Hello once again, this time not a short story, although I do have quite a few backlog pieces that I need to push forward. Thankfully, with the upcoming week, I’ll have a plethora of time at my disposable, and with that, means more time to write new pieces, for either here or contests. That’ll be that, but right now, we have a memoir. I don’t usually do things like memoirs, or narrative essays, but I had the chance to this past week. To be honest, although out of my comfortable zone, it was pretty fun to write these. Probably something I’ll do more in the future, a pseudo little diary, if you will. And plus, writing about myself in this fashion is…. quite quaint, in it’s own regards. Anyway, this one will be exactly what the title says. The happiest moment of my life. Bear with me as I post these, because these are again, memoirs, non-fiction, but, yeah, here you go, “Happiest Moment of My Life.”
If there was one thing I was ever shy about in my entire life proceeding up to this point, it would have to be public speaking. However, I came over that, it was something that at one point I felt was no longer necessary to fret over. It was systematic to me, and thus, it no longer bothered me as much. That was the least of my problems, though, and something I found even more complicated, was telling my parents how I wanted to be a writer.
I found it quite quaint that I could get over my innate shyness around my classmates and teachers, yet still feel so inapposite when talking to my parents. I never really could tell them how I felt, and thus, I had always kept to myself about what I wanted to do. I had always been surrounded by a generation of insidious beliefs that made me feel like a needle in a haystack. It was hard to have a voice, only because my voice was drowned by the happenings of the world, and the world for me then was something that rejected my being. I went by my days avoiding the same dreadful question about where I wanted to go in hopes that one day I could avoid it all together, but that day never came. I told them, eventually, at a nice dinner with just the three of us. The atmosphere was not good, nor did I want to be there, but from eating, and from my mother’s innate droning, I had to answer.
My house was a calm place. It was surprisingly calm for a world bustling with news and information. The reason why it never bothered me was because I myself was a person of calm. I lived by the mantra that to expel more energy than oneself needs, is simply a waste. That bled into the way I spoke, which was fast and very efficient, I wanted to say my piece as quickly as possible and not have to ramble on. Except, when I sat there with my parents, my mother on my left, and my father on my right, with a large steaming pot in the middle, my tongue had seemingly thawed over. I couldn’t move, my head was sweating from something other than the steam brushing against my face, and my hands tensed. I could barely breathe in the room, and the sound of the radio faintly behind me gave me a small sense of serenity. I fidgeted in my spot, and I knew that I had no way of escaping. There was no ignorance to feign, nor were there any places to run or hide to. I was a wolf in the middle of a pack of sheep, and one wrong move had me six feet into the ground. However, those were all thoughts that played into vexing me. They were not something I should have dwelled on, and so I didn’t. I answered. Uncaringly, unknowingly, unabashedly, I had answered. I wanted to be a writer, and there was no way they could stop me.
It was at that moment, that I felt something: liberation, freedom, sanctum. There was no greater feeling than it. At that moment, I thought that perhaps I had felt what those who fell from the sky felt. It was unreal. Most of all, my parents response a few months later, pertaining to the same question was even more fictitious. They told me that they would support me, that, “all we want is for you to be happy”, that the only thing they could do was to accept what I wanted to be. They aren’t doctors, businessmen, or lawyers. They were my parents. The only thing they could do was to know that they would support me. They told me this during dinner, with a hot pot in the middle of the table, the steam rising to my face, with the radio faintly behind me. They told me this, and this time, I felt as if I was at the top of the world. If ever a time I felt truly elated, then my parents had just blown me through the roof.
I once thought that my parents were annoying, good for nothing, and were always at my nose, always seemingly up in my personal business. I once thought to exclude them from my life, to push them away and bring about my future using my own prowess. I was wrong, and I had never been so wrong yet feel so happy to be wrong in my entire life. They were there for me, they’ve always been there for me and the only thing they wanted was to be here for me. That’s the one thing in their lives that will complete mine, and it’s a feeling that I can’t discard. Without realizing it, and with those simple words, they gave me more than just shelter, food, and money. They gave me hope for the future, and they gave me everything I could ever want. They gave me assurance, that no matter what, that they were here to support me. My parents may not be the most educated, but they’ve taught me the most important lesson I would ever learn, never doubt family. It only took me eighteen years to learn that lesson, but that lesson, will always be with me, always reminding me of the time I told them, and always giving me a small glimmer of hope, when all else is shrouded in darkness.