I stood motionless and looked at the solid, dark brown wooden door.

The house was painted white,

and black on the wooden beams and window panes. It looked huge and expensive from the outside.
I had to make my mind up whether to knock or press the bell. I turned to face the garden. I thought
about going back to my car and drove home. Home. That was where I wanted to be; or was it where
I would be after I knocked the door? I sighed and walked to the side where there was a wooden
bench by the beautiful garden. I could see that the woman in the family loved the garden. The smell
of white lilies reminded me of the florist down the road on Sixteenth Street. I sat on the sturdy
looking wooden bench, trying to figure out what I would say if someone was to open the door. I
wished I did not find out where she was so that I would not have three sleepless nights thinking of
why she left me, whether she was looking for me or whether I should be angry.

I was abandoned at Bliss Home when I was barely four. They said they found me playing joyfully in
the playground, innocently thinking that I was sent to school. After three years, I found out that my
mother left me at the orphanage because she had to go and find my father who left us when I was
two. I was devastated, knowing that my mother left me to strangers. Funny, I thought, how
manipulative and contradictory adults could be when it comes to giving advice. Those at Bliss Home
took good care of me and made me realise that I was still lucky to be able to enjoy life. Sister Lisa
was one of those who managed to make me see that I should make the most of myself than being
miserable, grieving my unfortunate life; thinking nobody loved me. I stayed there till I was 12, when I
was then transferred to Rouston Public School. Well, Sister Lisa thought it was a good school.
Spurred by Sister Lisa’s determination to give me ‘life’, I did my best in Rouston and would go back
to Bliss Home during semester breaks or Christmas to be part of the family. Well, I was not sure
whether I knew the meaning of that word, but Sister Lisa convinced me that I was part of them when
my presence was usually welcomed by freshly baked apple pie and mince meat. Then we would all
sit in our warm huge and rather aromatic dining hall. I could still smell Martha’s mouth-watering
Yorkshire pudding and roast beef in the kitchen whenever I visited Bliss Home.

It was 8 years ago when I started digging files and tailing endless documents to find out who my
biological parents were. Blessed, I found where my mother lived but was reluctant to go and see her.
I knew it would shake her down to her knees and she would beg forgiveness for leaving me; that she
was young and naive; that she would not have managed looking after me on her own. Even worst,
my presence would stop her heart; that she would collapse unconsciously, leaving me feeling guilty
instead. Sister Lisa was the one who insisted. At the end of the year, I eventually gave in but forbade
her from calling Mom to inform that I was coming; in case I changed my mind. She gladly agreed and
even packed me cheese and tomato sandwiches for the journey. I was skeptical when she said that
Mom would be waiting for me. If mom knew where I was, why didn’t she come and find me?

My thoughts were interrupted by a butterfly flying right in front of my nose. I looked back at the
house to see if anyone noticed my presence. Silence. I glanced at my watch but I forgot what time I
arrived, so I did not know how long I was there. I stood up and walked back to the sandy path
leading to the house. I stopped at the wooden door again wishing it was an automatic door so I did
not have to decide. Spotting a shadow by the window on my left, my heart pumped. Somebody was
at the window and was walking towards the door. I found it very hard to swallow a big lump in my
throat as my heart thumped against my chest. I thought that I was the one who would be
unconscious.

“Hi, can I help you?” asked the girl who was standing in front of me with a huge grin. I swallowed
hard while admiring her curly blonde. Seeing that, I knew she must be Mom’s daughter. She looked
15, lean and has beautiful brown eyes. Pretty.

“Yess.. Ermm yeah.. I was looking for Mrs Collins. Hmm well, is this Mrs Collins’s house by any
chance?”

“Ohh yeahh.. Hmm..Mom’s upstairs. And I think she’s expecting you. Aunt Lisa told mom this
morning.” She smiled pleasantly holding the door. Despite the dazzling big smile, I could see the
quizzical frowns on her forehead. I wondered whether it was because I frowned first. Obviously
Sister Lisa must have had said something to Mom.