Dear diary part two

1st of January 2000

Me and papa sit on the old couch which sagged under our weight. Tears slide down our bony cheeks as we clench each other, holding on for dear life. We look around our house for the last time, the peeling walls, the faded paint. We sit in silence, thinking, no-one dates speak a word. It's been so long since we last had a cherished memory, something to hold onto. It's been a year since we ran along the soft sand, I, oblivious, he, concerned. I imagine poverty, imagine sitting under a murky tunnel with nothing but a cardboard box. It's too much to bear, if dad won't do anything, I must. I stand up, my body so frail and weak it's hard to lift my arm just enough to reach my hips and look stern. I talk slowly, my voice wispy and hoarse.

'Dad we must do something, together, whether it's working or school, we can't sulk around, filthy, living like animals with no money and all we do is beg. Is that how you want it? Well I certainly don't. Remember the days we were happy? We can't mourn our whole life.' 

I sit down exhausted but hopeful and fulfilled. Papa opens his mouth then shuts it, dazed. We look at each other, it's clear what we're thinking: dive, like we did 1st of January 1999 exactly one year ago. We make our way to the shore and swim, swim to a new life, a new place, a new home.