The Lights Are Gone

"Ringo, did you write this?"

"Uh uh." A smile rose from my face.

"You could be an author!"

The rose on my face blooms bigger and bigger, to think that someone praised it.

"Grandma, I want my story to be adapted into a film someday! And we will watch it together at the cinema!"

Her face blooms into a bright yet soft and warm smile, and then pats my head "I can't wait."

I knock on the door, "Grandma! Are you home?"

Soft sound of someone walking towards the door, I can hear it, and then the door opens.

I give a bag of groceries, "From mom."

She took the bag, "When did you arrive?"

"Yesterday."

"Come inside, I'll make some tea."

I step inside this old house, it's very quiet. In the living room, I sit, I can hear her from the kitchen, the sound of the utensils banging I can hear them very clearly. It feels like my frustration went out a little bit just by sitting here.

She puts the warm tea on the table and sits opposite me.

"How is your work?"

"I quit."

She sips from her cup of tea, "Why?"

"I'm tired, I want to do what I want." I take a sip, it's warming this barren cold wasteland.

"I'm glad."

"Hm?"

"You value yourself more than money."

I stare at my cup of tea, seeing my reflection, I can see my face completely drained, there is no sparkle of hope inside it, "Grandma, when will I achieve that childhood dream of mine?"

"Keep working, eventually you'll get it."

"I can't see if I am moving from this place at all."

"Because you turned off all the lights that guide you, now that you're free, try turning on those lights to see how far you have moved all this time."

"What are those lights?"

"Friends, family, and most importantly, your passion. I see that you gained your passion back, now try to spend more time with someone you're comfortable with."

At work, I rarely talk to anyone outside of work, most of the time I just go back to my home and sleep, I am too tired. The thought of writing again often passes through my head, but I can't be bothered to do it most of the time, I don't have the energy to do it. I only write in those rare times when I feel like it.

I rarely talk to anyone, work has sucked the human from me.

"Thank you, Grandma, can I go home?"

She nods at me, "Tell your mother I say thank you."

I don't know who I should spend time with, there is no one other than her and Mom that I am close with, I don't know if anyone from high school still recognizes me. I need to find that light somehow, light that can show me how much I've grown. I've lit the light of passion, but I can't see if I am moving forward at all.

No, the fact that I am willing to write again, is I think, a sign that I am moving forward. I value myself more than money, that's a big progress, I think.

"I'm home."

No one is home.

I lock myself in the room, and I think I know what I want to write. Something that I can pour my soul into.