West: The Sun From Another Star

One afternoon in San Francisco, I sat absentmindedly gazing out the window of my hospital room. The beige curtains fluttered in the breeze.

 

I felt much better than this morning, when my head ached, and my whole body was exhausted. I barely had the strength to get out of bed. I turned to look at my hand, where a saline drip had been inserted.

 

Since I'm a frequent visitor to the hospital, getting an IV drip like this isn't an unfamiliar sight to me. If my hand could talk, it would probably complain, "Enough! That's enough!"

 

My neighbour just came out looking displeased after repeatedly questioning me. I was just talking to North; he complained about what happened, that I was too careless, and said that the neighbour felt guilty too. That's probably true, since he just apologised to me. It wasn't his fault; he didn't force me to do anything.

 

With my personality of always giving my all and often forgetting about myself, consequences like this are quite common. For example, when working, I always try my best to the point of getting sick. I don't know how many times it's happened, but even when I'm sick, I still try to work. That's something people around me often complain about. I don't know why either. Maybe it's because I thought I was fine and could still do it.

 

After lying there for almost another half hour, the doctor came in to check on me and said I could go home, that there was nothing serious anymore. When the doctor left, I changed my clothes and stepped out of the room, only to find my neighbour waiting at the door. I followed him out of the hospital after he had helped pay for the treatment and get the medication. It was starting to get dark outside. While driving, the person next to me asked:

 

"So, did you see her at the cemetery?"

 

"I didn't meet her."

 

He said nothing, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. I turned my attention to the scenery outside the car window, surprised to see so many spirits wandering the streets. Remembering I'd forgotten my bracelet, I searched my pockets but couldn't find it. I remembered taking it off at the cemetery this morning and putting it in my pocket. Perhaps it had fallen out when I fainted or while changing clothes.

 

"Are you looking for this?" The person next to me said, as if they knew what I was looking for. He handed me the bracelet.

 

When I saw my bracelet, I felt an immediate sense of relief. Losing it would have been a big deal. I didn't want to see any spirits until I got back to Thailand. Besides, if I lost it, my grandmother would scold me. I took it and put it on immediately.

 

"Thank you."

 

I expressed my heartfelt gratitude. He seemed surprised to hear it from me.

 

"Where did you drop it?"

 

"At the cemetery."

 

"Ah."

 

We didn't say anything more until we got home. The landlord told me to go to sleep, saying it was so I could fully recover, my condition would worsen, and I would get into trouble. Since the landlord had said that, I couldn't refuse. I went into my room and fell asleep.

…..

Having slept all day and gone to bed early, I woke up in the middle of the night feeling very refreshed. If I continued sleeping, I probably wouldn't be able to fall back asleep, so I decided to go for a walk outside to get some fresh air.

 

The soft sound of a guitar emanating from behind the house piqued my curiosity. I saw my neighbour from a corner, a cigarette in his mouth, sitting and playing the guitar. He probably heard my footsteps and turned around to look.

 

"Not sleeping?"

 

"I'm awake."

 

"Are you feeling better?"

 

"What do you think?" I saw cigarette butts overflowing in the ashtray and empty beer cans scattered around. All of this was more than one person could drink or smoke in a short time.

 

"Have you found it yet?"

 

"Now?"

 

"YES."

 

"Found it."

 

"Are you sure?"

 

"Hmm." I nodded slightly.

 

Because I feel fine now, not tired or with a headache at all. Hearing this, he set his guitar down and stood up. He didn't look very well, like someone very tired. His face clearly showed worry and confusion that he couldn't hide. Perhaps because this was the final destination, and the answer was right before his eyes, he couldn't remain calm.

 

"Then go find it."

 

"Hmm."

 

It was midnight, and the only light around us came from the yard lamps. I took off my bracelet and focused my gaze. Nighttime was their time, making it easier to see. He led me around the house, as he had done before. But no matter where I looked—in the backyard, in the different rooms, the living room, everyone's bedrooms, the bathroom, the music practice room, or the balcony—I couldn't find his mother anywhere.

 

Finally, the place he deliberately led me around to was the living room at the back of the house. This was a seating area with a fireplace and a sofa in front of it. A rocking chair sat near the sofa.

 

"That chair."

 

“…”

 

"My mother died there."

 

I said nothing, just stared at the motionless white chair. I took a deep breath and gazed intently, but there was no one else in the room. I shook my head slightly in response, and the person standing beside me said nothing.

 

"Can I sit... please?" I asked, feeling there was something special about that chair. If I could try sitting in it, maybe I would understand.

