Joined: 2 Apr 2009
As I write this documentary of the great events that occurred in my life not too long
ago, I feel several emotions tumble over me. I feel regret, pain, and sorrow. Yet I also
feel happiness, glee, and contentment. I am not positive what kind of story this is.
Perhaps you will classify it as an adventure; perhaps a sad story. No matter what you
think it is or what it should be, I simply wish to share this, so that the world knows
what happened to me.
I am Lorily. This is my story.
Today is my gapto if wertny, my fourteenth birthday. My Papa gave you, my diary, to
me, to record the events of my life. I do not know why. It is not as if anything exciting
happens in my otherwise dull life. I simply go to school and do my chores and play with
friends, with perhaps other things in between.
Besides you as a gift, I received clothes, beads, and books. My Mama also gave me a
kyulu, gecko. She is little and brown with gold spots on her back. She stares at me
with sweet, black eyes, and for that I have decided to name her Sable. Another reason for
this is because my Papa purchased her in a pet shop with the walls painted black as night,
for reasons unknown.
I have finished writing in you for today, my Kuhmulao. I shall write to you again
As is common to say at parting in my country, Zeste yun ao gordfe; sleep sweetly
I sit back and close my kuhmulao. I am wondering if this will go anywhere, writing
in a diary. It seems a little boring. I am not sure why my Papa decided this would be a
good gift for me. It is custom to only give gifts that you are positive the receiver will
need or use or like.
My country is the country of Sufvar. It is a big country with many wards. I live in
Ward 17, closest to the border of our neighboring country, Idnotity-Opi.
Sufvar is also the closest to the water. My family tends to travel there at least
once a year, preferably in the Fall, when school is out.
My stomach rumbles with hunger, so I travel to my kitchen in search of some food, my bare
feet padding softly against our smooth dirt floor. I then step onto the colorful, braided
rug that we have had since I was a young naita, child. Every family in Ward 17 has
a rug in their kitchen. It is custom.
I open our storage box and find a large jar filled with purple, juicy-looking grapes.
While I'm eating some, my Mama comes in, finished with a day of work.
"How are you, my dear Lorily?" she asks as she swoops around me, planting a kiss on the
top of my head.
"Fine," I reply. "I wrote in my kuhmulao today."
"Oh, how wonderful!" exclaims Mama. "Your papa knew you would love it."
I swallow and nod. I should not lie about the diary, but just not telling is not lying, is
Before I can say anything else, the door bursts open, and in run my two little
"Mama! Lorily!" the youngest one, Maria, shrieks in greeting. She is the only one in our
entire family with a retired name, which is a name that has not been used for many
centuries. Occasionally, you may get permission to give your child a retired name, if it
is acceptable. Maria does not yet know how special her name is, as she is only four.
My other sister, Katew, who is nine, smiles shyly as she slips her hand in mine. She is
the quietest of us girls but is very kind and loving. She looks up at me with her round
brown eyes, and asks how my day went. I reply with a simple "fine".
Mama suddenly claps two large wooden spoons together. "Yus! Girls! We must hurry
and start dinner. We want it to be ready when Papa and Mackus come home." And with that,
we set to work.
An hour and a half later, the food is ready. I instruct Maria to set the table and Katew
to bring out the first course of smaller plates and bowls of food. Mama and I will do the
rest. Katew brings out a steaming bowl of spicy, red rice with garlic sprinkled on top. It
is a classic appetizer: Halootney Juva, Spicy Garlic Rice. I carry two plates full
of shrimp, and Katew and I bring out cups filled with water for everyone.
Just then, my Papa and botyu, brother, Mackus walk in. Mackus is seventeen and very
grown up. He works with our Papa in our family-owned store. Someday when Papa is old and
tired Mackus will take over the store, but I do not think that is what Mackus wants. He
says he wants to travel the world, see other places. I can understand his restlessness,
for sometimes I feel it myself. But it can be a bit annoying sometimes.
"Mmmmm, smells delicious!" Papa says cheerfully in his big, booming voice. He sits right
down, and us yus finish getting everything ready. Then we sit down as well.
We hold hands and close our eyes as Papa begins our evening dinner prayer. "Gahul,
watch over each and every one of us as we journey through the gift of life. We thank you
for a sturdy roof over our heads and plentiful food to keep us healthy. Amen."
"Amen," the rest of us echo. Papa then takes the first helping of everything, followed by
Mama, Maria, Katew, me, and Mackus. It is custom to eat in this order for every meal.
First the head of the house, which of course is the papa, then the mama, then the youngest
to oldest child. Mama says this is because the parents deserve to go first, since they do
the most work. Then the youngest goes next because they are still growing and need more
nourishment. The oldest child goes last because they are stronger. If someone is ill, they
go right after the parents. This is the way it has always been, and while I cannot think
of it being done any other way, sometimes I wish we could take our food in any order.
Wouldn't that make it much easier?
Later that night, I lay in bed in my room, thinking. I have felt different all day; a
weird kind of different. Restless, almost. I cannot figure out why. I have everything I
could possibly need. I live in a warm, secure home, with a loving family and lots of good
food. I have many possessions as well, and I have Sable. I might even be considered
luckier than some other families. Of course, Ward 17 is one of the better wards, but not
everyone can be as successful. Still, I feel like maybe there is something else out there,
waiting for me. Something more. Something that may possibly hold the meaning of life.
This is silly, I scold myself. You are starting to sound like Mackus. So
with that, I turn off my lamp and snuggle under the bed covers, inviting sweet dreams and
a good night's sleep.