Moldy memories

"How was I today ?"
"You played well. Though the amp could've been turned down a little bit. That voice you were using just now drowned most of the singers."
"Mm. Ma---"
"Mm ?"
"I wonder how long it'll take before I finally play the drums in church."
"You suffered the last time."
"But I truly wanna do it."

"The drumsticks Cyril used while he was playing... they're nice."
"I know."
"I will get you a pair of those."
"Really ? Signed Vic Firths ?"
"Yes."
"Thank you so much, Ma."

However, she died before she could get them for me.

I remember hoping for the day she'd come back home. Dad and I were seated side by side whilst we were waiting for the ICU visiting hours. Since I was scared of playing in front of him, I just showed him a vid I recorded. I suppose he felt I was progressing, and he told me, "Let Mama come back home. I'll enrol you in drum lessons." I wasn't expecting lessons, but at least, I expected someone to give me guidance. Mom wanted to enrol me, I know. She tried, but no one got back to her.

More than a year has passed and I still can't help crying whenever I think about the signed Vic Firths episode. And all these sad episodes.

The point isn't about the drumsticks. I could perhaps go on a hunt for them...... if I'm not feeling down. The point is about her.

She used to sit by my side in that room, every time I practised on the drums. And she used to love to hear me play, even if it was nothing but the work of a beginner. And see the significance of a pair of signed Vic Firths from a parent - it means great support. I hoped it would come to be. I can't bring myself to look at the PC screen, even now, when I'm typing. The tears just fall. And I know it's gonna be a futile effort to just wait for it to happen, because that time will never come.