 

"Hmm."

 

Upon receiving permission, I approached and sat down on the white rocking chair. After a while, my heart raced, and I felt an indescribable warmth inside. I adjusted the chair to make it rock comfortably, and tears welled up uncontrollably, as this was the very place where she had passed away, making the feeling even more palpable.

 

“…Sob sob.”

 

"What's wrong?" he asked in a trembling voice, immediately sitting down on the nearby sofa.

 

"This place… where she breathed her last."

“…”

 

"Christmas… right?"

 

"Hmm."

 

“The Christmas tree is there,” I said, as images of memories from before his mother’s death flooded back, hazy but still visible, “He… and his father sitting on the sofa, together by the fireplace.”

 

“…”

 

"Very happy… right, Mom?"

 

I spoke in an uncontrollably trembling voice, tears streaming down my face, along with a warm feeling that filled my heart. Strangely, I wasn't crying because I felt pain; that wasn't the case.

 

"She's not in any pain."

 

"What does that mean? But you were crying?" His face was filled with pain and confusion, his voice lacking its usual confidence.

 

"Perhaps she had already prepared herself for death... *Sigh*, it's just a feeling of emptiness... because she won't be able to see you grow up anymore."

 

My words began to falter from exhaustion, but I tried to express what I felt—his mother's thoughts and feelings before she passed away.

 

"She's very sad, but..."

 

"But what?"

 

"She is no longer here."

 

“…”

 

"Sob... maybe she's no longer here, not here or anywhere else. Only the love remains. I feel the warmth, there's no pain or sadness."

 

“…”

"Your mother... she passed away peacefully."

 

════[changbins_delulu_wife]════

 

I stared at the extinguished fireplace in front of me with bewilderment. My heart pounded like never before, and my hands were so numb I could barely move them. My mother… is no longer here.

 

That was the answer I'd mentally prepared myself for, but when it actually happened, that preparation was almost meaningless. The moment I stepped into this room, one of my feet instinctively recoiled at the sight of the white chair where my mother had sat when she took her last breath. I couldn't bear to see it.

 

My mother fought her illness for many years until there were no more treatments available. She was one of many patients who decided to return home, at least before passing away completely. The last images she saw were of the people she loved and the familiar surroundings. We used to sit by the fireplace here on Christmas Day. Just a few days later, Mom passed away peacefully in that chair, as if it were just another ordinary sleep. 

 

Afterwards, I would go and wake her up to eat together, only this time she was no longer breathing. No matter how much I called, she would never wake up again. I don't know how my mother felt before she saw only darkness forever. Was she afraid? Was she sad or in pain?

 

What that boy just said, at least Mom won't have to suffer, feel sad, or be afraid. Mom passed away, truly peacefully, didn't she?

 

Even though my mother left so much to say in her final days, I couldn't remember anything because I was only filled with fear and a refusal to accept the truth. I kept telling myself that she would be alright, that she would live for many more years. A miracle would happen, as it had happened to many other patients; she didn't need to leave any last words.

 

Until the day came when, no matter how many times I called, there was no answer, I still told myself Mom was here, just unable to see. But the truth always reminded me that it was impossible. I had become a man who could not accept my mother's passing. My mother never showed her pain outwardly. I don't know if her smile at that time was just to make Direk and me feel comfortable. She said she had accepted having to leave. I'm not sure that was true. But if Mom said so… then maybe it's true.

Only love remains…

 

"If Mom is worried... then why isn't she here?" I looked up and asked the person sitting in the chair.

 

"Because she believed."

 

“…”

 

"I believe both of them will remain strong and continue to move forward."

 

The other person's words made me sigh, lean back against the sofa, and look up at the ceiling, overwhelmed with emotions that I couldn't put into words. Is it really possible for Direk and me to continue moving forward like this…?

 

I sat there, dazed, on the sofa for several minutes. It wasn't until I had the strength to stand up that I realised the boy sitting on the sofa had fallen asleep. I touched him and found he wasn't hot; perhaps his condition hadn't worsened, he was just tired as usual.

I went out to sit in the backyard as usual and dialled Direk's number. Soon after, he answered and complained as usual.

 

"Direk, Mom is gone."

(...)

 

"Neither here nor anywhere else."

(Hmm)

 

"It said that Mom wasn't in pain or sad before she passed away. It's someone who can sense other people's emotions, so it said Mom was just worried and sad that she couldn't be with us anymore."

 

(...)

"But Mom believes we can keep moving forward."

 

Are you crying?

