What.

While re-organising my mum-organised room, I came across a story. A story I wrote based on a dream I had. And don't we all know NEVER to write stories based on dreams! so I admit though I was hesitant at that point, I still put that dream on paper. It was sad. The dream I mean, not the writing. Even after reading it now, I can still recall the dream. It was sad. And here it is, after revising what I wrote, [dad time my engrish not so gud ma]:

He stood rigid, his body tensed with anticipation and sadness as he faced the stairs.

"Daddy! Daddy!", his daughter shrieked, her face displaying an array of emotions as she bounded down the stairs, leaping towards her father.

Her father, bemused and relaxed, casually stretched out his arms and drew her towards him, savouring each second of their heart-rendering scene.

"You're back! I've missed you Daddy! I love you!", she blurted out, suddenly embarrassed by her verbal outburst of affection.

With a wistful smile, he gently lowered her onto the ground, knelt down and embraced her, murmuring into her right ear, "I love you too."

"Promise me you'll never go away again," she asked, her hands feeling his shaven-chin, her eyes a swirl of emotions and longing.

He smiled reassuringly into her eyes.

"Daddy! You're back!" his son's shout of excitement punctuated the warm silence. The father opened his right arm just as his son snuggled against him. "Mummy's been crying about you, Daddy," his son said, eyes full of youthful vigour and child-like wisdom.

"I know," the father replied profoundly, allowing himself to be tugged by his daughter up the stairs. "Now, why don't both of you run up first and let me surprise your mum?", the father suggested to his two jubilant and active children.

"Okay!" The children shouted as they raced up the stairs. The father, with a doleful look on his face, slowly climbed up the stairs to the fourth floor.

"Mummy! Mummy! Guess what?" the daughter's voice could be audibly heard from the stairs.

"Daddy's back!", the son immediately said, not giving her time to respond. Drifts of their conversation were heard by the father as he languidly made his way to the door. He halted outside the door, away from sight, his eyes teared.

He walked away.