A question that was not asked

In October 1996, my family moves to a new house in a suburban residential area. This is something my parents have been planning since nearly a year ago when my brother was still alive. Though our old tiny half-dilapidated apartment lacks nothing in my opinion, according to my parents, it is not designed to be a permanent home. Too small and run down.

My mother was originally interested in moving into a condominium near my brother’s hospital, which we even visited twice for a house viewing earlier this year. But now that he is gone, there is no practical need for us to remain in the city centre. My parents have decided on a house in this new suburban development.

On the contrary to their excitement, however, I am not keen on moving at all. This community of tiny half-dilapidated apartments has everything I need: my best friends and my favourite play spots including the Japanese plum tree. All my memories with my brother have also taken place here. And what about my kindergarten? I will be graduating in just several months. I do not want to go anywhere else. I want to stay with my friends.

But of course, these things are negligible compared to my parents’ important project of moving into a new bigger house. Before I know it, the preparation begins. Trips are made to the office of the residential development responsible for our new home, gifts are bought for my friends, and my new kindergarten is chosen for me. And I carry on with my life, like any good child would do, accepting the fact that what I want for my life has never been asked and has never been put on the table for discussion.