The orbicular, illuminating bulb of the Great savanna emblazes the lion’s den. Between the lions and lioness, crawls out the endearing cub. Preciously adoring and almost like a big furry kitten, but little does it know, that it will eventually accommodate into a fearless beast. By the time a lion cub is fully-fledged, it has to survive without its father and no longer depends on its pride after the age of three, thriving to kill and devour inadequate prey.
“Tss, tss, tss,” the tiny sparrows charmingly sing a euphonious harmony into my ear. I was then waking up to the thick stands of bushy, yellowish-orange beard, leaning next to my father, his vigilant eyes pointing straight to sense any danger or concentrating on the target. Genuinely a king of the jungle, forelegs crossed on top of each other with his masculine legs, blood vessels pumping with fearlessness and courageousness. Lightning struck. Once a flower blooms, in the end, it dies. Nobody expected the great lion king’s decease; unequivocally vigorous until one night when mighty, ethereal angels seized his soul to the heaven gates, plodding on the white stairs. King’s throne didn’t endure as long as we envisaged.
But what does a helpless lion cub do when the King is no longer? I must metamorphose to the lion with the most reverberant clamor and the most vibrant beard, staring up to the blue sky and reminisces the unforgettable times with its father. The sun seemed brighter than ever.
It was all darkness in my mind, father’s death scarred our hearts. Death comes unexpectedly, one can’t expect a day, so I won’t forget the words I wanted to say. Deep inside, dad’s empty seat had me losing faith, the devil kept interfering made me chose the wrong path, but I still rerouted.
Struggling but still endeavoring, I found the right path that will answer my questionable idiocy, of why have I been an immature, self-centered, egocentric piece of trash. I know now. I hate myself because I only realized it now; all the care and love my parents gave, not just from wasting jaw-dropping papers of cash begging for me, a slow-witted fathead, to at least give “education” a try.
Came to think of it, I could say that my father’s death was somehow a spark of realization in maturity to me. Putting a great amount of effort into every task laid on me, caring for my friends and my family that supported me, and finding answers through prayers to God, and even getting encouragement from communicating with mom. I did not just perform greater excellence in educational aspects, but I also managed to adapt to a cycle of a combination of regular exercises and a healthier diet. Also, my organizational ability was one of my most splendid achievements: a fifteen-inch whiteboard where I record all the due-dates for upcoming tasks or assignments, digital sticky-notes that I use to constantly record three significant accomplishments that I will do today, and never pushing a remaining task to the day after. It’s safe to say that I truly could be evolving into a mighty lion.
