. A moment of silence passed between us, my thoughts wandering off to the reality of Thomas not being my father; not caring that Emmanuel was sitting right across from me.

“Why did you do it, Brendan?”

I am back at square one, without a dad...my thoughts began. Who was he then? Who was my mom with other than my dad? Had he a clue of my existence? What do I do now? If my own parents, my own flesh and blood can lie to me like this, what did that make of the world?

“Brendan?”

“Huh?”

“I asked you why you did it.”

“Why I did what?”

Emmanuel shoots me a look as if I’d gone mental. “Lie to me,” he explained as if it was obvious, and it was except I wasn’t able to grasp it. “You didn’t take the money. You also knew my dad tested you yet you adamantly decided to carry on with his request and you—” Emmanuel paused and I turned to look at him.

“You brought back my parents for me,” he continued and his face went soft. “I don’t know how you were able to do that, but you did.”

“Good to know,” I said. I didn’t smile or anything. I just looked at Emmanuel, eyes distant, not really seeing him across from me before darting my eyes away to the ground, my surroundings changing from tangible to surreal. I felt displaced from my body, watching everything occurring from above.

A look of concern crossed Emmanuel’s face. “Brendan, is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine.”

“No it’s not. You’ve barely said a full sentence since I’ve been here.”

“Well, what do you want me to say?”

“It’s not what I want to say, it’s what you want yourself to say, whatever it is you’re keeping inside.”

“I have nothing to say and I am not keeping anything inside.”

“You keep telling yourself that.”

Emmanuel’s tone of voice annoyed me. “Alright, you what to know what I want myself to say? I want to say that I don’t want you in my life anymore. There, I said it, now would you do me the favour and grant this request?”

Emmanuel shakes his head. “That’s not true.”

I bit my lip. I wasn’t in good condition to carry on a lengthy argument. My patience was running thin rather quickly.

“You need to quit pushing people away, Brendan. I know what you’re doing and you really need to stop being so guarded.”

“You know nothing about me,” I retorted.

“By the same token you don’t have to know everything to surmise how someone is like either.”

“I never said you had to know everything.”

“Well then how can you accuse me of knowing nothing when I’ve known you for almost half a year now? Give me a break, Brendan. I know nothing about you? Who are you trying to kid? It doesn’t take decades or centuries to know something about someone. Heck, there are couples out there who marry after the first few months of meeting each other. If you’re waiting for that long, you might as well just decide on a solitary life.”

“I did decide on that, until you showed up.”

“You could have easily stopped me before. You could have told me you didn’t want me around.”

“Isn’t that what I’m doing now?”

Emmanuel takes in a breath, his patience slipping away also. “Why wait until now? Why didn’t you do it when we first met? If you argue for politeness’ sake, why not when we met again during September?”

I remained silent, not having a well articulated rebuttal to counter Emmanuel and he took this chance to pounce on me. “You know what you’re problem is, Brendan? You’re a coward. You don’t face up to your problems. You run away from them and you’re afraid to admit that to yourself, in effect, become afraid for once in your life to accept help from someone else and letting them in. You’re your own worst enemy and frankly, that’s why you’re currently without a dad. I should know because I was once like that too.”

The reiteration of Abigail’s accusation along with his ignorance of my predicament with Thomas did the trick and slapped me back to my senses temporarily. Emmanuel didn’t know how wrong he was; it’s exactly the fact that I didn’t let Thomas in that is serving to be the only means keeping me together right now. Had I had let him; I probably would last as long as I have. I then let out a burst of laughter, surprising Emmanuel and even myself. It was full of sarcasm, free of worry for what I was about to say next.

“You’re absolutely right,” I began. “I am. I am a coward. I’m weak, but whatever I am, you were not once like the way I was. You were used for money, I was used for the only gifts and talents I had—priceless, invaluable gifts; gifts which created labels that I lived my entire life under, labels that defined me and consumed me.

“Because I was smart, I wasn’t permitted to make any mistakes. Because my dad left me, I became dependent and needy for company, so much that I couldn’t say no to anyone because I foolishly thought that it would make them like me and accept me so that for once in my life I would feel belonged, only to realize that when I really needed someone, no one was ever really there. My gifts are my curse and it is the very thing that is destroying me at this very moment.”

“Then why do you keep going? Why don’t you close your walls fully instead of halfway because if you really wanted me to be alone, Brendan, I wouldn’t be standing here right now. Amadeo—the homeless guy whom we’ve seen many times right now wouldn’t be living with you either.”

My eyes widened.

“I’m no idiot, Brendan. You honestly think a haircut and wardrobe makeover can detract away from his natural features? Even a kid could tell Amadeo was the homeless man who usually sits across the Tim Hortons.”

“So then why didn’t you just break my cover from the start?”

