THE ARTS

"Wake up! Wake up!"

A soft voice had woken me up. The dark drapes that cover my room from the morning sun were already up. Someone must have taken the extra mile of reaching for it despite her size. I couldn't believe such strong light couldn't wake me up naturally. I looked at the clock.

"It's still early, Hon." I stretched my arms and released a powerful yawn. I opened my eyes slowly and see a blurred image of a lady with her hands on her waist. Hon? Hon! I panicked and so I immediately sat on the… bed? I guess I fell asleep last night. My body's in such a position where my limbs don't dangle outside the bed frame, plus, I woke up without my feet touching the floor as I remembered it.

"You didn't know what happened last night, Dad?" I cleared out my eyes and saw our daughter. I thought it was you. Our lady does continue to grow like you by the day. "Dad! I'm gonna be late! This is what I'll get from assisting you to bed?"

"You did that? Wow, you're really a big girl now."

"Yes, I am!" she said, proudly lifting her head.

"No, you're not. You're just seven," I firmly placed my hands on my waist and glared at our daughter like a monster under her bed.

"Don't give me that look, Dad. Only little girls are afraid of that." She spiraled around as if it was a pirouette. "And, yes. Yes, I am a big girl now. I even showered on my own!"

"Oh, that's why your hair became a little bit curly and wet. You didn't even comb!"

"Oh my, I actually forgot to comb my hair." She frowned and skittered back to her room.

I shouted, "I'll just wash myself and prepare our breakfast! Come back down once you're ready!"

"Ok, Dad!" she shouted back.

I went into the bathroom and took my clothes off. I opened the shower and let the waters trickle down onto my skin. How I do wish to share this place with you again. Your skin is as smooth as silk and as soft as a baby's skin. Do you still remember that time when you cried because I locked you in the shower room? What a good laugh that was for me. You screamed like a kid. And so, I did what I ought to do. Opened the door, turned off the lights, then lock it once more. My stomach hurts just by hearing you swear and scream. "You bastard!" you said. Oh, what a bad mouth you had.

I put on my towel and dried my hair. I immediately put on my suit and tie on to get ready for me and my daughter to go to school. I went into the kitchen and prepared the best dish I've perfected for years — scrambled egg.

"Dad, when will you learn to cook other dishes?" our daughter said as she angrily hops onto her seat at the dining table.

"Why don't you cook for yourself, my grown-up lady." I mockingly replied with a big and thick voice. "Eggs are good for you, hon." I smiled.

"Ok, Dad. As a seven-year-old, I will not only study in school but also will try to learn how to cook pasta."

"What a smug lady you are." We both laughed.

I fixed her uniform and prepared her lunchbox. I placed a small pack of milk and some bread inside. We entered my blue sedan and went-off for a ride. Just as how you'd like, I sent her to the same elementary school I've attended. It's a good thing for I teach literature where we, shared our college years.

Leaving the town, the Merritown Bay greets us with its powerful breeze. The leaves of the coconut trees dangle and fight with themselves. The sun from the other side sprinkles the waves of blue with shimmering diamonds. And it is good it shines from the other direction for blocking the morning sun with a reflective sunshade that still leaves the scenery untouched. Once the concrete wharf becomes visible from the horizon, that means that the gate of her school is just on the other side of the road.

I firmly clenched my fists as I watch her alight our car and go inside her school. "Study hard."

"Don't forget to come by and watch my performance later. And don't forget to invite Aunt Claire!' She faced away from me and proceeded to go inside.

"Will do!" I smiled then closed the door of our car and hit the fuel to go to our college.

Students of the like looked and greeted us with smiles. Despite her mischievousness, Cypress did make a lot of friends, Stella. The guard of the school I've also befriended had saluted us for another good morning.

"I love you, Dad!" Her lips read like that along with a flying kiss.

"Love you too," I whispered upon bringing down the car window.

You know, Hon, our dear turned out to be a genius in the field of arts. I guess arts is genetic. I guess we wouldn't know. At the age of seven, she can now replicate one of Van Gogh's greatest works — The Starry Night. Of course, on a printed sheet of paper. She'll present it today in her art class. Well, let's give her credit because, at such a young age, her interests are one of a kind and are something to be proud of. She'll have a ballet performance later as well in her talent's presentation and I was invited by teachers to watch. I can't wait how she'll turn out to be —Stellar. I know you'll join us in this important milestone for our daughter.