"That's hilarious."

 

(You're sobbing.)

 

"No, not at all," I said, trying to suppress a laugh, wiping away tears that had started flowing without me realising it, but they kept coming back.

 

(Go ahead and cry, I'm not kidding.)

 

“Direk is such a joker, damn it. *Sob*… damn it, tears just keep flowing.” My voice started to choke up, just like Direk said, trying to hold back but failing.

 

(So, do you believe what that child said?)

 

“Ha… *sobs*… Well, at this point, I have to believe it. It… I don’t know what to say anymore, Direk. It really hurts to know Mom is gone, but I feel relieved to know she passed away peacefully.”

 

(It says that before she died, my mother didn't feel any pain or sadness, right?)

 

"Hmph... Um."

(That's good then.) 

 

The voice on the other end of the line began to tremble slightly. Because throughout this time, it was Direk and me who were always watching over Mom. We saw her battling the disease, undergoing treatment, and enduring years of physical and mental suffering, but now at least I know that she is no longer in pain.

 

"Why are you crying, Direk? You can't stop, damn it. *Sob*."

 

(For you, perhaps Emma is only truly gone now, because you've only just accepted it.)

 

"Yeah, well, maybe that's true. Even when Mom passed away, I still thought of her as if she were just sleeping. But now I have to accept it."

 

(Well, that's good. Finally, we have to move forward.)

 

"Perhaps so," I said, wiping away tears once more. "Does Direk still hurt when he thinks about his mother?"

 

(It hurts a little, but thinking about her makes me feel happier.)

 

"Really?"

(If you accept that, things will be better.)

"Yes, I hope so too."

 

I talked to Direk for a while about my mother, reminiscing about memories and stories from when she was alive. Before, it was a taboo subject, something too painful to talk about, but now I miss her even more. I miss the things she liked, the food she cooked, the songs she listened to, the paintings she drew—I miss everything.

 

(So ​​you've stopped crying?)

 

"Nobody's crying, how weak they are," I said, wiping away the last tear from the corner of my eye.

 

(So ​​when will you be back?)

"Day after tomorrow."

 

(Okay, alright.)

"Direk."

 

(What is up?)

"I'm so shy. I love Direk, I really, really love Direk."

 

(Yeah, I love you too.)

 

"Aisshhh, why did I say that again? How embarrassing!"

 

(What? I feel embarrassed, too. I never say anything.)

 

"Okay, okay, then I'll turn off the computer."

(Alright.)

 

Then I hung up. Given my personality and Direk's, it's easy to guess that we're not the kind of father-and-son who often exchange loving words or have gentle conversations. I don't know what made me say that, but whatever.

 

I lit a new cigarette and picked up my familiar guitar, hoping it could soothe the pent-up emotions inside me. The feeling was warm, sad, relieved, yet also full of disappointment; comfortable, yet still empty. I tried to accept the truth, but the truth was painful.

 

And the tears started flowing again. I didn't intend to stop them like before, letting them flow freely as I played the guitar to the tune of my mother's favourite song. At least, I could play her favourite song now. It's okay to play guitar and cry at the same time...

 

Almost half an hour passed, and I felt a little better; the tears had stopped. Tonight was truly the first and most intense time I'd ever cried. I went into the bathroom to wash my face and looked in the mirror. I felt terrible, but I was still handsome nonetheless.

 

I went outside, guitar in hand, intending to sit and play on the rooftop, because something had bitten me in the backyard, and I didn't want to stay there anymore. I smoked and played the guitar, but tears kept falling to my feet. Some insect kept biting me, and I couldn't get up and leave; I just sat there feeling sad. When I reached the top balcony, I was surprised to see someone standing there, a small person.

 

"Are you awake? What are you doing standing on someone else's roof?"

 

“…” It didn’t answer, just slowly turned to look at me. I raised my eyebrows, instantly surprised.

 

"What are you looking at?"

 

"I initially intended to go sit in the backyard, but then I saw him crying."

 

"Damn it, did you see that?"

 

"Hmm."

 

Damn it, how did this dwarf see me crying...?

I gave him a dejected look before sighing. Thinking, "Oh well, never mind," I went and sat on the small sofa. The rooftop balcony was spacious enough to sit and stargaze. The little guy stood leaning against the balcony railing.

 

"You probably can't read my emotions anymore, can you?" I asked, remembering the last time it had read my emotions, and ever since then I'd felt suspicious.

 

"No, just reading your mother's emotions is difficult enough."

 

"So that's why you were dozing off?"

