The Unmaker

Journal entry #4988

… Today, my child was born. It’s a girl. Frankly, I’m ashamed I couldn’t even be in the room with my wife when it happened—I was out treating another patient instead of staying faithfully by her side, and it wasn’t until eight hours later, when Neera from the noodle store found me napping in a back alley that I realized she’d given birth.

But it’s a girl.

I took one look at her and realized she inherited more of her mother’s traits than mine. Those amber eyes. Those left and right head movements. Those grabby little fingers, I’m still wincing now as I write this entry because how hard she grabbed my hands. I’m even more ashamed to admit my first thought was ‘she doesn’t resemble me at all’, even though I am certain I have delivered more newborns in the past year than any other doctor has and I, of all people, should know newborns do not exactly come out as identical clones of their parents. Or one of their parents, at least. Maybe I’d wished she had my dark hazel eyes? Maybe I’d wished she were a boy instead?

But it’s a girl, and oh Great Makers she’s so adorable. She’s on my lap right now. Kicking her little legs. I can’t focu

Apologies. I have never missed a day of comprehensive journaling in the past eight years, but tonight I want to play with my daughter. This might be an evil thought, but I want her to like me more than her mother.

I’ll end this entry here today.

Journal entry #5121

I was taking a little nap on the sofa today when I saw my daughter waddling all of a sudden. I immediately sat up straight and cheered her on, of course, and I think I cried a little when she was able to walk from the front door to my legs in under five minutes. I bribed her with a piece of candy and told her to do it again, so she did it the second time in under four minutes. The third time, in under three minutes. She hit a little block in getting it under two minutes, but by the time my wife came home from work she was able to get it under a whole minute.

My wife is elated, obviously, and she’s still spinning our daughter around in the living room outside right now, but… now that my head is clearer and I’ve had a good few bottles of alcohol, isn’t four months a bit too early for her to be walking on two feet? The other newborns I regularly check up on, they usually only start walking around ten to twelve months old—is my daughter just super talented or what? Are her legs muscles already in rapid development? How was she able to balance herself with those short, stubby arms of hers?

Babies are so peculiar.

Perhaps I’m not that brilliant of a doctor after all.

I must borrow more books from the library tomorrow.

Journal entry #5818

She said her first full sentence today! She said her full sentence today!

It was ‘I like papa more’! Haha! Hahahahahahaha

It took her a bit longer than most other kids to speak a full sentence, but actually hearing her say it out loud makes all the waiting and teaching her how to speak worth it. I can’t believe it. How does her brain work? And why is it that my wife is always outside during these momentous occasions? I’m hogging all the glory here, not that I mind so if she doesn’t pick the early hours on her job and I get more opportunities to be with our daughter during the evening—which is when she’d achieved all of her important milestones so far—it’ll be like I’m raising her all alone.

… I don’t really want that.

When’s my wife coming home, anyways?

She’s been working herself a lot harder lately. I wonder if it has anything to do with her trying to distract herself from feeling that compulsion.

…

… This is no good, Sanyon.

You promised to cure your wife five years ago, and you still haven’t made any progress on that front.

I’m sorry, my daughter.

Papa can’t play with you tonight.

I have to hit the books and start taking research really, really seriously from now on.

Journal entry #6388

Today’s my daughter’s first day of Primary General School. I didn’t realize they’d changed the education system in the General School since my graduation—now primary education starts when the kids are six and ends when they’re nine, which is an earlier start compared to me going to school at seven. I suppose it’s a good thing if they start making friends at an earlier age, but that also means I won’t see her much more during the afternoons when I’m usually out for work. My wife is going to see her more often than me now.

… Hah.

Well, I still get the evenings with her. And if I just do my job as a doctor better to make sure people don’t get sick as often, I get to come home more often. That also means I get more time to continue my research on my wife’s ailment, and… I don’t know. It’s been two years since I seriously started and I’ve made little to no headway. My wife’s skin is unusually tough, and it’s difficult for me to draw blood from her because even if I can do it, she’s naturally frail and anemic—she gets dizzy if I do it too often for testing and experimentation.

I don’t know.

I don’t know.

Should I tell some of my colleagues about her compulsion? Maybe they’d know something about But there’s no way they’d know anything about it. I’ve read all the books on insect ailments five times over and I’ve come up with nothing. If it’s an ailment that one can only find on the surface, then it only makes sense that medicinal books of Alshifa may not be the most detailed or informing. I’ll have to start checking out the Bazaar tomorrow evening to see if any traders have medicinal books brought down from the surface. Maybe I should’ve done that sooner, but…

… My daughter might get suspicious and ask questions if I stopped seeing her as often during the evening as well, but she’ll never know.

I’ll never tell her.

I’ll cure my wife’s ailment before she ever realizes something’s wrong.

Journal entry #7561

I don’t know.

I don’t know.

I don’t know if keeping my ‘research findings’ in this journal does anything to help me keep track of all the information I’m learning.

Is it an ailment in her stomach? In her heart? In her brain? What’s the source of her compulsion? I’ve tried asking about her past before she stumbled down into Alshifa, like how did she get here, why did she come here, what was she doing on the surface before she came here—but she doesn’t remember anything. None of my colleagues are able to help. None of the up and coming doctors are able to offer any hints. The only strange thing I’ve noticed is the fact she shares the same nightmares as our daughter has, about that ‘giant black bug’ that sucks out her blood… I only know this because she’s told me about it, that it's been happening even before our daughter was born. Sometimes she’d toss and turn and scream in the middle of the night and I’d have to wake her up in a cold sweat, but last night was the first time our daughter did the exact same thing.

What’s going on?

I don’t understand.

Is it a blood sickness?

Is it a hereditary ailment?

Is our daughter going to turn out like my wife, too?

Am I looking in the completely wrong direction, thinking it’s something biological to be cured instead of something mental that needs to be overcome?

Am I…

… No.

This journal isn’t just to talk about my research.

Today, our daughter turned eight years old, and as per Alshifa tradition she gets to pick her own name.

My wife wanted her to pick something properly girly, but I wanted her to pick something properly strong so she could be strong for the both of us.

Our daughter didn’t hesitate much at all when she said she wanted to be named after that flower that we grow outside on the field.

At first, I didn’t understand why she wanted that name when we’d give her a list of common names to choose from—my wife was overjoyed, of course. She’d have been overjoyed no matter what name our daughter picked—but then I thought about it for a bit longer and came to a pretty solid conclusion.

Of the dozens upon dozens of flowers we have tried planting outside, above the Northern Alshifa Hill where it’s abysmally cold three hundred and thirty-three days of the year, the Dahlia flowers are the only ones that have survived.

… Dahlia.

Dahlia.

Dahlia.

I think I can get used to that name.

- Excerpt from ‘Secret Sina Household Journal’, Written by Sanyon Sina