Chapter 6 Activities

I asked Sarah to teach me how to cook. I want to learn how to cook, but my mom always says I will never learn how because of how stupid I am. Sarah looks at me with despair in her eyes.

"She shouldn't have said that word to you." She says.

"I guess mom only called me stupid because I really am stupid." I casually say.

"That is a way of bad parenting."

"But what if I am really stupid?"

She walks toward me and looks me straight in the eyes.

"Promise me one thing." She seriously says.

"Okay." I whisper.

"While you're in this household, you will never call yourself stupid."

"Okay." I say with a giggle.

"I am serious, Kasey."

"I promise." I finally say.

I don't want to make her mad. Though I know that I can't do that.

She rolls her eyes, takes my hand, and drags me downstairs to the kitchen. She shows me how to chop garlic and onion. She looks frustrated. I don't know if she's frustrated with me or if it's because I called myself stupid. She gives me a knife, and I try to copy her. With fear in me of cutting my finger, the knife is shaking. I give up because it's hard for me. Sarah holds my hands while cutting the onion. It is enjoyable learning something new.

I inhale and exhale, then smile at her.

"Just relax, a knife is dangerous, but it is a big help in our lives every day." She says.

"It's so easy." I say, smiling at her.

Then she gets the pan ready and then sautés. She says that we are going to cook chicken tinola.

"That's my favorite!" I say with a cheerful voice.

"That's great!" she says. "We will cook this very deliciously so you will eat a lot!"

"My older sister taught me how to cook rice. I'll cook it perfectly."

I grab the pot, and she points to me where the rice is. It is so fun cooking, especially when I always want to learn how to cook. After cooking, we eat dinner together in her lovely dining room. She's looking at me with a smile on her mouth. I can't believe that even with the way I eat, I can make her happy.

"You're good at cooking rice; why did your mother tell you you won't learn how to cook?" She says.

"That's not cooking."

"It's not easy to cook rice."

"Do you know how to play instruments?" I ask while slowly shoving the spoon in my mouth.

"I know how to play piano, a little." She replies.

"I'm just wondering, since you're always busy doing your lesson plan every night after work, what if we play instruments this Saturday?"

"That's a nice idea, but, sadly, next week will be examination week. I have to prepare for the exam."

"Sarah, if you're a teacher, how come you worked at a home for the aged before?"

"I was their scholar. It means they will help me to go to university, but I have to work for them."

"Is that some sort of payment?"

"I didn't think of it that way as payment, but yes, it looks like a payment." she says, then laughs. "I also had other jobs when I was in college to survive. I need money to buy something and food."

"Why didn't the hospital give you money and food?"

"It's not their responsibility anymore."

She talks more about her life while working at the hospital. She likes talking and telling stories, but she still keeps the mystery behind her runaway story. While listening to Sarah telling her story, I just realized that she is an open person, but also secretive. I wonder if I'm like her, but it seems that she has a more reasonable reason to run away than me. I don't know why I want to compare myself to her, maybe just to make me feel better about running away from home.

"Who taught you how to play instruments?" She asks.

I know that I already mentioned to her that my parents enrolled me in music school; maybe she just forgot.

"I told you, my mom made me go to the piano school that was sooooo expensive." I say.

"But did you enjoy it?"

"Of course." I say. "I also met a friend at church who taught me to play some instruments. Every Sunday, I look forward to going to church. I'm enjoying it, keeping busy."

"My mother also made me go to a piano tutor when I was 8. Every Saturday, I always look up the time I have to go to my tutor. I love leaving my house since I was a kid." She explains.

I feel her; I always want to go to school, go to church, and go everywhere but not home.

"I always want to leave." I tell her.

I push my plates when I realize I've finished my food. I run to the music room to grab the guitar.

"I want to play something for you." I say with a smile.

I sit back in my chair and place the guitar on my lap. I sing the chorus of the song.

"This is my thank you song,

You told me that you're always there,

This is my love song,

For you, my friend."

She looks at me, clapping her hands.

"That's wonderful." She says.

"Actually, I wrote that for my best friend. I only sang it to you because you're also such a good friend."

She looks at me and hugs me; later, I realize that she's crying on my shoulders. I apologize to her, then she lets go of me and wipes her tears.

"No, no, no, no, you don't need to apologize to me, dear." She says, shaking her head. "You don't know how happy you made me feel right now." She says her voice is muffled by her sob.

"You're also making me happy."

She hugs me again, holding me tighter. I have never hugged someone like this in my life. Maybe my family really hates me so much that they don't like my touch or even my stare. She breaks the hug again and looks at me with her wet eyes.

"Can you stay longer with me?" She asks, not even a question, because it feels like begging to me.

Of course, I like to stay. But what if she wakes up one day and realizes how annoying I am? Sarah needs me: she is alone, and no one is waiting for her to come home whenever she's out at work. She's not saying it to me, but I can see and I can feel that she is lonely, longing for someone's love and care. I nod my head with a big smile on my face.

"I will stay here as long as you want me to." I say to her.

Just like her, I want to love and care for other people outside my parents' house. They can't and don't want to provide that to me, and for me, I know that I deserve some. I only feel it with her. Care and love are things that kids, like me, deserve to feel, but why does it feel so foreign? I should've been receiving those two feelings, not only these days when I'm away from home. I am just a kid who wants something that I never had. Maybe my sisters will understand why it is hard for me to go home and why it is easy for me to leave. Maybe they won't because they are blessed with love and care every day from my parents.

"Tell me something about your family." She asks.

This is the first time I feel forced by her. It's the only favor she asks from me after all the things she's given me.

"Okay," I start. "I have five siblings; I am the fourth child."

"That's a lot." She comments.

"That's what most people say." I chuckle. "But for me, the number of children is not a problem; the problem is that my parents don't know how to give love and care equally. They should plan to only have at least three children."

I never talk to someone about my family and how much it sucks to be stuck in the house with people who don't care about you. Today, I just discovered that I don't want to talk about it.

"You know what," she clears her throat. "Sometimes, parents just have a bad day, and sometimes we're just being too overwhelmed about how they react towards us. I'm sure sometimes they don't act badly to you."

"No." I frankly say. "Mom often pays attention to me just to find a mistake in everything that I do and to remind me to do my homework and project, and to remind me how stupid I am, unlike her other children. While my other sisters are playing without touching their books. She wants me to take care of myself whenever I'm sick."

I clasp my hand to my mouth. I said too much but too little. I don't want someone to pity me because of how my parents treat me.