daughter

The year was struggling. It was a June with steady raindrops. Mornings would be full of heat then rain would wash down the street bringing down people from the office district to their home. People would mock at the sky. That year was a tip of something, said my mom. People all over the country felt a big energy at their core. They knew they’re going to be big. At the same time, middle age austerity pulling out what’s left for them. Canonic fundamentalists were going wild like dogs biting down the last creature found in the forest. Like vampires grooming out the last human on earth (yes, that year was also a come back year for vampires after Stroker’s Dracula).

The year was the year when old generation remembered what they saw in their youth circa 70’s. Sephia movies starred with thighs, legs, cleavages. Oh yes, they remembered it clearly. The then women leading stars now all covered up. Old, balding, fat stomached men condoned what they saw in the past, while their faces were the epitome of sleaziness.

The year was in a heat. Skirts were getting shorter and God’s payback was stronger. When suicide bombers were crucified, and so were people whose sextape was leaked. The year was the year when people wanted to do the best at everything. The best in combatting terrorism, the best in letting the outlaws grow in the name of democracy, the best in being pious, the best in sentencing corruptors, the best in not being caught up for corruption.

The year was when pancake and crepes all wrapped up into a branded high-class delicacy. Mom used to make me those for breakfast. She is the best. But, I am glad that she is not good at everything. At least, she is not the best at “inspecting” my rooms.

My father, however, was the The Best. He worships God five times a day, he fasts all days in Ramadans, he is also the best at collecting nude pictures, the best at beating Mom when he’s mad, and the best at cheating from my Mom.

He is the best at everything. Just like that year.