I checked my watch and it's already 7:40. I hit the gas and drove back. Once inside the school's parking lot, I immediately hopped off of my car and dashed my way through the hallways of our school. Oh, I hope I won't be late. A minute passes by so quickly and I wouldn't want my students to wait for me even just for five minutes.

The reddish to orange walls of the institution flare redder. The students' clamor and their voices mixed to an inaudible noise. Their strides were quick, crisscrosses, slams to each other. I even saw one that came running from the prohibited grasses just to reach the open corridor. Then there is Mrs. Mannering calmly walking by.

"Hello, Mr. Welch," greeted her. "How is your class doing?"

"Hello, Madame," I replied. "Good thing we met despite our busy schedule. I would just like to have your permission. I will need to go in the afternoon to have my daughter be applauded by his father. She'll present her first ballet today." I nodded proudly.

Her forehead creased and her head slightly twitched. Her thin lips then stretched, lifting her beautiful old skin. "I am sure that would make you happier."

"Definitely!" I bowed at her.

"Congratulations then! Good luck to your daughter."

"I have prepared an activity for my afternoon classes and would request Mr. Lee to supervise them in the meantime? Cypress is expecting Claire as well."

"As expected." She smiled. "Don't worry. This wouldn't affect your performance index."

We stared at each other for a moment and released a stifled laugh.

"Thank you, ma'am. Do you mind if I carry your things for you?"

"Don't mind me, child. It is with these small efforts I get to have a grasp of my depleting strength. Don't you think?"

"My class is the same way to your office. Just let me do this for you."

Her eyes approvingly closed. The folds of her eyelids became much more apparent at this distance but her beauty arguably didn't fade.

Do you remember her Stella? She was your arts adviser during our college years. She even mentored you to be eloquent and to have a perfect enunciation while performing. She almost dethroned my mother by being a great stage parent to you. I'll give her credit but no one can beat my mom. I guess you do easily please the people around you. You're the reason that's why I and my daughter have a soft spot in her heart too. She's been serving the school for so long and now she has been promoted to be the head of our department.

I continued to walk briskly. I saw students giggling and staring flirtatiously at me while I pass by. Happily greeting 'Good morning' at me. I just gladly nod and greet them back and go on. Maybe I do have the charm. But no one can make me happier than you do. I can't love them the way I love you. Ethics, ethics is the reason.

"Good morning, class!" I shouted as I barged into the classroom.

"Good morning, Sir!" greeted them back altogether.

"For today we will continue to study adjectives and improve your descriptions. I will post this piece of art again in front of all of you and … you guys will describe it, or just say anything you see in it." I delved into my bag and I took out the art that we had tackled yesterday. I smoothened it out and taped it on the board in front of everybody. "Try to be as deep as you can get, guys."

One raised his hand, "Mr. Smith!" I gestured to acknowledge his recitation.

"It's beautiful, Sir."

"Truly! Thank you for that Mr. Smith." I cleared my throat, "You can now sit. Ok, next."

"Sir!" Ms. Sy raised her hand.

"I see it through a dreamer's mind. We all knew Van Gogh was accused of being mentally ill. This might be how he saw all the hardships he had in his life. His view of the world became twisted, as seen through the prominent curves of his craft. I see that black spire, not as a structure, but a black flame that blocks your vision to the world." She then sat down in her chair.

"That's a brilliant thought." She sat back down and another student raised a hand. "Mr. Dimagiba," I acknowledged.

"It's pretty impressionist Mr. Welch. The wavy appearance may evoke a sense of hallucination and anxiety to the beholders of this great art. Added the fact that the colors used are of dark palette or tone. It's beautiful yet it felt sad. I sense sorrow in it but also the hope, or maybe a dream, of or for a better tomorrow. "

"That was wonderful, Mr. Dimagiba!" I opened my mouth widely in awe.

He replied, "It was truly stellar, Sir."

"Definitely!" I pointed back at him. "There may be a reason behind the paintings. We wouldn't know exactly the meaning that the artist wanted to impart. Unless of course, they have their accounts on how and why they painted those. By doing this exercise, I do hope I heightened your keenness in appreciating the beauty of the arts and have you developed your way of interpreting these kinds of stuff. It is how you see the world." I removed the painting and replaced it with another. "Now, let's continue the drill and describe this, Salvador Dali's Persistence of Memory."

As you would've guessed, Stella. They were describing Van Gogh's 'Starry Night'. It's their second day of describing his work. Of course, I'll do everything to have my child become prepared in her art class. A little help from her father wouldn't be noticeable, I suppose.