I need privacy.
But where can I get privacy?
That's a great question, a great question I really hope my father can answer.
That's why, with all the cuteness of a child that just learned how to walk for the first time. I stand up.
Please ignore the weird waves passing through my body I'm just a baby.
It's a cute quirk of mine that's all.
And then, standing up, I point at the door. The closed door beside the kitchen. The one who's still a complete mystery for me, apart from my parents going in from time to time, I don't know shit about it.
It's not my parents bedroom and mine too, not the bathroom, not the door that leads outside.
No.
This door, what's in this EVIL door!?
Pointing at it with my grubby little finger, I speak up with my adorable little voice that makes me want to commit a genocide
"What what" FUCK WHAT'S THE WORD ALREADY!?
I stop speaking. Staring at the air and the door for three good seconds.
While I'm busy figuring out the word again, my father is standing, a dumb smile on his face while he stands beside me. Hands on his waist. He eyes my body up and down.
Probably because I'm bobbing up and down on my heels, and change my center of gravity by putting all of my weight on my front feet, then back up on my heels, then randomly turn my torso before bending forward.
It looks like I'm mentally deranged.
Or it looks like the cute little quirk of a child.
Thankfully, my parents do think it's just a weird little quirk for now.
Let's hope I manage to calm this weird stuff when I'm older. I'm just eight months old after all.
"What...in the door?"
I think that's the word? I don't think a eight months old can talk like this really, but I REALLY want to know what's the room behind, been living in there for months and I still don't know what they're hiding in there.
"Ah! Th&- my son, is &$ you"
It's me? I turn my head to look up on my right, at my father. Still there, but now crossing his arms beneath his chest while looking at the door with a...fond expression?
I think it's fond.
I'm not really sure.
Before I can ask what the fuck he means by that. His hand comes down to ruffle my hair and I want to jump up to bite at him.
But I don't know how to jump.
Yet.
So it's with all the suffering in the world that I stay still and take the ruffling, when he's done he put his hand on my back and geeeeeently push me forward, letting me take my time to walk at my pace.
Which is pretty slow.
But thankfully we don't have much ground to cover. We just need to pass the couch, the big table behind, ignore the kitchen in front of said table, and pass on the left to reach it.
The evil door.
As we do, he gives me a lore dump I still don't understand super well.
"Th&# wor&#, will be &# for y&#" he rubs my back as he says that, so I'm pretty sure that's something cool.
But maybe I'm just crazy who knows.
He keeps up his little monologue.. Yes, that's a monologue because I can't fucking answer.
Sometimes giving me glances to see if I'm listening.
I answer him with baby stares and some stumbling to walk forward.
Don't know what you expected, I'm not the best of listeners really.
When we reach the door, he stops his walking to grab the doorknob and opens it "This is y&# fu&# r&# and my wor&#"
And I see a pretty cramped room. It's not that impressive, but my father seems proud of it, so I let him fawn over the room while I follow him inside.
The inside is. Like I said. Cramped. Can really see the poorness around here.
It would probably be less cramped without the desk on the left side of the room, slammed right on the wall just beneath a window, and the small boxes laying around left and right without much of an organization.
On the desk. There's nothing I can really see for now, nothing I can really point at and say 'LOOK THIS IS OBVIOUS WHAT THIS ROOM IS USED FOR!' no, there's a weird pen on it though, carefully resting in some sort of white ceramic cup.
Beside it, there's another cup. Filled with something dark and liquid.
Is that ink?
Even if I can't be really sure of what my father does in this room with only what Is see on this desk. I can get a pretty good guess by looking at the boxes around.
There's three of them.
The room is pretty minimalistic indeed. Only lighted up by a weird sort of lamp above up, not exactly on the ceiling, but on a spot on the wall just under said ceiling.
-there's also some light coming from the window but the weather around here isn't the best-
It doesn't look like a led for sure. But it looks more futuristic than something you'd see in a medieval village.
Just like this house kitchen.
That's why I'm pretty damn sure we're just poor as fuck.
Which is sad but whatever.
In any case. In those boxes, there's multiple stuff that looks more or less interesting.
Paper.
Which is kind of cool. But more importantly there's weird words and drawing on said papers.
Without much care in the world I walk forward as best as I can toward a box, and in front of my father who doesn't seems to care much. I open said box to look inside.
And yep.
That's it.
Just papers. A ton of papers, most have been used to write weird words and shapes on it.
Lots of swirling drawings, lots of big pages filled with small writing bunched up together to put as as much data on the smallest amount of place as possible.
He squats beside me and looks inside the box too.
Then he looks at me. Probably observing his child having fun with...whatever this is.
I grab one of the paper. And they don't seem to be that valuable considering that he doesn't really react much.
Waving the paper in front of his face, I babble out words.
"What, what this" Please sign me up in a eloquence competition.
My father. Grab the paper from me, and say all that I wanted to hear
"This i- &#&# so #&#&# later yo&# &#&#"
All that I wanted to hear. Shame that I can't UNDERSTAND it.
He smiles at me after his explanation.
I give him a one toothed smile.
He gives me another smile and I abandon him to go explore a bit more.
My focus get caught by another box on the side, I open it with my grubby little hands, all while moving my spine around like I'm some kind of serpent.
Again, to escape the pain.
When I manage to open the box. I see what I thought I would see. Which is, basically, papers again. But this time completly blank.
I look at my father. Who's following me close. Probably waiting for another question.
But this shit is so obvious I won't even ask a question.
I'm a smart baby like that me.
Turning around again, I search for something else to explore. But don't see anything else.
Welp. Time to g-! Taking my silence, and the way I stare at the void as some kind of question, my father starts moving around while talking, again.
He steps left and right, as much as he can in his cramped room, and do biiiig wide gestures to show off all the sides of the room. I don't get all of his words, but I get some of them.
"This" For example, this I get, this, this, see the wordplay here? This I get? This? And the word is this? Okay I'll stop.
"Y&$" This word, is something I'm slowly figuring out, I'm pretty sure it means 'you'
And when he pets my head and starts gesturing on the side of the room beside the desk like he's imagining something there. I get even more sure that this means 'You'
"Big!" Wait? Is that room big for you?
I look around the room, which is of the size of....something you can buy when you're a student in the capital of your country.
And quickly realize that he's crazy. This shit isn't big at all.
He keeps up with his gestures, and use multiple times a word I still don't understand "Be&#-#"
No idea what this is but he uses the word a lot.
After he finished his little monologue, he guides me away from the room. And at the same time, my mother enter from the front door, it's night behind her.
She closes the door and as she does, her and him talks a bit.
Off handedly in the middle of the talking, she grabs me off the floor and say "Tim fo& be&"
I blink at her for a second.
Recognizing the weird word my father used, the start of it at least. My mother brings me to our room, in my crib, and do the usual goodnight ritual.
Before I would try my hardest to dodge the forehead kiss but I'm not really strong enough and never has been, so I'll suffer through this humiliation again for the sake of learning more about the language.
For the sake of understanding something.
Something pretty clear
It's night. I'm in my bed.
Time for bed.
That's what she said...
And my father words too, big, the room isn't big, but I'm not big too.
Holy fucking shit, HE SHOWED OFF MY FUTURE BEDROOM DIDN'T HE!?