Music in my bones

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"Please pass me the salt. '' My sister mentioned it to me. I was in the kitchen with my sister. She was the chef, while I assisted in helping her get the necessary ingredients that weren't within her reach.

She had a sacked face; her eyes were reddish, and her eyebrows were furrowed. Her body puffed up, and her every step was like soldiers marching under the summer sun.

It was unusually silent; the kitchen, which was always full of soprano, tenor, and alto, was dead silent. Who could have upset her? She was acting weird as we continued cooking.

Why don't you ask her what is wrong with her? My inner guts mentioned it, which I purposely ignored.

"Boo! Should I open the pot or leave it?" She called in my pet name, which is common among my siblings.

I just have this feeling—let's call it a happy feeling—when I am being called my pet name. At least my age gap among my siblings won't be much. I had an expression when someone mistook my junior sister for my aunt while I was the senior. It was funny, though.

Her voice was meek, and I began to wonder whether she was actually angry in the first place. "Leave it open for a while."

"Mary, did you know that your baby boy... '' I toned in a song with my soprano voice. I kept singing continuously with my eyes closed, the melodies resonating with my spirit and filling the walls of the kitchen.

My third sister, who wasn't in the kitchen, came in and joined together with my second sister, who was cooking. The different combinations of voices rhymed up, giving a great melody to the ear. It wasn't just the song, but the way it was being sung by the three of us. Even if there was nothing to miss at home, I was surely going to miss us singing together. The voice, the vibes, and the good energy make it memorable.

"You guys need to join the choir," my mom said, coming forward to the kitchen and complimenting our voices.

"No, mom, we need a YouTube channel or probably release a song." I had wished someday that I and my sisters would release a song together. The unison with which we sang was remarkable.

"Guys, let's do this; it will be filmed in the field." I tried organizing my sister together for an evening music shoot.

"Why are we even doing this? It's just a waste of time." My second sister threw tantrums. I knew she would be the one to give me a headache.

"If we do this, are we going to get paid?" I knew vividly that this question would be thrown at me, but then I wasn't doing this for the money; I was doing it for the joy encircled in every lyric. I wasn't just a lover of music; I loved singing. It brought so much joy to my heart.

"We are doing this to post on my YouTube channel. Common guys shouldn't be like that. We need to show the world what we got, not just hide in the backyard of the house singing." They were all seated on the sofa, looking at me like maniacs. I once thought they loved music the same as me. Those evenings, we poured our hearts out, singing melodiously together. What happened now?

One after the other, they left the sitting room to do their business. I bent my head, tears clouding my eyes. I wasted money on this. The photographer and the videographer were just in vain. It was like I couldn't do it, but then I needed their vibes. I loved their vibes, and I needed their voice to make this work.

I had already created a channel called "The Sister's Vine," but instead I used that to post beadbag tutorials.