“I wanted to see how far you were going to take this. I hate to break it to you, Brendan, but not everyone is out there to get you. You’re stereotyping and generalizing without even knowing it yet you had the audacity to tell Amadeo to not judge a book by its cover? Why don’t you take your own advice and for once stop, just for a moment to live your life and respect yourself first before doing that for others because you’re only making yourself your own one hell of a hypocrite here. Based on what you just said to me right now, I could easily say you know nothing about me at all, but I don’t because I’m not afraid to accept that you do indeed know many things about me, more than anyone for that matter."

I went mute again. I just wanted to be alone. I just wanted time to myself, to think, to sort things out, to reorganize, recoil and to recover. The more Emmanuel spoke, the less got through to my head and the more it began to ache. It was just too much for me to handle all at once and I resented how when what was on my plate decides to topple over, they do so wholly rather than one at a time. Seeming to sense this, Emmanuel gets up and walks across, taking a seat beside me. He placed a gentle hand on my arm and I could feel its warmth on my skin, warm enough for me to look up and pull away.

“No you’re right, Emmanuel. I don’t know anything about you. I don’t know anything about...anything actually or anyone. I just need time to think,” I pleaded, close to breaking. “I just need some time to be alone. I’m sorry, alright? I can’t deal with this right now.”

“I’m not leaving.”

“Emmanuel, please. I just—”

“No,” Emmanuel replied and remained seated.

“Fine, then I’ll go” I promptly got up, but Emmanuel reached out to pull me back.

“Alright fine, I’ll leave,” he conceded. “But this is not over yet, not by a long shot, Brendan; not until we resolve this once and for all, alright?”

I nodded curtly without looking at Emmanuel. He then walks past me and makes his way to the door. Before leaving he turns around. “And you might want to open the present I gave you for Christmas,” he said before closing the door.

I turn to look at my white Christmas tree adorned with variations of silver and blue ornaments. Emmanuel’s present was still sitting at the bottom, the ears of the gold tissue paper visible from the opening of the silver gift bag. I walked over to retrieve it, lighting up the tree while I was at it, but it wouldn’t glow and after checking the series of light, it turned out one tiny bulb was burnt, rendering the rest inactive, paralleling my own life at the moment. If one thing fell out of place, the rest too is either on hold, discarded, or falls with it. I’ve tried to balance, but my paranoid, reflective and contemplative nature prohibits it; a horrible propensity.

Rummaging through the gold tissue paper, I reach in to find a navy blue box wrapped in a matching gold ribbon, the words: To Brendan, From Em. Merry Christmas Buddy neatly etched diagonally in silver across the top right quadrant. I carefully pull off the ribbon and it relents with ease, fluidly and effortlessly. Taking off the lid off the rectangular box, a thin sheet of bubble wrap above a card was covering whatever was inside. I took a look at the card first:

Brendan,

Merry Christmas and a very Happy New Year to you.

Best wishes for a fruitful, relaxing and joyous holiday season.

I cannot be more thankful and fortunate to have met a person, a friend, like you.

Hopefully there will be more chances to create more memories, just like the one imbued in this gift.

Emmanuel

I placed the card aside on the sofa and looked in to see an elegant picture frame and furrowed my eyebrows at its familiarity. As I examined it more closely, I realized I’ve seen the very same one before in Daniel’s room when Emmanuel gave me a place to stay for the night back in September. In it was a photo of the two of us taken during the outing he and I along with Evelyn had at Harbourfront a long while back. We were beaming, arms across each other’s shoulder. I don’t remember a time smiling this big in a photograph and for a brief moment I actually doubted that it was actually me in the picture. But it was, clear and vividly colourful, right in front of me, proof that it is possible to be happy, even if it’s fleeting, yet why do I feel as if it’s such a longs way away now?

Not feeling like being indoors, I opted to head out again. It was cold, but bearable and warm enough to straddle around for a long distance. The roads were dense, bombarded by cars in all four directions. A couple of horn blares could be heard as I walked down the main street and it was then followed by the sirens of fire trucks and ambulances. Chit chatter filled the sidewalk, in groups, in twos, everyone appeared to be with someone; everyone except me. Turning the corner into a smaller street I saw a little girl hand in hand with her father, the two smiling at one another, sharing a secret joke as they walked pass me without even noticing I was there. I then saw a father-mother-son trio who also mirrored the same joyous expression, cuddled together as they too walked pass me without acknowledgement. It seems the world is mocking my dismay.

I continued to walk, not paying attention to where I was going, my legs filled with a sudden adrenaline that showed no signs of stopping, fuelling at a pace similar to that of my thoughts. I was alone, that much I know in the figurative and literal sense. My identity felt compromised. I felt as if I’ve grown up living a double life, a life that was not my own, a life that belonged to someone entirely different, with an entirely different persona, different tastes, perspectives, opinions, and different ideologies. And now with the results flat out in the open and buried underneath my work desk, I was born again, unsure of my surroundings, unsure of where to go, what to do, who to trust, and how to live. I was born again, and no one was there.

