Rebirth: A second chance in life and love

It's 2005. I blink and look around, struggling to process the impossible. I've been reborn, exactly 18 years before the life I remember. The realization hits me like a wave, and I freeze in shock. I can't believe it. How could I? Reborn into a time that had long passed, with all the memories of my future life still fresh. But as the seconds pass, that shock begins to dissolve, replaced by an overwhelming sense of excitement. This... this is a second chance.

Who wouldn't want to redo their life when given the opportunity? I can stop the mistakes. I can change things. I can save my father from that horrible accident that mangled his hand. I can prevent my mother's illness, something that could have been avoided with the right care. I'll fix everything.

But for now, I'm lying here in my old room, in my childhood home, feeling like I'm trapped between two worlds. The house feels so familiar, yet so different. The wooden walls, the unfinished floors—everything is still in its raw, unfinished form. It's a far cry from the modern, polished house I remember in the future.

I sit up, my bare feet touching the cool wooden floor. My reflection in the old, cracked mirror catches my eye. I look... young. A child. My skin is smooth, with no blemishes, no dark spots, no scars from years of acne. Just smooth, unmarked skin. My face is soft, round, untouched by time.

I grin, running my fingers over my skin. It feels like I'm touching someone else, not the future me who was too busy with life's struggles. I remember the face I had in my past life—dark, rough skin from too many days spent under the sun, pockmarked with acne and scars. That version of me had little self-esteem, no confidence, and a life that reflected it. No love life. No friends. I can already feel how much I'll change, how much I can improve this version of me.

The realization settles in: I'm five years old again. Most people would hate it—being so young again, with no control over their own life. But I can't help but smile. Who wouldn't want to be a child again, before life's responsibilities start weighing you down? I have the chance to live freely, to take my time and make better choices. To stop the tragedies I know are coming.

I step outside, breathing in the fresh air, the wind warm and sweet. It's so different from the polluted air I remember. The sky is clear, and the world is bright with possibility. I see a few kids playing outside, but I don't join them. Instead, I stand there, watching them, letting the peacefulness of the moment sink in.

The sun is climbing higher in the sky. I know what I need to do. I need to go see my mom at work. She's a cook in Dr. Tang's house, one of the wealthiest families in town. They're connected, politically powerful. I can't show up looking like a mess, though. I have to look presentable, respectable. They can't think badly of me—or worse, of my mom.

I rush to the bathroom, splash water on my face, and quickly change clothes. I grab an umbrella for shade, since the doctor's house is a bit of a walk from home. As I step out the door, my mind races. What should I do with this new life? I have a second chance—what should I make of it?

On my way there, I pass by familiar faces. Small towns do that—they're full of people who know you, who are somehow connected. Aunts, uncles, neighbors. I wave and call out to them, always respectful, always polite. "Uncle," "Aunt"—they're all my elders, even if we're not directly related. In this town, everyone's family.

As I approach the doctor's house, I spot it from a distance. It's big, two stories, elevated slightly due to the geography of the land. I remember this house. Vividly. Even though my memories are blurry, I know this place well. It's a house that stood strong even in the future. I used to come here with my mom when she worked here. The family treated us well, but I remember it was here that my mom developed an allergy to certain foods. After that, she left her job and started a small street food business. I used to help her, even as a child.

I shake my head, pushing the memories aside. I can't afford to get too lost in the past. I have work to do now—changes to make.

I walk around to the back of the house, where the kitchen is. I know my mom will be there. I place the umbrella against the wall and wait, my heart fluttering with anticipation. It only takes a few minutes before I see her—the woman who raised me, who I missed so much in my past life.

My heart swells as I watch her approach the door, her gentle face lighting up when she sees me. I can feel the tears threatening to spill, but I blink them away quickly, not wanting to embarrass her.

"Melai, you're here! Come inside, don't stand out there," she calls, her voice full of warmth.

I don't hesitate. I rush to her, throwing my arms around her. It feels so good to hold her again. I haven't hugged her in years—not like this.

She looks at me with a raised eyebrow. "You don't look sick, but you're acting strange. You've barely let me out of your sight today. What's going on?"

I swallow, fighting back the lump in my throat. How can I explain that it's been years for me? How can I tell her I've been reborn? I can't. So, I just shrug and say the first thing that comes to mind.

"Of course, Mom. It's just been a few hours, but I already missed you."

She laughs, the sound warm and familiar. "Loka! You're getting too sweet now, huh? I never thought I'd see the day. But it's nice. You should be sweet to your mother more often."

I grin and joke, "Yeah, Mom, enjoy it while it lasts."

She laughs again, shaking her head. I watch as she moves around the kitchen, expertly chopping vegetables and stirring pots. It's the kind of comfort I've missed for so long.

I can't help but think—this time, this life, I'm going to make it all better.