Threads of Spice and Sunlight

Irvin Ta | Trinity Catholic College (2024)

I moved my hand to the collection of brushes and palettes beside me, followed by the sleeping bags and candles, swiftly shoving it into the eternal pit of my duffle bag. I grabbed my phone, resting on the canvas. 

“Do we tell them?” Violet’s message reads. 

I was backed into a spotlight of uncertainty; hands sticky, face chalky. I was ready. Unlocking the front door, the sunrays tightly wrap around my forever muse, highlighting every small curve and line. She gathers her footsteps towards me, placing her hands below my waistband, resting my head flat on her shoulders. Such comfort being embraced, almost like a fresh barbie back at home. Recognising the hum of the engine from my papa's car, we hurriedly unwrap our hands from each other’s. Hearts pacing uneasily. Papa sticks his arm out of the shattered window, signalling his arrival. 

“Get in quick before Oma get crazy.” Papa yelled. 

This was the first time I’ve spotted papa so thrilled for a birthday. Especially mine. The last time he was this ecstatic was during last Easter when we were shucking oysters in Tasmania. Stepping into the car, my sweat poured like rain as it trickled down my cheeks. Mama questioned our matching T-shirts which I got from last year's art-con — Violet vehemently insisted we made it official then. I shrugged it off as nothing, an insignificant rag of sort while I sunk my butt into the ripped cushions. 

The first mile had lasted about 5 minutes — we had 5. more to go. The annoying clacks from the engine were drowned out by the awkward silence. Why was the car so unusually quiet? As I moved my head towards Violet’s glistening eyes, my cheeks begin to radiate a rosy hue that was accompanied by a simmering heat that flowed from the unsteady pulpitations of my heart. Suddenly, mama turns her head back. We begin to brace for the words that were about to slip out of her mouth. 

“Eh, Son (in korean), better get nice and rich girlfriend lah, take care of us when in hospital. Not like janitor or artist eh?” Mama questioned.

“Sure, I guess.” I replied.

Violet looks at me timidly with small drops of tears forming at the corners of her eyes. I pat my shoulder directing her to rest against my arms, hoping for her to be assured that everything would be okay and that this was one of mama’s theatrics. I softly caress her hair, waiting for the last few minutes to tick past.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five... 

SCREECH! The immediate force of the brakes had launched my body out of the seats, flinging my head face forward, flat onto the driver's seat. Violet chuckled lightly with an unforgettable smile hidden behind her sketchbook. I was glad that her frown had disappeared.

Climbing out of the car, the scenery embraced my being. No commotion, no pollution, no distraction. Instead of towering skyscrapers that covered the sun, the trees above stood in their place with vivid line-ups of vegetation, filling every gap in between — oxygenating the spaces in between the foliage from above. 

“Ooo, we should go to this spot, perfect for one of my pieces.” Violet exclaimed.

I nodded happily.

“Son (in korean), purple tent you give for Violet lah? Blue is for us. Reward is kimchi from campfire.” Mama said happily

As Violet perfectly matches the poles to each pocket and pound the nails into the ants’ soil, her forearms paid the price as she assembled the fort to protect us from the harsh winds during dusk. 

“Nice work eh Violet. Not so bad.” Papa said proudly

I stood on the hillside, watching the sun take its time to set into the viridescent forests with lullabies being sung from the choir of birds which had called it home. Letting the wind brush against my skin, I almost felt unbound. But the final troubling weights had yet to lift. Mama shouted our names, persisting us to go to the logs where our meal would be prepared. Adrenaline surged through our veins. 

Mama had impaled the fermented kimchi and rice cakes that were lathered with a chunky paste of gochujang — Korea's staple condiment — with the wooden skewers. I lay my skewer deep within the flames, spending my — hopefully not —  final moments with my parents, as I was unsure if they would ever love me the same way. With the comforting but sticky air shrouding the smoky fire, I guzzle both the kimchi and tteokbokki down in one mouthful. The first bite, the best bite, wasn’t so great after all. Violet suddenly stands up beside me, walking towards the breezy hill to station her canvas behind the sunkist horizon and in sight of my parents and I. She lifts up her paint brush, placed it amongst the empty canvas and began to sketch the silhouettes of three distinct figures. She precisely strokes each individual line, complementing the shades with mixes of dim and pastel colours. I gently gaze at her celestial being, a loving and adoring one, as my eyes sunk upon her tender soul. Without notice, Violet delicately unlatches the artwork from the easel, heading down towards the splintered logs. She flips around her piece. 

The look of my parents that were once dear had moulded into something more empty. They were clueless as to what or how to think. It was a portrait of us — A beautiful Korean-Australian family — one that shared each other’s leftovers because someone was full or sick. Da Vinci’s own crafts would fade into oblivion before her paintbrush. Mama and papa’s eyes trailed towards mine — smiling. I was hopeful. The clock strikes 12. The stars glimmer brightly as the trees waved gently in.

“Mum… Dad. I love Violet… “ I confessed.

Mama and Papa trudge through the muddy floor, opening their arms loose. Violet began to shred tiny teardrops that dwindled down her cheeks, gaping her arms wide to hug them tightly.

Maybe it wasn’t so hard after all.