A couple of male cackles snapped me out of my thoughts. Looking around at my surroundings, I didn’t know where I was. I was in the middle of some busy and loud street filled with hundreds of people at roaring bars, their music blaring and competing against one another that the therapeutic effect of music was heavily jeopardized. Many people were drinking, their faces pink, laughing loudly without a care in the world, celebrating the end of the year. Some lit sparklers and were twirling it around in circles and abstract shapes, the tips leaving a bright golden trail. Others ate while watching TV, doing a countdown to the eventual arrival of the year. I thought this was rather odd given the time of day, but taking out my phone to check the time, I was surprised to see that it was already 10:15 at night.

“Hey you,” a familiar voice called out and I turned in its direction to see the same two guys who I heard cackling before in front of a bar looking at me. The one who spoke to me had a beer in his hand while the other smoked a roll of weed and stared at me with a conniving grin.

“Come over here,” the smoker called out. He had a buzz cut, was lean built and wore clothes three times his size. I stood where I was, unmoving, panic stricken as the two guys looked at each other, nodded and began to move from their spot. Immediately on impulse, I walked away, quickly and I could feel them following not too far behind so I sped up my pace, turning into the first corner I saw and ended up in a narrow alleyway, the only light coming from the tiny lampposts—which threatened to haywire and black out at any given moment—and a couple of small house windows. Aside from me, the empty vehicles, barren trees and dirty garbage and recycling bins, the alley was vacant. I stopped, trying to assess where I was, but I heard footsteps coming from behind so I sped up again all the way to the end and onto another small street, though this time bigger than the previous. I tried to look for a street name or a path leading to another main street, but I couldn’t find any. The roads were damp from the previous snowfall, my feet making a splashing pattern with the water puddles that I stepped into. Another set of footsteps followed, this time of one person and I hastened further, perspiration forming on my skin underneath my clothes, heart doubling its normal pace. The more I walked, the closer the person appeared to get and seeing a small, blue lit intersection in front of me, the possibility of the two guys splitting to section me off dawned on me. I stopped, as did the person behind me, who then proceeded to walk slowly, his steps a rhythmic metronome. I should have stayed home.

Looking to my right, I saw a medium sized wooden stick and I reached over to grab it, holding onto it firmly. The person etches closer and I closed my eyes to regain my composure, fixing my grip, ready to take a swing. I counted to myself: one...two...three!

I turned around arms raised but the person was too quick for me and brought one hand on my hitting arm to stop me, his other arm on my shoulders to steady me. I winced at the contact and closed my eyes readying myself for a blow, a stab or even worse, a shot, but nothing happened. I waited for the voice of the second guy to approach from either end, but not a sound was heard. The two of us stood there for a moment before I brought up enough courage to open up my eyes, only to find a medium sized man in front of me, panting, scared. It took a while before I recognized him and dropped the stick from my hand.

“Amadeo!” I cried out of relief and ran into him, overwhelmed by the intensity of the situation. The fear trickled through, exacerbating everything else, every hidden emotion from the arguments with Abigail and Emmanuel, the paternity test results, the hurt and disdain held towards my mom and Thomas. I was shaking.

Amadeo held me tightly. “Mio Dio what the hell were you doing wandering off into a narrow alley like that, Brendan?! Do you know what could have happened to you or where you could have ended up? Don’t ever do that again, good God, do I make myself clear?” he spoke without letting go and I nodded, my cheeks stained warm from the tears falling down my cheek and the warmth from Amadeo’s body.

When I finally recoiled, Amadeo let me go and looked at me right into the eyes. “You are telling me everything, Brendan, tonight. Not later, not tomorrow, not another time, tonight. Understood?”

Again, I nodded and conceded. Amadeo led me back out to the main street and I noticed that I hadn’t really walked too far from where I was. I just ended up on the far western side of the city and had I paid attention to where I was going, I would have known that getting back would connote a straight past east on College. There was a local Second Cup around the corner and Amadeo decided to remain there for a while. I spent the duration telling him everything that had happened which led up to the point of doing a paternity test, Abigail’s untimely arrival, my conflicting feelings for Evelyn, Emmanuel’s second passing by—everything as I had promised. Similar to a few days ago, Amadeo listened intently as if every word of mine held a secret clue leading to a solution of a puzzle or treasure and in a sense it was. It was the puzzle of my identity, the puzzle of my feelings, the puzzle of my life, a puzzle that even I myself, the owner of the most pieces is still—after eighteen years—unable to solve. By the time I had finished, it was exactly eleven. The cafe was cluttered with people, the scent of caffeine the strongest I’ve smelt.

Amadeo looks at me with a sympathetic smile. “Why are you punishing yourself like this, Brendan?”

“Because it’s all I’ve ever known. I feel as if I’m not allowed to be happy because when I do, something equally if not more horrid comes along and sends me into yet another downward spiral, deep to a point where I don’t even dare myself to hope too high anymore because it just opens the door just as wide for disappointment to crawl in.”

