Story Time: ‘Ohana’ means family
My neck ached as I crouched further towards my computer screen. My nails tapped away at the keyboard, trying to keep up with the flow of my mind.
After proofreading my essay for the umpteenth time, I finally allowed myself to relax. Sinking back into my seat with a sigh, I scrutinized the word count: 2,094.
Never had I ever put so much effort in a school assignment. Feeling content and slightly proud of my work, I decided to save the document. Just when I was about to click OK, the ceiling light blinked above my head and so did other electrical appliances.
And before my very eyes, my hard work of three days was lost in the sea of technology.
I blinked hard. This could not be happening to me. The assignment was due in a couple of hours and I had to get ready for school. I should not have procrastinated till the last moment. I continued to stare at my screen with a pounding heart.
“Breakfast!” dad called from the kitchen.
Like a zombie incapable of any emotion, I pulled my body up and went down the stairs.
“You okay, bud?” dad raised a brow at my blank face as he slid a plate of pancakes towards me.
I nodded, but couldn’t bring myself to eat anything.
“Isn’t today your picture day?” mum enquired, waving her fork in the air.
My spirits lifted a little. For the past week now, I had been planning my outfit, trying my best to have a memorable picture in my yearbook. Just thinking about the outcome made me feel giddy with delight.
“Well,” mum wiped her hand on a nearby napkin and picked up her car keys, “I’m off to work.”
“Goodbye!” dad called from the stove.
I smiled as mum leaned down to peck on my cheek. “Drive carefully,” I cautioned.
“Yes ma’am!” mum patted my head.
I excused myself from the table and went in my room to change. The moment I pulled out the last curler from my hair, I heard my van honk. Grabbing my bag, I hugged my dad and headed outside.
Gazing dreamily out of the bus window, I didn’t hear my bag fall onto the aisle. It was only when a kid tripped over it that I realised what had happened. The sole of his shoes which were covered in mud were now imprinted on my fairly new bag. As if that wasn’t enough, my water bottle had leaked as well and was now on a mission to destroy the contents of my bag.
The kid snarled at me as I simultaneously tried to pick up my bag and help him up as well. Snatching his arm out of my grip, he mumbled something incoherent and walked away.
Trudging my soiled bag into my class, I tried to suppress the knot formed in my throat. I tipped the bag over my desk and out poured dampened books and a musty smell.
“Eww!” a few kids exclaimed and pinched their noses in disgust.
“Take that outside, Lee!” my teacher, suspecting a poor prank, admonished me.
Tears blurred my vision as I got up and trotted down the hall to the girls’ washroom.
I tried the door of every cubicle, but they were all occupied. I wasn’t about to cry out in the open, so I escaped and found the janitor’s supply room unlocked. Heaving myself on a broken stool, I locked the door and had a good cry.
My sobbing was cut short when someone tried to fiddle with the lock. Biting my lips, I tried to be as silent as I could be. On hearing the person’s departure, I decided to sneak out.
Unfortunately, the door was locked from the outside. I pulled so hard at the doorknob that it unscrewed itself and flew out. The sudden release pushed me back and I fell on the shelves behind me. A half closed paint tin emptied itself on my head and I just sat there, defeated, as every perfectly executed curl on my head was coated with white paint.
The ruckus brought the janitor running to his precious sanctuary. Just the sight of tins and tools toppled over each other was enough to send me to the principal’s office.
The principal sternly ordered me to go home and think about what I had done. With a detention slip, she also informed me that my picture won’t be taken now but my ID picture, in which I had an arguably weird smile, would be used. In addition to this, my parents would be informed about my “shenanigans”.
On the way home, Dad didn’t say anything to me which was just as well because I didn’t feel like talking either.
When we finally arrived home, I rushed up the stairs without any explanations and locked my bedroom door, wishing I could bury myself in my bedcovers forever.
“Lee?” Dad knocked softly at the door.
“Go away,” I sniffed. “I’m sorry, but please go away.”
“I’m not going to scold you, Lee.”
“Yeah right,” I mumbled.
“You know, Lee, everyone has a bad day once in a while. It’s much better if we talk about it rather than suppressing it inside ourselves.”
I didn’t protest this time. Dad took this as a hint and continued.
“You see, people are like … balloons.”
“Balloons?” I tittered.
“Yup,” I could hear Dad’s smile at my laugh. “Just like a balloon, a person can only bear so much. If we keep bottling too much inside us, we are bound to explode. And if allow things to keep pressuring us, we’ll be depressed. But if we keep releasing a little air here and there, we’ll stay afloat. You’re in seventh grade, Lee. Embarrassing things are going to happen all the time. You can’t expect life to treat you well. But you can expect it to teach invaluable lessons.”
“I shouldn’t have procrastinated on my assignment,” I confessed. “Or have used the supply room. It was a dumb mistake.”
“Bob Ross once said, ‘We don’t make mistakes, just happy little accidents’.”
I smiled and got out.
Dad grinned.
“Come on,” he said as I helped him get up, “let’s go bake something in celebration of my amazing parenting.”
I sniggered.
“Who says only mums know about feelings?” he winked at me.
I rolled my eyes jokingly.
“Oh, and I called your mother,” dad added nonchalantly.
I stopped abruptly. I was grounded for sure now.
Dad noticed my mortified face and laughed merrily, “Don’t worry, she’s just taking an early leave to bring ice cream home to cheer you up!”
Happiness bloomed in my chest and I caught myself silently thanking God for blessing me with such a loving father, and a mother, who, even with her hectic schedule, always came through and gave time to her family, asking for nothing in return.
This reminded me of a line that Lilo and Stitch used to say, “Ohana means family and family means no one gets left behind.”
So all in all; it was a pretty good day.
Published in Dawn, Young World, October 27th, 2018
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