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. 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 the orphanage 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 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 the
orphanage took good care of me and made me realize that I was still lucky to be
able to enjoy life. The warden 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 the Public School. Well, warden thought it was a good
school. Spurred by warden’s determination to give me ‘life’, I did my best in
school and would go back to the orphanage 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 the people at the orphanage convinced me that I was
part of them when my presence was usually welcomed by freshly baked apple
pie and mincemeat.
 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. Warden was the one who
insisted. At the end of the year, I eventually gave in but forbade her from calling
my mother 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 my mother would be waiting for me. If she
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.

I waited. Looking for words, I folded my arms unintentionally and looked away
at the lilies, biting my lower lips. I thought of saying that it was a big mistake
and should just walk back to my car. After all, it had been 25 years since she left
me. It would not change anything, would it?

A girl opened the door and took my left hand, looked at me in the eyes as if to
ask for permission and pulled me inside. She looked 15, lean and has beautiful
brown eyes. I figured she was my sister. As I dragged my feet down the hallway,
I could see a family picture on the wall. Something stabbed me, right on my
chest. I could feel the pain that I felt years ago when I found out I was left on my
own, and was on the verge of tears. Again, I thought of walking back to the door
but I brushed the thought away when I heard the footsteps. It happened so
quickly, I was not sure whether I was actually there. My stomach tightened
when I saw the hopeful look in my mother’s eyes.

She immediately told me that she had waiting for me for a long time. Well, as if
it was my mistake that she had to wait so long. I thought I was supposed to wait
for her to find me, or at least she should have gone to Bliss Home to find out.
Silence. I could not say anything looking at her fragile face. I noticed that her
daughter was standing by the small coffee table, looking out of the window
expressionlessly, pretending we were not there.

I looked at Mom pityingly and sighed. I was unsure of what to say. As if to wait
for me to invite her in her own living room, she stood by the door and smiled
awkwardly. Despite the quivered smile, I could still vaguely recognize those
beautiful brown eyes when she smiled. Then, she looked down at her hands,
which she clenched and unclenched nervously. I presumed that she was as
uneasy as I was. After a moment, I cleared my throat and forced a weak smile.
Seeing that, she ran towards me and hugged me. Sobbing. Tears welled in my
eyes. I closed my eyes, afraid that anyone would see me, but I knew she was
forgiven.