“I understand,” Amadeo said to my surprise instead of giving me an antagonistically optimistic perspective. “Brendan, I won’t tell you that the world is all flowers and rainbows, but by the same token it’s not all barren and stale either. Perhaps now your chain of events haven’t been the greatest, but that doesn’t and shouldn’t be your reason to subject yourself to a torturous mindset. When you hit rock bottom, the only way out is up just as the saying there is always a bright side to every situation. You just have to make sure to hold on to that direction and light because it’s never about the quantity; it’s about quality. Nevertheless I am really sorry that you have to be dealing with all of this at your tender age; you are much too young...”

“It’s okay,” I said, feeling better and lighter now that I had let things out. “I’m used to it.”

Amadeo raises an eyebrow.

“Okay maybe not when everything accumulates to the peak, but I am though if they don’t all hit me at once.”

“Brendan,” Amadeo spoke, his voice serious. “I’m here. You’re not alone.”

I grinned. “I realize that now and I cannot thank you enough. By the way, how did you find me?”

“I was on my way home from an appointment, and saw you walking down the street so I followed. I didn’t know what was happening, but when you turned the corner into the alleyway, it struck me as odd so I sped up to catch up to you to make sure everything was okay and alas, it wasn’t.”

“Until now,” I assured.

Amadeo smiled and looked at the watch I gave him for Christmas. “I think we still have some time left.”

“Time left for what?” I asked.

“You’ll see, but first could you excuse me? I have to use the restroom.”

I furrowed my eyebrows together as Amadeo left, thinking about what he wanted to do, but couldn’t come up with anything. I was more calm now, my thoughts and emotions collected once again as I looked outside to the city street and the rolling wheels of cars passing by. It felt great to be reprieved from the distress, but that didn’t mean my problems have magically disappeared; they were still there and I can see them floating above me, waiting for the next moment to strike. I just have to make sure that when it does, I’ll have some tactics of my own.

Amadeo came back and put on his winter jacket. “Ready to go?”

“Where are we headed?”

“I want to show you this place before calling it a day. I have a feeling you’ll like it a lot, but we really have to hurry.”

“Um...okay.”

The two of boarded the nearest subway and took it all the way to Broadview station. We then took a bus that led us to Riverdale Park, a rather capacious park spanning the lower Don River on the east end of the city between Cabbagetown and Broadview Ave. There was a field for soccer, baseball and Ultimate along with a swimming pool, tennis courts, and an outdoor hockey rink to the northeast. Finishing it was a running track in the center. Farther down, I could see the resemblance of a footbridge crossing the Don Valley Parkway, Bayview Avenue, railroad tracks and the river—a north-south bicycle trail running adjacent to it— connecting the two sides of the valley to each other. Upon getting out, my eyes widened at the sight. The entire skyline of Toronto was visible from here, sparkling like millions of fireflies, the CN Tower tallest of them all, glowing in exchanges of different colours from green to red to purple to blue.

“Well, what do you think?”

“It’s breathtaking,” I said, aghast. “I never knew a modernized city could be so ethereal.”

“It could when seen from the correct angles and perspective like this one, but believe it or not, the best is yet to come.”

I looked up at Amadeo, confused. His cheeks were pink from the cold and his eyes glimmered, reflecting the light from the city and the limited fluorescent light around us. It was then did I notice that quite a lot of people were here, some standing just like us with thin glow sticks wrapped around either their necks or wrists or both, others walking and a few sitting on mats on the cold ground.

“Amadeo?” a familiar voice called out and I turned to see Emmanuel, my eyebrows raised at the unexpected sight along with his.

Amadeo and I faced each other.

“It’s almost the beginning of the New Year. Make something right and begin with the easiest,” Amadeo whispered and looked at the two of us. “I have something I need to get, I’ll be a moment. Meanwhile, you two ought to finish off what you stared a few days and hours ago,” he trotted off before either of us could object.

I stood there with my hands in my pocket. Emmanuel still hadn’t changed his clothes from earlier today. Now that I was more calm and my thoughts more harmonious, I felt a bit guilty for the way I had treated him.

“Hi,” Emmanuel began the conversation.

“Hey,” I replied and decided to immediate dive into it. “Listen I owe you an apology. I shouldn’t have lied to you or said the things I’ve said. I was wrong to do that.”

Emmanuel shook his head. “I’m equally as guilty. I shouldn’t have been too hard on you and should have tried to grasp the bigger picture that you were trying to establish. We both acted out of anger and impulse; it’s programmed within all of us.”

I flashed a grin. “So does that mean we’re okay?”

“When were we not?” Emmanuel smiled, his teeth a bright shade of white.

I raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t answer that,” he warned and the two of us chuckled.

“I opened your present by the way,” I continued.

“Did you figure out where the frame was from?”

“No, but I know it’s identical to the one in your brother’s bedroom.”

“Very good observation,” Emmanuel walks over beside me and stares out into the cityscape, a smug look plastered on his face. Then it dawned n me.

“You did not...”

The smile on Emmanuel’s face widened. “I did so,” he said calmly.

“I can’t—”

“You can and you will. You’ve taught me something, Brendan. You taught me how to move on, that people go for reason, so others could come.”

