Traditions

That call from my boss was also quite the literal wake-up call.

Up until graduation, I was in this fleeting area of total freedom, both on the professional, and personal levels. I suppose that comes with the territory of teenagehood. Free from most concerns, sheltered by your status as somebody-else’s-responsibility. And my mother and father were great at being responsible for me.

I stayed at home with them because I wanted to be there for my siblings, I told myself. Because I still wanted to be close to my parents.

But now I wonder. How much of that was me not ready to fly away from the nest?

I’m stepping into a world that goes beyond the close unity of my family. I need to get out, accept that there are other people apart from what I know, and they’ll have an influence on me and my life, too.

Now’s also the time to ask questions I thought didn’t matter that much before. As I enter a dance of old traditions as an adult, I can see how I’m a part of a grander scheme. Generations come and passed before me whose power and lives still affect mine in ways I barely grasp. It gets overbearing, and I find myself looking for comfort in this only link with the past that I have, this tether to what I don’t know, this one person who’s seen it all and can help me understand. Naomi.

Traditions, work, and my great-grandmother, as many doors that I hope, will lead me to find what, exactly, is my role in this world.

Disguised

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The day is upon us. My meeting at the museum. No sick sibling to get me out of going this time. I spent an hour getting ready for this mentally, and twice as much getting the clothes ready.

Hopefully I look professional — this is really not my area of expertise. And even when I “dress” up to go meet the boring suit-and-tie people who yell at me about responsibilities, I really can’t help but sneak in the flower patterns at the very least.

I’m an adventurer, not an accountant. I’ll wear the shirt, I won’t sell my soul.

But I guess there is a time when you need to start taking responsibilities. To grow up. Even if it’s not all fun.

Unexpected Results

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The parents are back. From my pool house, I can hear the back and forth yelling between them and Cléo. Something about mean girls making fun of Cyril, and Cléo retaliating.

And then I can also hear Cyril’s voice adding to the storm. “I don’t ned you to fight for me! If it bothered me, I would do something about it myself!”

It’s in moments like these I’m happy I have my own space.

So while the whole family debates about mean girls, I am cheerfully assembling a new golden relic…

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… and activating it.

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What luck! Activating it has placed a blessing upon me! Hopefully, something that will help me face the director tomorrow!

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… Wait, what kind of blessing, exactly?

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Well I sure didn’t expect that kind of blessing.

The relic invoked a skeleton, whose only purpose, it tells me in old omiscan, is to help me sort out the mess in my life.

Well, that might be a faulty traduction.

He just wants to clean everything.

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It’s when I see him try to play the xylophone on his own ribs that I realize that maybe it is about time I reported to the museum.

First I have to get him to leave, though. I love history, but I really don’t want a three-thousand-year-old, very dead omiscan skeleton roaming around my bedroom.

Big Sister to the Rescue

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Cyril’s staying home sick today. Mom and Dad both have to work at the same time, so it means I have to stay home with him. I don’t mind. It gives me a reason to call the museum’s director, and tell him that today I just can’t make our meeting. Family emergency.

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Not that much of an emergency. Apart from complaining about his bad mattress — that we have yet to change — Cyril spends the day sleeping. I mostly spend it gaming. There’s not enough space in the main house to bring my archeology gear, and I need to stay close to my brother, so there’s not much else I can do.

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By 11AM, when I really should have been showered already, I receive a call from the twins’ school. I was enjoying playing with the cats, but they’re not big fans of my ringtone, so they flee right away.

It’s about Cléo, who’s been caught fighting with a classmate. The headmaster couldn’t get a hold of Mom or Dad, so it’s up to me to decide on a sentencing.

Honestly, the way I see it, if no one was hurt, then there’s no need to make a big deal out of it. Mom and Dad will deal with Cléo themselves. In the meantime, I ask them to let her off the hook.

Night Frights

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The thought of having to meet with Director No Fun has been keeping me up at night lately. I’m afraid of what changes he’ll think he has to implement to make me comply with his reign over the museum.

What I’m passionate about isn’t office politics. It’s archeology. Even preoccupied and sleep-deprived, this is where my heart goes first, so I deal with my frustration by carefully, meticulously, carving down a few of the gems I found on my travels.

But by that point, I have been awake for a while, and my body is craving sugar. Either that, or I just have to admit that my sweet tooth is more powerful than my love for old relics.

In any case, I sneak to the main home in my pajamas, braving the cold autumn air. There’s a bowl of candy on the kitchen counter, and no siblings to fight me on my way to empty it.

I shouldn’t have underestimated the bowl of candy itself.

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Surprise! I keep forgetting the candy wants you dead. Colorful wrappers and ribbons fly all around the room.

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Is it over?…

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Worth it.

Bad News at Dinner

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After spending the whole day at the beach, I get home knackered. The twins have set the table for dinner, and Mom has already put the finishing touches to a dish of pasta. We’re supposed to wait until Dad gets back to have dinner together, but I’m really only aiming to collapse on my bed at this point.

At least… Until Mom sits down next to me, with a grave look on her face. 

“The musem called, darling. They… They’re not happy. They say they need to see more of you. They don’t like that you’re doing stuff on your own. They’re talking about stopping your subsidizing.”

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Well my appetite is gone, now. I’m not ready to suit up, and be the good archeology monkey in an office on the other side of the museum from the omiscan antiquities I bring them.

But it seems I have no choice. Before the month is over, I’ll have to play along and go apologize to the oh-so-annoying director, my boss. I need him on my side if I’m ever going to be curator of this museum.

And it’s not that he doesn’t like me — if anything, he likes me too much. But I have yet to see him actually show some interest for anything in the museum. He doesn’t care about art, or history, or archeology — and he doesn’t know anything about any of it either. He’s the businessman.

And yet, he’s the man I need to report to.

Can’t wait.

Relaxed

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Nounou is finally done harassing every single seagull on the Brindleton Bay shores. Now that he’s exhausted, he’s ready to get cuddly again. He follows lazily in my footsteps as I stroll along the beach a little more. It’s still raining, but the clouds have dissipated. Still, very few people have found the motivation to take a walk by the sea by this weather, so for a few moments more, the beach is hours.

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The Beach

Nounou and I had a bit of a fright, and he must have been feeling terrible these last few days. I think we both deserve a break by the beach. The day is cloudy, and soon enough it starts to rain — but the air is fresh, invigorating, and infused with iodine. And it’s been so long since I’ve walked in the sand, even though I have to walk in boots and jump around cold puddles.

And then there’s the sound of the seagulls. It soothes me.

At least until I see Nounou, fully healed and absolutely not soothed by the sound of birds, running past me like a grey rocket. He leaps at them, then when they fly away in a terrified formation, struts back to me with feathers in his mouth.

Thanks, Nounou. Much appreciated.

I mean, I’m glad he’s feeling better at least.