 

"YES."

 

"How do you know Mom isn't anywhere else?"

 

"It's about emotions," he said, looking outside and letting the gentle breeze blow in. "To be frank, she's really gone."

 

"Hmm, that's good," I said before starting to play the guitar again. Meanwhile, I asked some other questions I'd initially intended to ask, but she'd fallen asleep.

 

"How do you know about Christmas?"

 

"I see."

 

"Like my mother's memories?"

 

"Probably."

 

"You can always sense such immense power?"

 

"I don't know, maybe it's because that's where she passed away. It was her happiest memory before she died, and perhaps she wanted to remember it, which is why it's still there."

 

“Oh, um.” I nodded slightly. If Mom were happy with Christmas, that would be great. Direk and I have been going home to celebrate Christmas together every year since then, and it felt like doing something for Mom. “Hey, don’t tell anyone I cried, especially North.”

 

"Why should I say it?"

 

"Oh, so it can tease him."

 

"There's no need to tease, it's not funny at all."

 

"You should be happier with something else," I said dejectedly, still insisting that it felt like a robot running out of battery. "Anyway, thanks, this has been one of the most exhausting days."

 

"Hmm."

 

"You'll colour in Mom's picture, right?"

 

"Yes, I've already accepted the job."

 

That was all the other person replied. My hands continued playing the guitar, looking out from the balcony at the dark sky, the wind blowing in gusts. We didn't say anything to each other; only the sound of my guitar echoed.

 

I wonder if it was bothered by my sudden appearance playing guitar while it was peacefully admiring the view. But who cares? This is my house. In that silence, my mind wandered. When doubts arose about what it was sensing, I asked: "How did you know that when you said Mom believed I could move forward?"

 

"Feeling."

 

"There you go again, explain further."

 

"It's like your mother wasn't worried about dying; there was a sense of trust in that."

 

"That's quite detailed," I thought to myself. If I hadn't known, I'd probably be surprised. But this kid's perception is truly impressive, even though it comes with negative and dangerous consequences. "So, what exactly are you talking about going peacefully to?"

 

"I don't know," it replied in a low voice.

 

"Huh?"

 

"All I know is that the journey went well, but I don't know what happened afterwards."

 

"But you said she went peacefully, which means she’s doing well, right?" I said weakly, repeating what I was thinking as if trying to reassure myself that my mother was happy somewhere.

 

I looked up at the person opposite me and saw that they had handed me a tissue without me noticing. I took it absentmindedly and realised tears were falling again. I sighed in frustration, wondering why I was crying so much. Just for tonight, I won't let you cry again, you damn fool.

 

"I was wondering if Mom was happy… really?"

 

"Hmm, do you think so?"

 

"Don't know."

 

"Huh?" I raised my hand and vigorously wiped away my tears with a tissue.

 

"All I know is that they passed away peacefully, but I don't know what happened afterwards."

 

"At the very least, a normal person should say they'll be happy somewhere, shouldn't they?"

 

"I don't really know if your mother is happy right now, but..."

 

"But?"

 

"But there's one thing I know."

 

"What?"

 

"Your mother wants you to be happy."

 

“…”

 

"Because, after all, she's gone. Those who are still alive should live happy lives. If they're always sad, how can your mother be happy there?"

 

“…'

 

"So from now on, don't be sad anymore, be happy."

 

"No one has ever spoken to me like that before, you know?"

 

"Perhaps it's because he's never shown his sadness to anyone."

 

"And how do you know that?"

 

"Well, I've read your feelings before," he said, standing in front of me in his usual gentle voice.

 

"Yeah, right." I let out a long sigh.

 

Because in my entire life, no one has ever said anything like that to me, not even a simple "don't be sad." I never show that I'm sad, and someone like me doesn't need anyone to tell me to be happy.

 

“…What is it?” it asked blankly when it saw me staring at it with a surprised expression.

 

"Nothing." I averted my gaze and looked away. It leaned back against the railing as before.

 

After a while, it asked permission to go to bed first, leaving me sitting alone on the sofa, foolishly gazing up at the starry sky with the cool breeze. My mind kept wandering to things I didn't know. To be honest, that guy is the only one who understands my feelings, though maybe it's thanks to his special ability.

 

"Those who are still alive should live happy lives. If they are always sad, how can your mother be happy there?"

 

"So from now on, don't be sad anymore, be happy."

…..

You not only helped find my mother,

And you even helped me.

Help me escape the pain that has lasted for years.

Those words meant a great deal to me.

Thank you so much…