“Daniel’s not entirely gone,” I corrected, feeling like a priest about to speak his homily. “God left you a guardian angel in his place.”

Emmanuel shakes his head and stuffs his hand into his pockets as well.”No, he didn’t. He’s left me you,” Emmanuel said and turned to me with a smile. I pursed my lips together, completely taken by surprised. I never knew I meant that much to anyone; it was a definite first, but before I could say anything, Amadeo arrives back with both his arms tied behind his back. I shot him a what-are-you-up-to look to which he shrugs, smiles and walks out of the way to reveal Evelyn in a biker jacket with jeans and matching dark grey boots, toque and scarf. Both Emmanuel and my mouth shaped themselves into an O.

“Way to welcome a friend,” she said to the both of us, frowning.

I turn to Amadeo, demanding an explanation. “My restroom visit at Second Cup. As for the reason, well, take a look,” Amadeo points behind me and I turned around.

Suddenly the entire park went into a unified uproar.

Five...

Four..

Three...

Two...

One!

The black sky was then set ablaze into a myriad of opalescent colours as fireworks of all different shapes and sizes shot upward and expanded into thin air—floral, heart shaped, palm tree, simple and complex flares—all exploding one after another. Above the city skyline, it looked magical. I’ve never seen anything like it before. Everyone around us was clapping and cheering; some even setting off their own. A little into the show, Evelyn walks up and links arm with me and Emmanuel, her head resting on my shoulder. Amadeo takes my other side and places an arm around me. It’s been such a long time since I’ve last seen fireworks. My mom use to take me as a kid, but as I grew up, I wanted to see it with someone else, a special friend, a significant other, someone, but never gotten the chance to. It’s a whole different feeling when you’re amongst family and when you’re amongst friends. You see the former all the time that there are days where everything you do—even the most exhilarating of things—becomes redundant. With the latter, it’s sort of like a breath of fresh air. Before I knew it, and to my insatiableness, the pyrotechnic show was over.

“Let’s take a picture,” Amadeo suggested and Evelyn takes out a camera to give to him. “Excuse me,” he called out to a random man in his mid forties and went over to ask. The man agreed and took the camera, walking a few steps close to us. Amadeo reprises his place beside me and the four of us huddled together.

“Okay smile now,” the man instructed. “One, two, three!” A flash popped up and a photo was taken. We then thanked the gentleman and took a look at the photo. It turned out really nice, the four of us linked together, beaming, just as we still were. I take a look at each person around me one by one—Emmanuel, Evelyn, Amadeo. My mom may have lied to me throughout my life, my step-mother may hate me and I may have lost a dad, but now, with the first few seconds ticking by of the New Year, I’ve found myself a new home with a recently acquired brother, someone whom I could be potentially falling for, and what could be the father figure I have sought after all my life.

Novel: A Moment Like This [Chapter 32]

2011-07-12T00:00:00.002-04:00

~*~*~*~*~*~

For other sections, click below:

A Moment like this

Nhan Ngo

[32]

December 31^th, 2009

It the last day of the year and ostensibly, it feels as if not a lot had taken place, but when you break it down and introspectively pick out the morsels of events that have taken place, a mosaic hits your face. In this year alone I’ve had my high school prom—which, if I might add, did not live up to the hype that it was made out to be—and my high school graduation; I’ve enrolled into a University that is provinces away with what initially was thought to be a secured full scholarship, leaving history in its entirety behind me and in the process met a couple of good friends where I just recently had a fall out with one a few days ago.

Adding on to this was a list of firsts. On a smaller scale I’ve experienced my first taste at failing a course and how it feels like to perform poorly, in school. On a larger one, I’ve officially met my dad-turned-alleged dad for the very first time after eighteen years of dealing with his absence, only to receive my first dose of living life independently after having a fall out with his common law—my step mom, who presently still holds an extreme distaste to my presence. To add the cherry on top, I’ve also met and befriended a homeless man who is serving to be the only right thing that has been happening thus far. I probably missed out some other details that have taken place, but nevertheless, it’s incredible to think that all this took place within the span of one year. Actually scratch that, it wasn’t even one, it was half; everything I’ve mentioned took place in the last six months. Whatever occurred beyond that is a blur, but I am sure quite a mouthful exists if I allocated more effort remembering them.

When the clock strikes nine in the morning, my mind begins to undergo a loud mental debate with one side telling me to get up and make the most out of my day because life is too short to waste while the other tells me to remain where I am, close the gateway to all of my senses once again and go back to sleep, reminding me that I am allowed to sleep in today for I have done more than my fair share this past school semester. Although the latter had put out more legitimate excuses on the table, the former proceeds to whine, nag, scream, wail, and then begins sending me through a guilt trip to which the latter continues its logical, deductive reasoning and on and on it goes. Did I mention this was all occurring when I am still half asleep?

However, today I didn’t have to deal with any of this because something important was coming in today, something that will finally provide the final answer to a question that should be been resolved and conveyed eighteen years ago—my paternity test.

