Writing 101: Point of View

Bismillahirrahmaanirrahiim…

Below is another attempt of mine to write story in English. The point of view shifted between the characters of the stories: the man, the woman, and the old woman. Please enjoy.


I could not be happier because we finally had a chance to spend time together after these couple weeks.

I was too busy with my work while she had to work on her final project as a college student. We might be too young to start a new life together. It was not easy for us, but she might had the hardest part. I was glad because she finally could take a breath from her hectic days.

We did not have enough time to take a real vacation, so we only went to a park, instead. The park is not far from our small house, so we could reach it by walking. She held my hand from the start. Her little hand was warm and soft. I held hers tightly, hoping that the warmness could be mine forever.

“Do you feel not well? Your hand’s cold,” she asked. Her face looks worried.

I shook my head. “Not at all. Maybe just… nervous.”

“You are still nervous while being this close to me? I could not believe it.”

“Yeah, sometimes.”

I could not hear what she said after that. All I could see only an old woman sitting on a bench while knitting a small, red sweater. I felt like being droven to the past, at a moment when my mom knitted a red scarf for me. She gave it to soon to me after it was finished.

I was very happy at that time. I could not stop smiling when I wore it to school. Some of my classmates bragged me, yet a bunch of boys just could not stop disturbing me. They pushed me to the ground because I did not want to give my scarf to them. One of them grabbed the scarf and throwed it to an old, dirty pond behind my school. They left me who was trying to get that scarf back. The color turned brown of mud. The pleasant odor was gone. It turned to be a stink.

Still, my mom did not get angry to me. Even though I felt a big guilt pressed my heart, she did not blame me at all.

Without realizing anything, the tears flow on my face. Warm, wet, full of regret.

*****

He cried next to me, almost quietly. I did know the reason. Yet, the worst thing is I could not do anything to comfort him.

He was a great guy. Gentle and caring, also understanding. When I was busy doing my project, he never complained. He even helped me to copy my papers at night and asked me to take a rest. When I cried after being scolded by one of my supervisor, he comforted me and did everything to fix my mood.

However, he did not open himself to me. As though there was a huge barrier that separated us. He did not talk much about his worries, his burden, his fear. Yet, I know that he have some of them, closed thightly behind those brown eyes of him.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

He nodded, tried his best to smile. “I am okay.”

“Then… why?”

“That old woman reminds me to my mother.” I heard a hard sigh of him after that. “I am sorry. I should not cry like this.”

It’s okay for you to cry. It’s totally okay. Nothing’s wrong about that.

Yet, those words stucked in my throat. No matter how hard I tried, I could not say anything.

“Yes, you should be happy, dear. Look, even the sky is bright and clear.” I pointed out the vast blue sky upon us. He nodded and smile widely. “I do not want this moment ruined by sadness and tears.”

“I know. Thank you.”

He held my hand even tighter. I could feel those cold fingers of him became warmer and warmer. I was really glad, although I did not sure whether I was glad for him or for myself.

When we were about to continue walking, a soft, trembled voice called over us. We turned around and found an old woman waved her hand, asked us to approach her.

“Hey, young man. Would you like to talk with me for a while?”

At the moment, I know that she only needed to talk to him, not to me. I felt like an outsider in their world.

*****

“What is the matter, Madam?”

“How old are you?” I asked carefully. I called him because I saw him wiping his tears a couple minutes ago. I was not sure, but he looked sad, as if either me or this sweater reminded him of something. Something which seems unpleasant to be remembered.

He smiled. “ I am turned wenty-four years old this year, Madam.”

Oh my God, he reminded me to my late son. If only he was still alive, he must be about the same age as him. He would be a handsome gentleman who have a decent job, married a beautiful lady and have a great family. It was too bad that he died in car accident when he was ten.

“That lady.. is she your wife?”

“Yes. We were married two months ago.”

“What a lovely couple.” I took a glance at her. She looked young and beautiful. “I wish you joy and happiness in your life together. Please cherish her.”

“I will, Madam. Thank you.”

“And please keep this with you. You can give it to your child.” I handed this red sweater to him. He looked confused before shaking his head.

“I do not deserve this, Madam.”

“You do, young man. Please have it.”

He accept it and looked at it closely. His long fingers rubbed on the sweater gently, as if it was his.

“I am afraid I cannot thank you enough.” He bowed slightly.

“Just by keeping it, it already means that you have thanked me, young man.” I patted his back. “Better if you go now. She has waited for you.”

He agreed and said thank you to me before going to his wife. They walked and walked until vanished from my sight

 I felt relieved. Giving this sweater to that young man made me relieved.

My son was supposed to have it on his birthday, yet I could not finish  in time. Even though I could never give it to him, there would be another child who will feel warmth of that sweater.

Yes, warmth and love.

 the end

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6 thoughts on “Writing 101: Point of View

  1. Waduh kasihan banget semuanya. Tapi syukurlah, di balik tangisan dan mendung duka itu ada sinar bahagia terselip sedikit, dari sweter rajutan berwarna merah. Eksplorasi yang apik dan dalam sekali dari perasaan tiga orang yang berbeda itu :)).

    Liked by 1 person

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