That Moment

Mom pointed to a hill peaked with a national grid tower outside her window. It was quite barren except for trees and steel.

"Boy, is that where Genting (Resort) is?"

"Of course not," a smirk was forming at the end of my lips. Joked that she could come to my place every night when the resort just stands opposite of me, which I can always see it if it is not raining or foggy at the distant hills from my bedroom window.

She then turned to Dad, who was driving, to reaffirm that he told her it was there. Obviously, Dad denied it, telling her that she got it wrong. A minute later after countless cars had passed our old faithful van by, Dad pointed to a direction in the air.

Outside, there's Atlantis - situated on one of the underwater mountains, glowing gaily in yellow with a floating red dot amidst the dark deep ocean background where sunlight of thousand miles above could not penetrate through. And Mom turned into a little girl at the sight of it.

She thought it was beautiful, exclaiming with joy that that's the first time she saw it. And the van was filled with exuberant happiness that moment resonating from her girly voice that once has always been sarcastic with a lecturing tone.

It was then that I felt my day was complete.