My mail usually comes at around 9:30 and lately Amadeo has been kind enough to bring them up for the two of us after his early morning walks, but given the content of today’s mail, I thought I would take the initiative instead. As expected, Amadeo was not at home when I walked out of my apartment to head to my mailbox in the lobby on the first floor. Although a late night sleeper, he wakes up fairly early. Sometimes I can hear him rustling about in the kitchen at six in the morning and there are moments when I question his ability to achieve such a feat—especially when I am pressed for time with assignment deadlines, midterms, and exams—but then I realize that the older you get, the less sleep you probably need to be rejuvenated the following day.

Slipping the tiny key into the slot in my mailbox and turning it over clockwise, I opened it to find only a thin sheet of paper from Bell advertising their combo package of high speed internet and high definition television box. That’s odd, I thought to myself, ironically disappointed. It’s been five business days already and on the clinic’s website that was the designated waiting time to obtain your results so why didn’t anything come in yet? Could I have written the address wrong? No, that’s impossible. I checked it over enough times to make sure there weren’t any errors and even if there was, my phone number and email were there in case.

I walked over to the reception desk. “Hi George, did the mailman come in today?”

“Ah, Brendan, yes he did; he just left a little while ago actually. Were you expecting something in the mail?”

I nodded. “But nothing came in though...”

“It’s still the holiday season so what you’re expecting might have been a bit delayed given the mass influx of mail during this time of year. A few more days won’t hurt, right?” George smiled at me.

Wrong, I wanted to say. Tomorrow is New Years and I couldn’t bear the thought of waiting another ‘few more days’. I’m usually patient, but I just wanted to get this over with, now. But instead,

“You’re right; I suppose a few more days won’t hurt. Well I hope you have a pleasant New Year’s Eve, George.”

“Thank you Brendan, I hope the same for you as well,” George said with a smile. “You’re very mature and polite for your age, you know that?”

I return his smile with a grin of my own. “I hear that here and there.”

“Well, it’s a compliment,” he nods.

“Thanks,” I said and went back to the elevators.

Getting off on my floor, there was someone walking near the end of the hallway. It was a tall, lean girl with straight light-auburn hair that extended down to half her back. She was wearing a grey belted wool coat with black skinnies and a pair of matching boots that almost reached her kneecap. A large nude handbag hung from her elbows, swaying back and forth as she walked. Judging by the way she examined each door as she passed, my guess is that she’s a guest of someone’s. As I walked closer, she stopped right in front of my door and knocked a couple of times, waiting.

“Excuse me miss? Are you looking for somebody?”

“Yes actually, I’m looking for a person name Br—” she turns around and my eyes widened as did hers. “Brendan,” she finished softly and let my name linger in the air.

“Abby? What on Earth are you doing here?”

She slides her handbag down towards the floor and holds it with both hands. “I came to see you,” she shyly smiled.

“Oh...” was all I could say.

“Hopefully I didn’t catch you at a bad time?”

“Um no, not at all, come on in,” I walked over to open the door to let the both of us in. A flutter of memories began to flood back of high school, bringing a wave of regret and disappointment with it. History had found and caught up to me, uninvited.

“Make yourself comfortable,” I closed the door behind us. “I’ll make us something warm to drink.”

“Okay,” she complied and looked around my apartment. “Wow, Brendan, this is a very nice place you have.”

“A tenant was generous enough to provide me this place to rent for the school year.” I answered while pouring boiling water into two mugs of green tea.

“Is he charging you much?” Abigail takes a seat on the sofa and places her bag beside her.

“No, it’s actually quite the deal. Here you go,” I handed her a mug and she took it.

“Thank you,” she said and took a tiny sip while I sat across from her.

“How were you able to find me?” I asked, looking at Abigail briefly before directing my gaze towards the coffee table. She still looked the exact same as I had remembered her from last June—the same hazel eyes, contrasted by her black eyeliner and mascara; the olive heart-shaped face; the slightly arched yet thin eyebrows; and the naturally pink cupid’s lips—I was surprised I didn’t recognize her right away at first glance.

“A couple of days prior to Christmas I couldn’t get a hold of you so I headed over to your place and your mom told me that you were in Toronto for school. Seeing how I had cousins over here and how they invited my family over for Christmas, I asked her for your address so I could stop by while I was here.”

I gave what she said a thought. “But then you would have ended up at...”

“At your dad’s yes.” I slightly winced at the parental reference and the anxiousness of wanting my paternity test results stirred again. “I came by yesterday, but no one was home at the time so I thought you all left, but then a guy named Brian came by and told me you weren’t staying there, but rather that you were here.”

“I see.”

Before either of us could say anything else, my cell phone rang and I answered it without looking at the caller I.D. “Hello?”

“Hi Brendan,” Evelyn’s voice came through the phone. I blinked in shock at the timing.

“Evelyn, hi, what a surprise,” I cast a glance at Abigail. “Um could I call you back later? I’m currently in the middle of something.”

