I'm sitting in the corner of a dark room, having forgotten to close or lock the door. Elia, my daughter, approaches me with her innocent face, "Papa... Don't sit in the dark, you look so sad." Elia pulls on my sleeve, begging, "What's wrong, Papa? I don't like seeing you like this." Elia then cries softly, pulls my right arm, and hugs it tightly, so tightly. I don't feel any pain from her tiny body, but her slightly long and sharp fingernails hurt me a little.
My voice is hoarse. I slowly ask Elia, looking miserable, "Elia... Can I still redeem myself without suffering? Without guilt?" Elia's crying slows down; she looks very confused by what I just said. "Elia doesn't know, Papa. What Papa said is very confusing, Elia doesn't understand," Elia releases her hug from my arm. She pulls her hair in confusion, not knowing how to answer. Ahh, what have I done asking a child something like this. "No, don't worry about it, Elia." Elia pulls my sleeve with both hands. I can feel her pulling my sleeve with all her strength. "But I want to help Papa! I want to be useful so Papa will notice me!"
I'm shocked to hear that. I realize that Elia needs my attention. Why am I only realizing it now? I look at Elia's thin body, and I cry. I hug Elia tightly, sobbing like a child who has just lost his toy.
In the kitchen, I cook fried rice for Elia and myself. I don't know where my wife is; she seems to have just disappeared. After cooking the fried rice, I intend to go to the bathroom to look at my face, but Elia pulls my shirt, preventing me from going to the bathroom with a sulky face. "Papa... Stay with me while I eat."
At the dining table, I don't utter a single word. The atmosphere is awkward. Elia, for some reason, is also just silent. Elia sits very close next to me, leaving no space. She eats so messily. I then awkwardly feed her. She eats very heartily, like someone who hasn't eaten in a week.
In the bathroom, I'm shocked by my appearance. I'm very thin, my lips are dry, my hair is long and messy, my under-eyes are dark, and my face is pale. Suddenly, I hear the front door of my house open. I walk out of the bathroom. I see my wife, neatly dressed, coming home and handing me divorce papers. "I want a divorce. I cheated on you because you're unemployed." I just bow my head, pause for a moment, and nod slowly because I think I deserve this. With a heavy heart, I sign the divorce documents.
Three days later, I lock myself in the room again. My gloomy face is not visible in the dark. I feel very hungry but also don't want to eat. How about Elia? Is she okay while I lock myself in the room? My wife left me and Elia. She doesn't seem to care about Elia or me anymore. I've been locked in the room for three days. A few days ago, I heard Elia crying, pushing the bedroom door, asking me to explain everything while shouting loudly, "Papa, where is Mama? I'm scared... I'm scared to be alone. Open the bedroom door." For some reason, I feel the opposite of Elia. I feel I need to be alone so I don't ruin anything else. I think this divorce happened because I destroyed everything. I am the cause.
I call my parents to ask for money. With a voice full of sadness, I beg them, "Mom, Dad, please give me money." Damn it, even as an adult, I'm still asking my parents for money. When I get out of my room, I see Elia asleep in front of my room. She's sound asleep and looks very tired. My expression is normal but also deep as I stare at Elia. As I pass the kitchen, my eyes are shocked to see the chaotic state of the kitchen: flour scattered everywhere, broken eggshells, spilled sauce. I ignore it and go to the nearest bank to withdraw money.
At the bank, I look at the money coming out of the ATM with a frustrated expression, refusing the reality I'm facing now. "To hell with me accepting my parents' money! To hell with me divorcing my wife! To hell with everything I'm experiencing!" I scream very loudly in the bank at that moment, kicking the ATM. Everyone around me looks at me with shocked expressions. I run out of the bank, leaving all the embarrassing things behind.
When I open the door of the house, my gaze is confused as I look at Elia in front of the door, crying with a face full of sadness. "Papa, where did you go?" I gently stroke Elia's hair and then walk into the silent house.
In the kitchen, I drink alcohol. I'm very drunk then. Elia keeps asking the same question repeatedly, which I don't answer, "Papa, where is Mama? I miss Mama." I hit Elia with the glass alcohol bottle on her head. It's not too hard, but it makes her head bleed continuously. "Shut up, Elia!" When I see her head bleeding non-stop, I immediately panic and call an ambulance. My knees then buckle. I reflect with a miserable face, "I'm ruining it again... I'm messing everything up again."
After that incident, the government decided for my parents to take care of Elia because my wife couldn't be contacted. I just agree without resistance in a gloomy, helpless state. I'm very depressed by what I've done. Since that day, my life has become gloomier without Elia. I spend every day writing useless things in my room.