by Joella Ong (P4 2021)

                Silence. Absolute silence. The house was so quiet that I could have heard a pin drop. My rambunctious brothers were at tuition and my mother was watching Korean dramas in the master bedroom. I was sitting on my little blue chair in my room, enjoying the peace and quiet in the house. In fact, I had taken that rare opportunity to rest as it was the holidays. Unfortunately, the silence was shattered when I heard my mother knock on the door. I was startled and did a slight jump in my seat.

                “Please help me carry my favourite blue and white vase into the living room,” my mother requested. I rolled my eyes as I wanted to rest for a bit longer. I thought to myself, “Maybe if I procrastinated, she might just leave me alone and eventually do it by herself.”

                After procrastinating for a few hours, my mother came into my room once again and demanded that I complete the task immediately. I was fuming with rage as I reluctantly heeded her orders. I grumbled to myself, “Why can’t my eldest brother do it for her later when he returns home?”

                A moment later, I carried the beautiful vase that has been passed down from generation to generation in my small hands. On my way to the living room, I did not realise that there was a puddle of water in front of me. I slipped and fell to the ground with a loud thud. The vase shattered into what seemed like a million pieces. Unbeknownst to me, my mother had mopped the floor and the floor was still slippery. A shard cut my palm. A stream of crimson blood oozed out of my palm. I sobbed in pain as the excruciating pain overwhelmed me.

                My mother heard my cries for help from the living room and she ran towards me. However, the moment she saw the vase, she glared at me. Still, she came to my aid and immediately bandaged my bloodied hand. Hot tears rolled down my cheeks. “What did you do? How did you break my vase?” She yelled after I was treated.

                “I did not realise that there was a puddle of water in front of me!” I claimed. My mother remained angry at me for a few hours as she had treasured the vase. The family heirloom was the only thing my grandmother had given her before my grandmother’s passing. Eventually, that evening, she forgave me. I was so upset with myself, and my mother embraced me in a long hug. She even apologised for not letting me know that the floor had been mopped.

                From that day onwards, I learnt that it was better to be safe than sorry and to pay more attention to my surroundings.

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