“Oh...sure,” A hint of disappointment traced Evelyn’s voice. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to impose.”

“You never do. I’ll call you back once I’m done, okay?”

“Take your time, there’s no need to rush,” Evelyn assured.

“Okay I’ll talk to you soon, bye now.”

“Bye Brendan,” Evelyn hung up and I felt guilty for cutting the conversation short, but there was something afoot that I had to promptly deal with.

“Sorry about that,” I apologized.

“It’s okay. You could have continued. I wouldn’t have mind.”

“No that would’ve been impolite of me.”

Abigail flashed a grin. “Always the gentleman,” she softly spoke as if there was another member in the room instead of me. I didn’t answer and a moment of silence passed between us, the only sound being the ticking of the clock mounted on the wall.

“So how have you been, Brendan? How’s Toronto compared to Vancouver?”

It’s evident that Abigail was trying to run circles around the real reason of what she really was here for, but I went along with it to see where she was planning to take this. It was also a distraction anyway to take my mind away from having no mail today.

“I’ve been well, thanks. Toronto’s been...different for lack of a better term. It’s given me a much clearer insight on things.

“Will you just be here for your undergraduate studies or?”

“If I could help it, I’d like to establish a new life here.”

“I see,” Abigail pondered on my answered for a moment, her countenance slightly marred with disappointment, but she immediately recoiled. “That’s great, Brendan. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks,” I replied, not believing her and taking a sip out of my tea.

“You’ve always appeared to be in control of your life. I really admire that.”

I scoffed. “Contrary to that, things are not always what they appear to be, but I suppose I can see why you say that.”

“You don’t appear too happy to see me though, would that apply?” Abigail placed her mug down onto the table. I held on to mine, looking outside the window. The skies were clear today, but with my living room being on the west end, the rays of the sun were unable to grace us.

I let out a sigh. “I’m indifferent,” I finally answered.

The two of us went quiet again, this time for a longer duration than the first. It was growing to be awkward and I felt tempted to tell Abigail to spill out what she really wanted to say already along with the real the reason why she’s here so we could get it over with.

“Why did you leave without saying anything, Brendan?” Abigail asked spontaneously as if she had been reading my mind, surprising me.

I maintained my composure, shrugged my shoulders and leaned back against the sofa. “I just wanted a fresh start, that’s all.”

“But why didn’t you at least mention it or something?” Her tone was accusatory now.

“If I did, that wouldn’t connote a fresh start, now would it?”

“I guess not...”

“I don’t see what the big deal is, Abby.”

“The big deal?” her voice escalated. “The big deal is that you left us all hanging, Brendan—me, Aaron, Lillian and—” she paused.

I raised my eyebrows, knowing perfectly the last name on the list she was missing. “And?”

“And Jason,” Abigail hesitated. “Brendan it was a mis—”

“Abby let’s not start with that again, please?” I said without looking at her. “Didn’t we already agree upon letting the past be the past?”

“We did, but you haven’t really followed through.”

I shot her an incredulous look. “I haven’t really followed through? Last I check you were the one at my doorstep just now.”

“And you were the one who moved away to another school in another province without saying anything. I know I hurt you in the past, but—”

“Hold your horses, Abby,” I put out a hand. “If you think I left the province because of you, you really need to get over yourself.”

“Well then why did you leave then?”

“For my own good and reasons unbefitting your concern,” I sharply replied.

Abigail lets out a sigh of annoyance. “Brendan will you just—”

“No I will not,” I affirmed sternly. “I left for my own reasons and quite frankly I don’t think I am under any obligations to explain if I believe it’s unnecessary.”

“Okay then what about obligations to your best friends? We’ve always stood by you, Brendan. If not me and Jason, then Aaron and Lily. What did they ever do?”

I looked at Abigail in disbelief. “Stood by me? Is that what you call it when my birthday rolls around every year and you guys forget yet when it comes to your own respective dates it’s a full-out party? Is that what you call it when the only times I see or hear from you guys is solely when you guys needed something from me? Stood by me? Using me until your heart’s content is more like it”

As expected, Abigail went mute, knowing clearly I was right, and this fuelled me to go on.

“I don’t understand you guys sometimes. You can do such things and nor I or anyone reprimands you for it but, when I try to dissent and do something different or out of character—needless to say of lesser severity—I’m immediately ostracized? For Christ’s sake Abby, you cheated on me with Jason, my best friend who I once called a brother and I simply let it slide. Yet here I am just trying to pursue an education elsewhere and you’re flipping out? Put that into perspective for a moment, will you? Where’s the rationale behind that?”

“It was a mistake, Brendan and I’ve told you again and again that I’m very sorry!”

“Well sorry isn’t going to change anything now will it?”

“And neither is holding a grudge. What do you want me to do? Prove it, Brendan? God knows I’ve been trying from that day ever since you found out. I was wrong, I wasn’t thinking, I deserve to be punished, and I have because I lost you, the best thing that’s happened to me, but are you really going to punish me for a lifetime? Tell me, what can I do until you’ll forgive me? What do you want from me?”

I let out a breath through my nose, not willing to sit here and reinvoke the past, making it more prevalent than it already was. I came here to leave things where it should belong: behind. And I am not about to let a fragment—a big one for that matter—have the chance and liberty to render my efforts a wasted one.

“Just stop Abby, I—“

“No, I’m not going to stop!” she yelled. “Every time that I try to bring this up you always try to avoid it. Well, not this time, Brendan, not when I travelled across provinces just to see you.”

“To see me? You just said you came here to see your cousins.”

“I have no cousins here! You out of all people should have known that; you’ve met every family member of mine when we were together.”

I realized she was right and I scolded myself for not thinking before talking. I then immediately wondered where and who she was staying with, but then reminded myself to not let my guard down and give in to unreciprocated concern; I already lost face one and I wasn’t going to let it happen again.

“And what a mistake that was,” I replied evenly.

Abigail’s eyes widened and her face flushed pink. I was angering her, but it didn’t bother me at all. In a way it was like I was taking revenge for everything she’d done to me, taking back my trust and my dignity.

“Yes, yes it was a mistake,” Abigail fumed, getting out of the sofa. “And it was a mistake coming here too, she continued before storming towards the door. I, on the other hand, remained rooted in my spot, not moving, not caring.

“But just so you know,” Abigail spoke from afar. From the distance in her voice I could tell she was beside the door. “Mistakes are lessons, Brendan. I made one and I’ve learned from it; I’m facing it head on, apologizing countless times then, flying all the way here to see you now, not just because I missed you and because I still love you; I wanted to prove to you that contrary to your claim, I am still standing by you, owning up to my mistakes, whereas you, you’re just simply being a coward running away from your problems, hoping everything can fix itself. If you expect everyone you meet and everything you experience to be perfect, reality check, Brendan, it’s your turn to get over yourself; you’re living in a fantasy world.” And with that Abigail slammed the door shut.

I buried my head in my hands, sighing into them. I’ve just basically had the words I spoke to Thomas in Christmas rerouted back and slapped right across my own face. I wasn’t running away, was I? I was facing my problems, maybe not in the confrontational, up-in-your-face-way, but I was. Letting go is a remedy; it’s a solution, is it not?

I felt another surge of headache coming up and walked outside to the balcony to get some air. It was chilly outside, but liberating at the same time. I dug into my pockets and my fingers brushed upon my phone, eliciting the memory of Evelyn calling a while before and my promise to call her back. I take out my cell and dialled her number.

“Hello?” Evelyn picks up after the second ring.

“Hi Eve, I’m really sorry for before. I wanted to finish what I was doing so I could allocate all of my attention to you.”

“That’s sweet of you,” she spoke softly. “And it’s okay. I understand. Is everything resolved now?”

“Somewhat, but nothing I can’t deal with later. So how are you pookie? I haven’t heard from you in a few days now. How did Christmas go?” Pookie was a nickname I had randomly come up with for Evelyn a while back when we were grabbing lunch together. We were at the local Tim Hortons and Evelyn was eating a cookie so the five year old inside me decided to spontaneously blurt it out. She began to laugh, saying she really liked it and so I’ve been using it sparingly from time to time. Now that I think of it, she still hasn’t come up with one for me yet except Skipper McSkippy when I missed out on one of our Chemistry class due to illness. It’s cute, but it makes me feel like being a part of the McDonald’s Menu.

Evelyn giggled a bit upon hearing the word Pookie. “Christmas was...eventful,” she answered and I noticed the hesitancy in her voice.

“Is everything okay?”

For some reason, I thought I could feel her smiling to herself on the other end. “I’m always left amazed at how easily you can read me even when we’re not face to face.”

“Years of practice,” I attempted at a joke.

“It’s definitely paid off, but everything is fine. It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Are you sure?”

Just then I heard a few voices coming from Evelyn’s end of the phone in the background. “I’m positive. Listen, Brendan, I have to go now. There are a few errands I have to run with my family. Thank you for calling; it really means a lot. I’m glad I got to hear your voice today. I miss you,” Evelyn let the last few words linger.

I smiled to myself. “I miss you too.”

“I’ll see you soon hopefully?”

“Definitely and hey, if you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here alright?”

“I’ll definitely take you up on that offer and hold you to it. Bye Brendan.”

“Bye now.”

The two of us hung up the phone and I stare out into the skyline of Toronto. The city appears to be so spacious from up here, yet so cluttered at the same time. It made me wonder, did we really need all of the space we take or are we just exerting our superiority and characteristics as insatiable human beings? We’re so infinitesimal, yet we sometimes are quite egocentric, acting as if the world should revolve around us and our problems while we minimalize that of others. And now, with my unwillingness to talk to my mom, with my paternity test result still looming on the horizon, with my recent argument with Abigail and Emmanuel a few days back, I begin to question: am I being the very same way?